deepundergroundpoetry.com
whore of exquisite sorrow
she sees things that were never imagined.
she witnesses poetry that I have not written.
in the deepest night, when even the stars are not
awake, she lies in bed with her eyes closed & her
mouth open, because she tongues the air & believes
that she is tasting me.
I, a knight in tattered armor, am there, penetrating
her tender barrier with the vile rush of desire, & the
breeze that the ocean blows through her open window
cannot extinguish the heat of our lovemaking.
in my days of monsoons & desert winds, I’ve walked on
the dark side of beauty, & I knew not where my passion
would take me. when I needed sustenance, I drank
whiskey; when I needed comfort, I embraced harlots.
but she taught me that love begets sex in a way that sex
does not beget love. she beseeches me to hold tightly to
those transgressions that embellish my stories, though
my art remains unrequited:
‘the whores that are in your heart, keep them there,
for they are the martyrs of your poetry.
and your poems are whores.’
of all that is beautiful, the hideous things
are the most exquisite…
(Art: Camillus Fly)
Published 21st Nov 2015
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likes 20
reading list entries 4
comments 17
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The author encourages honest critique.
21st Nov 2015 8:34pm
Oh wow John.. This is raw in its wisdom, a surrender to your base needs and desires even when they are almost self loathing...you succumb and are set free by that surrender.. And poetry is created, when you embrace your demons enough to know them as cruel friends...that understanding is powerful and its knowlage.
Be they women or booze, whatever...
Very cool, made me think...love love this pic...
Jennifer
Be they women or booze, whatever...
Very cool, made me think...love love this pic...
Jennifer
Anonymous
21st Nov 2015 8:43pm
I almost want to cry. . .Almost. . .
Ooo!!
Feddler.. Feddler my cherished,
this is one for centuries that
shall linger and burn .. .
you slay me.. . I have to come
back unto, because.. because
my words are not matching my
pulse right now..
Dear that speckle is in your eye
again..
how beautifully woven, yet am
admiring the lifting of postures..
thru it all, right?
-Howlings
Feddler.. Feddler my cherished,
this is one for centuries that
shall linger and burn .. .
you slay me.. . I have to come
back unto, because.. because
my words are not matching my
pulse right now..
Dear that speckle is in your eye
again..
how beautifully woven, yet am
admiring the lifting of postures..
thru it all, right?
-Howlings
Anonymous
- Edited 25th Sep 2020 3:45am
21st Nov 2015 9:52pm
<< post removed >>
21st Nov 2015 11:36pm
nice use of words in this piece, captures that that is exquisitely hideous beautifully.
22nd Nov 2015 00:06am
22nd Nov 2015 1:41am
"in my days of monsoons & desert winds, I’ve walked on
the dark side of beauty" that line just lingers..wonderful well crafted ink John..I truly enjoyed!!!
the dark side of beauty" that line just lingers..wonderful well crafted ink John..I truly enjoyed!!!
22nd Nov 2015 5:14am
The tangles in my throat are embracing the harlot shrouded in poetry's clothing. Knowing she elicits the best in you, curls my words over stone. I booted a bookmark to have this one at the tippy-top of my list. Always savoring, blue angel
22nd Nov 2015 9:30am
i'm with kate, salted my coffee midway through...
“I embraced harlots.
but she taught me that love begets sex in a way that sex
does not beget love.”
^^^^^^
you make me a believer, mister feddeler
xo
“I embraced harlots.
but she taught me that love begets sex in a way that sex
does not beget love.”
^^^^^^
you make me a believer, mister feddeler
xo
22nd Nov 2015 10:51am
I. too, loved this stanza John with its essence of wisdom. Beautiful angst filled and real work.
":but she taught me that love begets sex in a way that sex
does not beget love. she beseeches me to hold tightly to
those transgressions that embellish my stories, though
my art remains unrequited:"
":but she taught me that love begets sex in a way that sex
does not beget love. she beseeches me to hold tightly to
those transgressions that embellish my stories, though
my art remains unrequited:"
22nd Nov 2015 8:56pm
As usual your work is in a league by itself Mr. F. I loved it's sadness and glorious descriptive power. If you're not published then the world beyond our group is missing out on a wonderful poet.
John
John
23rd Nov 2015 1:51am
John spellbound by this write..
love these lines..
"I, a knight in tattered armor, am there, penetrating
her tender barrier with the vile rush of desire, & the
breeze that the ocean blows through her open window
cannot extinguish the heat of our lovemaking."
I agree you are in a league of your own in life and poetry..
love Crim
love these lines..
"I, a knight in tattered armor, am there, penetrating
her tender barrier with the vile rush of desire, & the
breeze that the ocean blows through her open window
cannot extinguish the heat of our lovemaking."
I agree you are in a league of your own in life and poetry..
love Crim
23rd Nov 2015 2:29am
The first two lines tell you all you need to know about how it will end. Those who see the best in us end up being the greatest teachers despite their profession.
23rd Nov 2015 6:46pm
You and your muse have a really tight relationship. I wish I could get along with mine, like that.
.
‘the whores that are in your heart, keep them there,
for they are the martyrs of your poetry.
and your poems are whores.’
of all that is beautiful, the hideous things
are the most exquisite…"
These are piercingly profound lines.
You are and incredible poet and even more so - poetic philosopher.
You weave contrast and contradiction into twisted splendor - magnificently Sir.
.
‘the whores that are in your heart, keep them there,
for they are the martyrs of your poetry.
and your poems are whores.’
of all that is beautiful, the hideous things
are the most exquisite…"
These are piercingly profound lines.
You are and incredible poet and even more so - poetic philosopher.
You weave contrast and contradiction into twisted splendor - magnificently Sir.
.
