perhaps it is the incest
in the DNA
the breath of life
in an earth-made maiden
the shame of it
thick and viscous
all death and darkness
a lifetime of loneliness
much preferred than knowing
Note: This poem is one of a series of poems that features myths and legends of my people.
*Hine-nui-te-po is the Goddess of death and night, the ruler of the underworld, the spirit world.
The myth tells that Tane (God of forests and birds) the son of Ranginui (Sky Father) and Papatuanuku (Earth Mother) breathed life in to Hine-ahuone (Earth-made maiden) and procreated with her. Their daughter was Hine-ata-uira (Maid of the Flashing Dawn a.k.a: Hine-tiitama) and took her to be his wife. When Hine-atu-uira learnt that her husband was also her father she was ashamed and disgusted so she fled to the spirit world. When Tane realised she was missing he went to search for her but Hine stopped him from entering and convinced him to return above ground to raise their children. Maui tried to play a trick on Hine-nui-te-po in order to make mankind immortal by changing into a worm and entering her vagina and leaving through her mouth. However, Hine became aware of his trickery and crushed him with her obsidian teeth in her vagina.
Bashō Was A Snowball I just wrote a poem about reaching space at the speed of light Three bags full of cock and steam. I guess that's all. Empty shovel We'll remember every memory to forget the ones that are special Enlightened thought the chance that physics has always waited for Each possibility exists somewhere. The translation looks into a cold mirror Bashō was a snowball sharp-shooter of hats. But that was then. It's still winter I'm still writing. So are you. The next one comes at the speed of light.
An Ape's Raincoat No more going back it's a playful galaxy (all majestic dress) stars are mine and thine and we their celestial seawrack Still more vintage wine upon the leaning trellis (takes a year to press) a star gently climbs the stairs as we wait to hear her sigh Still more petrichor on the breasts of a woman (a star to caress) who so loves each sleepy rain her lover listens to her snore Still more empty shells that listen on the seashore (still the seagulls' mess) to time in its giggling core pump stars from distant wells.