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Message-ID: <27792asstr$976338611@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Red Redman <redman@seductive.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Two poems by Redman
Date: Sat,  9 Dec 2000 00:10:11 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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I know that there are good poets out there -- better
than me anyway. I've seen your websites. I'd like
to encourage others to bundle their best poems together
into one post and send them in. What better way of setting
the bar very low than with my own! Here are two I've
written recently. The second one is pretty dark. Let
me know what you think. Raspberries welcome too!

Comments welcomed at redman@seductive.com



To the Muse with the Dragon Tattoo

Her Dragon rides a pretty thigh
And I desire his lair.
I wonder if his Dragon's breath
Has singed her silken hair?

I wonder if his Dragon tongue
Has tasted her delight?
Were I so near to Dragon lair
I'd feast well every night.

But pretty thigh and Dragon lair
Lie far across the sea.
But in my dreams the worm takes flight
And wings my love to me.

'Round Dragon's neck I'd place a chain
Enchantments put upon
And tie him to my bed each night
And ride him 'till the dawn.

I'd pet him, woe him, make him mine
And when the night were through,
I'd set him free to fly again
'Till our next rendezvous.

~Redman



The Crows

I run as fast as I can, but the crows chase me.
They flap around my head, attacking.
I yell at myself in panic,
"Keep running, keep moving!"
But nothing seems to help until the rain.
The rain falls down like sharp glass.
It cuts me, hiding the scars of where I've cut myself.
But at least the crows are gone.
For a time they leave me be.
The rain turns back to water
Washing my blood away in rivulets,
Washing a part of me out to the sea.
I can feel myself floating on the sea, finally at peace.
I yell out to that distant self,
"Be free, stay free forever."
Then the rain stops and the crows descend.
I'm running as fast as I can, but the crows chase me.

Sometimes my voice echoes back to me.
Sometimes I hear the things I've said
And it's like a stranger speaking.
How could he seem so close
And fail so completely to understand?
Who is this stranger that speaks to me
 From within my own head?

The crows flap about me, but I can't run from them now.
They settle on my arms and at my feet.
They peck at the nails in my wrists and ankles.
The crows nibble on my ears, in mockery of lovers.
They devour my penis, leaving a bloody stump.
I remember my sister at twelve picking black-eyed-susies.
There was a dark stain in her lap, at first she didn't notice.
As the stain spread, she ran in panic to the house.
Mother had told her, "One day you too . . ."
She didn't tell her it would be today.
My bloody stump reminds me of my poor sister.
She lived a difficult life, but now she's at peace.
The crows rip out my tongue, sharing it as delicacy.
One of them, the pretty female, pecks out my eyes.

In darkness I wait, the crows roosting on my shoulders.
I hear a voice in the distance calling to me,
Crying through the wilderness,
"Keep running, keep moving!"
Who is this stranger that mocks me on my cross?
Why does he scoff at my immobility?
The crows pull at my hair, dig in toward my brain.
The voice returns, as distant and familiar as before,
"Be free, stay free forever."
Who is this voice that cries out?
Why does he cry to me?

The morning dawns bright and luminous.
My eyes have grown back in the night,
My tongue, though thick with thirst, returned.
The day is so beautiful it tugs at the immobile me.
New eyes see clean, bright colors.
Then the crows descend,
Nibbling my ears like lovers.
The pretty one devours my eyes.

~Redman


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