Static Poetry

As can easily be deducted from this site, and elsewhere in Cyberspace, i love poetry. Poetry can reveal the soul. Poetry can revolutionize. Poetry can awaken. Poetry can unite generations of people from eras wide apart. That's why fascists, dictators, people suffering from xenophobia, and other closed minded ones, r afraid of poetry, hate it, and censor it.

As with most spectacular, majestic, and mind blowing phenomena, created by humans, there r not only the attempts to silence them, but also the attempts to rape them, to disfigure them, and to take the beauty and essence out of them. I saw this done to femdom, to democracy, to art in general, and to poetry. The sad thing is, that this is done mostly by what we call, decent and good people, or what i prefer to call, clones, marionettes, or one dimensional liberated conservators, trying to preserve, and reinforce, paradigms, dogmas, norms and values of a certain society. Their poetry i call static poetry. It's poetry, where melodramatic sadness prevails, where delusional happiness is celebrated to no end, and where a never to exist world is presented to us as if it were real, or could become real. This kind of poetry never criticizes, never goes into a discussion, never offers solutions, never goes into battle, never dares to descend to the depths of where the soul gets ugly, is never creative, and is never personal. On the contrary, it's all about peace, guilt, harmony, religious sin, patience, love, acceptance, repent, tolerance, pseudo pain, and denial of the harsh, violent, and unjust world we're living in. This poetry resembles a stinking pink swamp. No current there, no movement at all. Just a standstill, adored by rigid zombies, who believe they're life itself.

Cyberspace is infested with this crap. I'm a member of a few poetry sites like that. When i dare to criticize there, i'm ignored or censored, lol. Some of my former Yahoo 'friends' created such sites , and indulge together with their 'friends' in daily uploading and reading stuff which should be transported to a mean landfill instead. They feel like martyrs, suffering from everlasting frustration, unable to resist the attraction of safe masochism at home, sheltered heroism, and the support of their equally lousy peers. No wonder they're always praising each other. Well, as long as it doesn't cost them eh?

Here's a different one:

You move with limbs of snake,

Mind of ice, heart of coal,

Hurl hooks from your tongue;

You burn me with your eyes;

You destroy what bores you,

And leave a cloying perfume--

A scent of death in the air--

Still I crouch at your feet.

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The first time this blog saw the light of day, it triggered a comment from my Elizabeth. She’s a crazy one, that one. Like me, totally smitten by and addicted to rubber riding boots (and ….um….a few other nasty things, although she claims to be the sweetest thing ever). I want u to read it, as well as what followed, lol.

E: I already admired you for your great exterior beauty, but now I can see that comes from an even more beautiful interior...I could love you for both, but I'll surely love you for the latter.

A: Now picture us, clad in shiny black mackintoshes, wearing our even more black rubber riding boots, strolling together in the Highlands of Scotland during rainy and stormy weather, enjoying the view when resting at the banks of Loch Ness, drinking some exquisite Laphroaig in Inbhir Nis, traveling later to Glencoe, where we will stay the night in the Ballachulish Hotel, forgetting all the crap this world is offering us on a daily basis.

E: Yes, I'm really speechless at this picture you painted, so incredibly adhering to my dreams. You certainly have, among your qualities, a sixth sense, like a beautiful female cat, to know that those are my favorite places in the world...That hotel in Ballachulish, on the bend right there before the lake...so warm, so intimate, especially with a goddess in rubber riding boots like you at my side, walking hand in hand...Who said that you can't reach heaven on this earth? I'd change only a small detail: my favorite is Glenfarclas 25 y.o.(LOL)

A: Now imagine this: We both take a mouthful (ok ok, half), then kiss and mix the 2, finding out how this blend tastes.Or shall we skip both, and just switch to the queen of queens: Macallan? Maybe a bit expensive, but not expensive enough for two priceless women.

One step further toward ur heaven would be, to pour this nectar in a sweaty boot, then drink from it?