Lordd – Canto I

In the moment of mornings when the Immortal Night haggles

The Breaking Dawn for time, a spawn of man; the good seed formed

Of their sweat and lust, the good seed borne in the likeness

Of the holy house is born from entrails and blood. 

In a moment Learned hands gather in frantic chorus, they exclaim 

In piercing screams to “Get ready! Get ready! He is coming!!”

When the gift of the gods is out, when the gift of the revered is freed 

From its fleshy binding they give praise to this new life. They give praise for this

Newcomer in the gathering of two legs. They chime and praise.

They welcome this new form in glee, this gift of life from the givers of life, 

They sing to those most high in hallelujahs. They welcome him

To the specie of supremacy, to the house of Gaia,

And their stream of thought lifts their praise in humming

Before their mercurial nature makes haste. “Hallelujah!” They hum before

They break out in loud hails that infect the anxious family. They mirror 

Their love to their masters; the fathers of their holy houses, the most 

Revered lords and saviours. 

They welcome the child with praise for their Lords in a booming chorus.

And every day they sway to it, they sway every day of that week until the seventh day, until when he is given his name. 

Again, learned hands gather in a frantic chaos to grant this holy gift a clan. 

They offer his birth rite, ask his eager parents, so proud and glowing, they ask them; 

“What shall We name him?” They ask them, so proud and glowing, 

They ask them; 

“Who does he look like, Our gifted ones, who?” they call to their

Fruitful children. They tell them;  “name him after your fathers.”

They beam and proclaim in glee. They decide;

“This is your name Child.” This is what the waiting ears want.

They lift him to the sky. They lift him to the gods,

Who are pleased with the child of their faithful. 

And as dawn releases it’s light unto darkness and the stubborn night sends champions

To hamper his rival; loud cackling that precede the flooding 

Of the sky and earth, claps and the numbing thumps of war that call the tempest. 

In all the chaos the child gets a name; 

A name too grand yet fitting the unforeseen.

A name too proud to revere Authority. 

A name that will regard the Chorus of the hands,

That will regard the chiming of the sect – of giving glory to the Lord,

As continuous depravity of power.

The name of the child is Lordd.

The child that lusts for Power.

The child that will challenge His God.

Obluda

The monster stirs, yawns; he wakes finally. He’s hungry.

He peers out and chooses someone right and plump and 

Fleshy and tasty yet greying. He’s hungry and this someone

Is near. He’s so hungry he doesn’t notice who. He’s 

So hungry he misses the resemblance and He chomps down; 

Gobbles and gobbles whole portions, not savouring the meat,

Just sating his hunger. It’s done now. He belches then withdraws

Into himself, still not realizing who he’s eaten; he saw but didn’t

See. Or he saw but didn’t care. The monster ate his own lover. 

Like he ate his dear father. He chomped and gobbled them whole,

Chomped and Gobbled his own. But maybe he did not care. His hunger

Would not make things clear. This is how it’s always been: from the one 

with the gap teeth first then the three with the marks then after. 

His hunger has taken so many now, since the one who knew he’d eat her. 

She knew in her heart she was fodder. Knew he would not see in his hunger. 

But he tried and tried to hold back his hunger. He managed so long 

Not to surrender. Held out so long it hurt him: as he fed on his insides it hurt him. 

He held it so long he forgot the hunger would always grow bigger.

The monster held it long……then one day she did it. She

Called him out on his hunger. Poked it and then went away.

Said he could eat his fill, then left him to find his fill. 

Now he can hold it no longer. He chomps and chomps till they echo.

He gobbles and savours every bit. -Chomp Chomp. Gobble 

Gobble. Burp- 

When he stops his world grows smaller; when he stops

There’s no one there.

To Judge Your Spoken Word

It’s great viewing, your new act of relevance.
I’ve caught you right as you start your dirty dance.
Let me spy your chanting like I did our first time;
when your art never sounded like a lie from the first line.
I listened to your soft spoken eloquence,
I heard you bleat deep rhymes in maleficence.
You dubbed common sense in layers of double speak
and spoke your tongues in conviction to reproach the weak.
So thrill me, mein Lieber, thrill me.
Today thrill me till I’m warm then I’ll give you peace.
Today your words will be thy worthy benevolence,
as the monster in me wishes to hear their plea.
Do bless him with your verbal evidence,
let your nifty bars try an appeal to him.
Be the motivator who’s out to set us free.
He’ll judge you of your false witness,
then I’ll make you flee being free.

LEBRECHT|HITLEBB©2016||CURSES AND CRITIQUE

Angst

Faced with the sight of oblivion,
put in place by life’s cruel unveiling – showing how we are vulnerable.
We give monsters names and plots
then hand ourselves a focused purpose
to fight against forces that could care less
so our life seems less of a void space
when the hourglass has a pebble in place.
We create gods and monsters in our image
give them life above lack of meaning.
So we can live in some semblance of peace
avoiding the verse that goes like this;
“bleak futures make us grimace,
like dark corners make fire retrace,
the body shakes at death’s warm embrace,
the soul scurries from angst’s sweet grace.”

Southpaw

Southpaw from a cat’s paw

Elan Mudrow

Yes, it’s a cat poem, so scratch me. Art by RS Grafiko

My cat is a lefty.

When my writing

Is interrupted

By a hairball

Blocking my stanzas.

He bats me

Into sense

With a left hook

To the pant leg

Snagging my sock

Giving me that dilated  

Cat-eye look

of poetic importance

That would melt a thousand

Lovers’ hearts.

He has those pupils

I long to perfect

Rolls to reveal his tender belly

Like a dog of words

Softest fur exposed.

As I try to step over him

On my way for a second

Glass of inspiration

He counters with a right

Claw caught firmly in my verse

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