Shelley Rach Poems

Lost Souls Forgot and Other Poems

Shelley Rach

Education

Azure fires flaming in the night

Stand the sentinel over the beat beat beat.

Homilies cry out, lost souls forgot in

The Rhythm, Bump and Grind. Dark

guardians angel overhead fencing in

The Temple of the God Me.

The God Me stares into the white beacon.

The face of Diana stutters Bach in melancholic

turpitude. The God Me laughs at the Shackles

of the Temple-Door-Breaking, there is gladness

and Much Great Joy in the bath of pain dripping

anklet blood desecrating sacred secular space.

Raise your cup. Blood coats the azure templates

in the Nile of the Night. The Reaper's scimitar

soothes with Socratic salve the God Me's

abasement. The Walls of Jericho fall in

pillow-soft claps at the end of the pit.

Hemlock, the sophist's cure.

Life

Feed on my rotting husk, thou incessant parasite.

Thou are truly craved by those who have passed

by the chains of this connection,

and scorned by those who have not.

The magus cries out thy name thrice over.

The adept divines thy riddles.

I, the neophyte, bid thee often to take

thy leave from my presence.

In return for thine departure, bloodsucker, I will give thee

my breath and my heart that doth indeed do beat.

I cannot give thee the love of a mother, for it is not mine.

A child cries again in the midst of the temple.

Go, Boorish Demon. Take your light and detach it from my soul immortal.

Neither alive nor not. Trapped.

Be gone. You've had your fill on my open wounds.

Hear me, no escape, save one.

Salvation doth lie in the bidding of thee to take thy leave.

I beseech thee. I am most grievously sore.

I desire to be one with my true love, Thanos.

My dowry is indeed small.

Go.

Lost Souls Forgot

Screaming names in

the wind of the Blithe Spirit.

Alas, Horatio I knew me well.

I knew me I did.

Rolling in Grass, Screaming

reverent prayer to the God of

The Lamb Children. "Save Me."

Save Me. At least Let Me DIE.

Ten years measuring one

Hundred. All I wanted was release.

The God heard not the voice of the child.

The Lamb Children held the god that did die.

At ten years measuring

One Hundred.

I found the Power. The

Power God, my father, roared and

Did Not Die.

Power Never Dies.

Power pins you

down and rips your

youth out through your legs.

Power bites your ear

until you bleed and tells you

you love it because you are a little

slut.

Power makes you take your

Mommy's Place.

Power spanks you before

and after it rips you.

Power makes you a

lost little child. Afraid

because power is the

only god that can hear you

cry.

When Barbies die

Power gets lost.

When Zippy got

stabbed, Power

gets

lost.

The Lamb Children

Have

God Always Lost, and

Not Hearing.

POWER

BROKE

CRAYONS.

The Coming

Paranoid Eyes

Flash out from the Darkness.

In the corner of the eye's mind

A scream is heard in anticipation of

The Coming.

The face is flush with the

brick wall. The ear sees

the hammer chip away at the

Edges with Determined Deliberation.

Delegation is a thing past due, it is

Called for each New Day, at

Nine, Six, and half past Three.

Wish the child well.

Always it will be.

Form grows.

I stay.

Forever Breaking.

Enlightenment

The fabric of the mind

stretched, grew, and

unfolded itself into the breeze.

It was cooled by the night and

warmed by the sun.

Unfurled, unraveled, gone.

The breeze has passed through

many a mass. The clouds have

made the sun go away. Won't you

come in for awhile and stay.

The currents are still, and the

gray-green clouds won't let me

breathe.

Unfurled, Unraveled, Gone.

Come

I am a horrible beast.

I will rip out your heart and feed it to you

Ted Bundy Smiles

Nosferatu believes in me.

I destroy.

I am pure, and I am longing.

I am the white hole above your head.

Shining, spinning, in ornate, ocular directions.

The mist in the ancient garden. I am the reason

blood drips down chaste children dressed in

black. Bauhaus presiding.

I am the single red rose at the funeral.

I am the Christ on the cross, behold my

Crown of thorns for it is a god that I am.

I am oblivion, sweet and noxious

Embracing you.

I am, I am

I AM

Theology

...And the Jesus-Freak and the Satanist argued as the atheist kept time in the eternal infernal. Jesus said the radio was too loud. Satan said it wasn't loud enough. No-god sat and watched with no wisdom as to the whether and why of it all.

...Satan and Jesus depart and debate the virtue of Hershey's chocolate bars and the Magnolias dripped the sweet honey of scent like holy water on the whispering wind. Who's gay? Who's gay? The atheist is diggin' on Satan and Jesus. He'd like to snag them both up, yes.

...Satan knows Jesus is down with Paul, but Jesus is a miraculous slut. Everybody comes to Jesus' tent, because to pitch a tent is a holy thing. Turn the radio up because his birthday breaks my heart.

...That pile of papers next to the atheist? They must be Bills. Who's Bill?

...And Buddy Holly hangs upside down from the ceiling eating crickets. And everybody knows that sleep gives you cancer Satan. Radical posture, comrade. I think I better sell some tickets to the midnight matinee.

...Smurf Papa Smurf. He's upside down on your cross. Boychicks. Satan, go to the dentist. The cop in the street is bulletproof. This is a drug free zone. Girlfriend, get a new weave because the queens are holding court.

...And Jesus and Satan argue about the radio, and the atheist dreams of sandwiches. Who's a good Catch? I need a fish sandwich myself.

Shelley Rach

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