Deborah's Poetry

Devine Nourishment

bathed in crimson
I sit, facing the east,
my third eye opens.
silent waves of dawn rinse
the sinewy chasm of my beginnings,
my endings,
and all that has been.

soaked in golden smoke,
ancient hide stretches taut
around a hoop of fire.
the faint rhythmic pulse
circles our naked alter.
sacred honey-ripe vulva
drums you from the Elk-cave.

serpentine bodies press close,
primal desires ignite
within smoldering walls,
the canal fills,
and my river becomes yours.


My House is the Sky

Mistress of the Wild Beasts,
you are of the Tiger Tribe,
hunting quail near the fertile banks of the Nile.
Floodwaters give birth to you every morning.

Lady of Two Lands,
cycles of the moon and fixed stars
separate you from your lover,
captured, lost, tangled
in the roots of the Huluppu Tree,
 threading into the underworld.

He once worshipped your amber silk feet,
tended the melting cone of Myrrh
that scents the raven of  your hair,
painted papyrus with visions of
serpentine flax and spitting cobras
to honor his queen.

Your weeping ritual hailed me,
offerings of  ripened honey wine
summoned me into the temple,
altars burning incense intoxicated me.
I answer with a ballet of divine communion.

The primal pulse of my frame drum
mapped his release through vines of rippling water.
The song of your twisted reed restored his life
to reunite  the breath of longing souls.
Lovers now eternally entwined
at the mouth of the frothing sea.

Incarnated, from life to life, fire to fire,
you will remember me, lotus sister,
from All Dreams Before.
I, the dancing moon priestess,
belled ankles, jeweled fingertips,
lighting the Womb Mother
where Hathor arches over the earth
to reclaim her Crocodile King.


Bovine Enzymes for Better Felines

Clay granules of litter melt  
into pungent kitty-pee mush.                          
Insatiable thirst laps at the waters porcelain edge
until whiskers break into glass. 
Oily layers of sleek charcoal stripes   
need a good cleansing and
hot oil treatment to re-fluff and coif.   
Her sable ear, paper-thin and warm,   
surrenders to the vampirous lancet.  
Ruby droplets stain the sucrophilic strip,   
as honey-green eyes beg to hide under the bed.   
Bovine bladder bubbles with champagne, 
and I toast to cows that sacrifice pancreatic serum    
to prolong the molecular life of 
You Who Purrs The Moon To Sleep.    

Wild balance returned,    
carnivorous appetite satisfied,
she vigorously attacks 
flaked spleens, lungs and udders,   
with the same zest as 
ancient Egyptian cousins attacked mice  
in the sacred temple of Bast.  

Bags of high carbohydrate kibbles empty
into the garden's decomposing banana peels,   
sharing a sugar-high with the tunneling earthworms.  
It's a damn good thing you're not a guinea pig,   
or you'd be plowing the soil 
with your segmented brothers.     


Thread Bare

Flame-retardant silhouettes
finger up weeping walls,
candles glaring cat eyes.

Another story burns into buttery flesh,
your name seared onto my breast.
Scars camouflaged in secret.

Plum nipples, firm from your touch,
unaware of the inky assault.

Should our love letters fade to thread-bare silk,
a bleeding gash will rip and pour,
just to change the spelling of you. 


No comments: