Pennsylvania Vampire Song

Az Ének a Pennsylvania Vámpír

On a feed through Pennsylvania,
I felt a need for my old Transylvania.
I'm Hungarian now of Czech descent, . . .
It matters not, where my pedigrees went.
To America I came after the war,
Fleeing death, and butchery I abhor.

I feel I owe some transcription here,
Of life abroad, since I turned vampir.
An ache for blood, a thirst for souls,
Makes my curse, much worse than coal.

I'll hunt again, these poems I'll haunt,

So many penned, yet forever gaunt.

Where legions of brave mortals go,

Like me now, lie forever cold.

Who once lived, their souls are stained,

By my lust for fluids, stolen and drained.

Was there a battle I ever won?
Victorious vampires, at bloody Bull Run.
A lover tonight sings a randy tune,
Then dies of fright, 'neath a Brandywine moon.

After the harvest, I follow'd a wake.
My food was blessed by souls I'd take.
On a Presbyterian, I'll soon nurse,
Then swoon her riverside funeral hearse.

From poor Antietam's hallowed ground,
An old soldier bled in Gettysburg town.
The slightest count of lives I've gored,
Crows over that frightful Civil War.

Where Lake Eirie's watery basin ends,
I took a mason's daughter named Jenn.
The next night, giving thanks for fun,
I dropped with fright, then drank her son.
And by the gorgeous Lackawana,
I fanged a lanky gal, named Joanna.

How I yearn for my damp bed in Most,
Where long lies buried my old Czech ghost,
To my home cellar dark and wet,
I won’t go there, at least not yet.
I long to sleep a thousand years,
How I've wept such poisonous tears!

I have mines to visit, shafts of coal,
Towns to blacken, with my cursed soul.
To roam the rainy Allegheny nights,
And see what plain poetry can fright.
Hungry, thirsty, starved for more,
I can't be saved, except by metaphor.

My words are pale, I've drained them all,
By my wolfen howl, and coyote call.
Alas I forage for inspired verse,
Pages dying from my curse.

My wit is sharp, I have teeth like knives,
I can't stop feeding upon these lives.
The tragedy is, I can't drink enough,
Words like me, and I like words, . . . like love.
Through restless hills, on an endless trek,
I caress my fill, from thighs and neck.

Banded trout run on Northkill Creek,
I caught a freckled young one just this week.
Or Schuylkill's waves burst the Delaware,
My depraved thrill is your worst nightmare.
The swift Susquehanna floods at peak,
I'll shape shift my blood, towards the Chesapeake.

Nighttime comes, my heartbeat soars,
Frightening doom with backstreet roars.
I hope and pray I find a cure from God,
But as night turns day, it ends in sod.
Come rosy dawn, I slink to my berth,
Cozy anon, in stinking earth.

To toss and dream with bowels aching,
Or howl and scream at my future staking.
The way to hunt me is to offer a feast,
Of words that stun me, my hope of peace.
But the touch of soil, my native mud,
Brings to boil, my lust for blood.

I sold my Love to Another

Last night I said goodbye to a lady,
One I most dearly loved
Her dusted face smiled at me
With proportion and grace from above.

Her soft pink skin, furry limbs beamed wide,
Fifty five by thirty three, . . she's a giant also inside.

Her copper cornice and glass clerestory,
And cool basement floor bricks,
That took the edge off a fiery summer,
And held heat when snow felled thick.

With steel beams I lifted high,
A garden wall built by my two hands,
Twelve huge timbers I craned in place,
And laid across her span.

The stones I cut to match her face . .
Her cornice lips I designed,
A figure fitting for a lady's place,
No finer craft could one find.

And when I laid upon her bed . . and looked up at all the stars,
I was lulled to sleep by the breeze instead, and the sounds of distant cars.
It's hard to admit I loved a building, I loved her with all my heart
Her masonry and beams are a piece of me, but now our love has grown apart.

I sold her to another man, he bought her away from me. .
She wasn't even at the closing, to loan some sympathy.
I parted with her keys this morning, now another must bury his heart.
Into her beauty he'll be pouring, his fortune and his art.


-:-

The Whale

Roars of cetacean breath asunder,

. . .  he walks on water, dives under.
Beneath deep pleated folds of skin . . .
. . .  black tie, an elegant gentleman.

Elf on a mushroom, wet in spring,
. . .  wizard of a giant sea.
Master of ceremonies,
. . .  frolicking on land that's his and watery.

Poem to the Eagle Writer

To the Eagle Writer, who calls to me,

To help me sing this song,

Her name letters with mine.

A, C, E, G, H, I, J, K, L, J, M, N, O, P, R, S, T, W

I praise her to the Nine who can still all that is,

Make singing Ohm the heat o' their song.

Take her into their heart,

teach her arts Erato, Calliope, Terpsichore

Since Orphe was torn in two, repair them.

Homer the Greek sang o' them,

the Great Muses who inspire all Creation.

What I once was

She has , what we keep, she will get

all o' it – I’ll hemorrhage pools, pink, orange, now green, still there is no menace

or loss – her grace has come, now it goes

no harm – thinking is gone – she has that, which comes

no waste – I remark, "what a sop, what a ship wreck" . . .  she helps me sing this pathetic song.

She starts, shoots 'till fear is all no more.

A killer Eros, whose sharp arrows pierce the skin.

I'll make peace, or she will take with power the peace she knows she has.

Her white eagle claws tear open the chest.

All the Artists, palm her,

The Poet hearts shake in pits.

She calls the capital, mortgages all creation.

The Creation we owe to her.

Those who steal what is hers,

Egos, 'till she takes them all,

Then emptiness is theirs.

All the poets,

their poems,

in all meters,

thirst to her

all the minstrels

those who minister

thirst to her

all the writers

their writings

their thinking reasons

all gone to her.

(she can rip their pages, cease their reason.)

all the philosophers

their philosophizing philosophies

she spares them not.

all the painters

all their paintings

are taken to m_se_ms.

all the singers, all the operas
all their songs

she can start or stop

energetic or romantic
historic or erotic

All, not one, not one spit less than all,

All is gone to her,

All that is in creation, will go.

Sioux Lilly's Soul

Silly Sioux Lilly's soul solos,

S, I, O, U, X, L, Y:

So Sioux Lilly’s soul is ill,

Sioux Lilly's ill is loss of soil,
Sioux Lilly IO you six,

Sioux Lilly's ill is . . . oil.


Read my other lipograms written about my subjects, using only the letters of their names. A lipogram (from Greek lipagrammatos, "missing letter") is a kind of constrained writing or word game consisting of writing paragraphs or longer works in which a particular letter or group of letters is avoided — usually a common vowel, and frequently "E", the most common letter in the English language.  [From Wikipedia]

Poem for Natasha

Natasha Alexsandrovna Romanova,
Your name's a hex, 'n one, ten, and three,
A, D, E, N, H, L, and M, . . .
. . . O R, S, T, K or X, and V.

'N Eden, an Aden Anthera. . . .

Harmala à la LSD

Som sees small .. .. .
As Anna Akhmatova, Arvo Mets, KR, or Novella Matve'va,

Sem'on Nadson, Varlam Shalamov, or Vsevolood Nekrasov.

Restless, dark and ernest
A tankha of dramas stressed,
Stelae to an ode 'n tone.
Honest verse metered, as Dante’s love . . .
Tetrameter, Heptameter or Monometer verses,
Aesthete arts, a rondelet, or sonnet,
     a sestet 'n movement.

O’ dark emerald, Amaranth!
Hot lava and lavender!
Lemon and Maroon . . .
Rose, a red rose
     Salmon and sea,
Seashells, seals,
     Smelt, tan as a teal.

Andorra . . . . . . Denmark
East El Salvador and Korea
Kosovo, Laos, Lesotho, . . . Oman
Andamans, Samoa, Monserrat, Malta
     Moldova and Kosovo

A Desert Earless Adder,
     or an ornate red rattlesnake
ate a northern mole . . . .
     or a Sonoran tan Sand Vole.

As an Easterner heralds a tree savant,
     of a northern order.
Lakes, north, slender smooth,
A monster headed snake,
     hooked and horned.

Some starts are taken,
Some seeds are tasteless matter.
Almost every hot-larded meat
     Roasted salted, and eaten.

Every love made meets every need,
One or another related reasons seem so
    rolled, slathered, served 'n states to travel.
Other related reasons more on dark loves
Hot toasted loaves love, are loved
Also desert, dark desert,
     even had heard of home. . .

Alas denote another area of armor
A man as attendant to a Dame
Added 'n advent as one deals death . .
     A desert she does eat.

Hardened hams 'n Les Halles
A hare's lost hats, held 'n hotels
A horse, a hardened hand, a modern home holds
Later lavender heated homes have less.
Lemon leeks, O'sters Marennes,
Denotes events evolved,
Markets mashed melons
Honest meat meals matter most.

Mother moves Son
Modest names needed? . . . none.
Noon's normal 'n Northern Normande.
Notes of order, needs no other ovens
Ranks late and rated rather a realm reserved,
     What roasts 'n rots 'n rooms related?

Salmon salad salted, seasoned sesame
Servants overseas served several shallots
She’ll season and sell smaller shorter smaller salted salmon
Streaked 'n streams, streets so so old and taken
A tavern tart travels . .. . tasks 'n tearooms teas tended 'n term . .
Ten theater seats themselves translated,
     Tools and trees taken,
Veal and Tomatoes Varenne . . .
     So these three are translated.

An aardvark, and a deer,
An anteater ran as  an anemone,
A hamster harasses a hare?
     An anole's harem harvests a homeless heron.

A dodo rooster, or a rodent, or an eel,
     or a toad or a shark or a snake,
An ass or a rake evermore.
Or a rodent man,
Salamander, moose, marten,
     a manatee or mare.

A meerkats' name resonates
As an otter or a drake . .
Or a rook, a llama, sloth, or shoat,
No mole, mallard, nor mammoth stoat.
A larval knot hovers near.
So a kestrel hovers here.

On a veranda,
     Mars and Andromeda,
          Have vodka, tankers of vodka.

Soaked and talked shredded naked doom
Arms slammed, loosened, threatened,
Shared, hammered, entered.

Hoard needed, attended
Straddled, enthralled . . .
Horned and tattooed
Smeared and rendered. . .
     Matter ended.

Asked, reveals dreams
Doomed, seasons earned
     A thread asked, and thanked . . .

Honored and hated. . . released . . and sensed,
Dressed, stressed, tossed, dated, elevated!
Talented, devoted, hearted, translated
     Starred, honored resolved, evolved. . .

Eat heated meat, a treat . .

The oldest omelette's a sonnet.

A monk’s hood, masks tastes, and deals death,

So a shark remarks on mammal morals,

     Makes a models metal heels.

A Naked toothed Moonseed!

As an athlete notes and leave themselves to love,

Move, seek, talk, and thanked
All are loved,
So an emerald herald moved
An old soil held, deserved and sold
A hand 'n the land,
 'N Shetland sands reserved.

End the stand
Told monks to tend, overheard
Hard, antennae, stelae 'n Denmark
A Tennessee devotee tells a male tale . . .
  
'N Semele’s ankle, a needle.
A mole solos 'n a hole.

He has no sole role,
as a kettle settles me.
Shame the same name tamed,
Then home a handsome threesome
     A meddlesome tome!

Someone alone, one serene theme,
A tone, a stone, her stone . . .
A horseless shoe dared to stare
     A rare share, adheres there.

Please don't hate the state.
A hare reveres, reverses
Theater eases, releases more sense and nonsense. . .
Else those loose nooses traverse.

Too late, my roommate . . . my tea-mate.
Demonstrate, Dante removed,
Tolerate and moderate,
     a remote note voted, tasted,

Leave a slave, a valve to solve or resolve.
Dove, love or removed a nerve,
     Reserve Allah for Sarah.

Noah's tankhan ashes mashed 'n hash
A rash of harsh hash trashes death. . .
The math o’ heath and marshes teem.
Health 'n a month . . .
     A smooth tooth taken,
     A steak soaked 'n northern oak
     A redshank, stalked, hooked, shook, drank.
     A look
     At a dark Horned Lark
     Remakes Denmark.

A healed stork may ask to mask?
A nodal deal, or ordeal taken to task?
A meal of veal, or a normal oral molar.
     An astral mortal ornamental?

Adam's sad madam. . .
Amsterdam dreams,
A stream of teams 'n Harlem
Seems then to stem the realm
     Of random elms.

Mom envenoms a room, a maelstrom
T's a Roman Ottoman meaner than Shree Lankan Man?
Or her man Herman, a Sonoran man 'n Manhattan
Herren taken, seventeen, a moorhen then.
     She's seen to harden.
Then eaten . . . A raven hastens to eat,
Eleven, seven, ten, a stamen or an almond,
     A statement on all men.

A neon London demon. . .
Red-throated Loon looks  . . . .
The moon a lesson learned,
A Roseate Tern a modern skeleton too soon . .

Hat on. . . no ammo. . . no tattoo . .
Toronto, Amaretto doesn’t hear.

Tear, rear, near here dear . . . my ear . . . my altar, my avatar
Does Mother smother another seeker?
Mark, her healer hammers home,
Nearer, looser, theater later,
Steer or veers deters no meter,
A Seer or Vate,
To thrash her leather other.

A thermometer 'n a salter, . .
     Moreover . . . a letter,
A toddler sheltered shorter monsters,
The letter masks the lover, a hero hovers over Thor,
A tremor of amour . . .
     more a meteor.

And so a manor honors a smashed door. . . .
Overseas Dallas has aromas
A Kansas morass . . .
     lead headed dreads . . . .
A Salads of seeds. . .
     Holds hands 'n the Netherlands
     Demands toes to stand end to end.

Elevate her mentor, her Master!
Her errors, as Vedas!
Overseas she has Dallas teammate dramas
Aromas, ananas, a morass, 'n Kansas
The Rasta dreads Eve’s salad heads
As a red seed,
Holds land,
   A knoll 'n the Netherlands.

An eternal lethal Rosenthal,
Several oval models stalk, and talk
Steal lemons, tease travels,
Shovel all marshals.
Enthrall hell! Overall she’ll retell the marvel
     A doll for a stroll . . .

A stansa sends almonds,
. . . methods, odes, or modes
He knees, seeds trees, ashes, . . . lakes
Sells needles, ankles, . . . holes,
Names roles, themes, . . . .
      Holmes or Hermes.
Tones translate overtones,
Restores, there’s more . .
     'N lanes, releases and erases senses,
     Menses, loosen nooses, traverse verses.
Horse's dreaded mess, tossed, stressed shoes, smalt and stones.
     A roommates' sane estate.

Photo, Irina K

Poem for Niki Notarile

I ink a letter to Niki an' Chris Notarile,
a sentence to share an altar . . .
Notice Niki an' Chris enthrall in action,
a tattoo tantra, letters in attraction.

A, C, E, H, I, K, L, N, O, R, S, an' T.

An actress Asian martial artist entices, slices entrails.
An ancient lion roars, he trains her, a killer cat alert.
Stalk the stairs, knock, kicks, attack, a cat statistic.
She's Latin Kali.

Chris tells stories, to sell.
In the streets, a technician, stitches stones and talent tactics
Train station shots, silken sets.

Take One . . . "Settle . . . "
Skills she shines
. . . scares the shit
An innocent intent.
. . . scissors scratch.

Her heart aches.
Take Three . . . their Secrets:
Italian Chris: Nearer to thee oh alcohol . . .
Niki: A carton of nicotine, hashish secrets, a heroine's heel . . .

Take Nine . . . she Shines.
Oh Cat! Hear her health

Her Healer, these essential estates.
Her skin, skirt, her skills,
Stretch his stories his streets, his stresses, his takes
her tactics, stick, his searches,
. . . a rocket rises. . . a role takes roots.

Poem to Jenna Jones

Sing 'Hello',  Jenna Leigh Jones, sing 'Hello'.
Shining Jenna goes in shoes,
sailing along in a sea o' shells,
A G E S L H I J N, an' O.

She's an ageless Angel,
Singing solo songs alone.
Long legs Jenna, giggling gal Jenna,
Jenna in glasses, Jenna in jeans.

A goose hanging in a hall,
in seasonings, onion, sage,
lasagna, snails in oil . . .
Eggnog longing . . .
Solo songs singing soon.

Hash so healing . . .
Nasal noises . . . . his engine's aging, no gas, no oil,
He's goes, going, gone, ashes, . . .
Nails in . . .
an alien nagging loss.

So Jenna joins a lion's season,
Signals illegal single senses.
She angles eels . . . as an eagle
English lines engaging egos . .
Selling sea shells . . . . signing,
Long lenses see linen logos.

She sins, shines, goes logging in lanes,
Gaian liaisons, session o' joining so sane . . .
She lies alone, single loins longing . . .

Ganesha's gaining, Anais Nin is also aging . . .

Poem for J_____ H_____

J____ L___ H____ sings one song,
Nine songs, as one song.
A E G H I J L N O S an' U.

She sees signs in shells,
In jealous soil.
So sing a song angel!
Laugh in June.
An eagle's angel laughs so soon.

Sing along angel
Nine Songs . . . laugh, sing
Sell sea shells . . .
Is English usage enough? . . . no nouns!

So sing along angel, laugh along . . .
one long jealous noise.

Hinge a nail in his house,
Has a sign for sale, a louse
He'll see an angel's hell, a lesson.
So sing along angel,
Laugh in June.
An eagle has loans enough
One sees and sings of sin so soon.

A jealous ass I guess I is

I oil, join her loins, her ass, her legs, her jugs,
A non-legal union I sense, I guess.
She's unleashing, loosening languages
illusion's nonsense, signals shining
unusual sessions snuggling sealing
inhaling sensuous, hashish healing.
sensual liaisons, nagging, sinning
ongoing gleaning, hugging,

glasses signal jungle senses
shoes shell noises sense oasis
ganesha gleans enough insane genius
sushi unions singing solos
souls using alien angel's logos

Jealous sin has no goal
Jealous sin has no soul.

For Arjun Potter

Hear an ode on paper to Arjun Brandreth Potter,
Be Dante here to tone a rap.
Or Auden to pen a Bornean pantun
. . . or Borat, to rune a rondeau,
A troubadour pater penned an epode tune,
To a Buddha hunter, Arjun,
A, J, B, D, E, H, N, P, R, T, U and O.

Hebe! A babe Arjun’ born . . .
Hearbeat dependent, opened e’d . . .
Arjun, true Buddha natured!
A deep oath reported heard ‘round the hood,
Arjun earth born to truth endured.

Read Phaedra, Daphne Dana, Rhoeo,
Andromeda, Argo’, Orphe, and Pandor’
Read Arab’an N’te’
Read “On the Road”
Read Pope, Donne and Thoreau
Read Bharat’ Rabinandrath’, Butea red and pure
. . . and European Arthur.

Arjun, eat trout or tuna
. . . . . Nuphar on a pond
Hunt a toothed boar, and bear.
Run a horned deer on a heath o’ ca’una
. . . . . prepare heather tea
. . . . . and trap hare
. . . . . haunt a tent taut and bare.

Tap a tree root . . .
Hear thunder roar.
Ponder tender Horehound, or Anredera tuber beer
Juju aurora’ appear.
Pot, Henbane, Anadenanthera, or Arundo root . . . a toad button ‘o Rue.

A Hoopoe, or a Papuan parrot,
A Thorn tree Oenanthe,
a Phoebe, Roadrunner,
A Northern Tern,
A Heron, Brandt or not, Audobon reported.

Eat a pea, a pear a pepper, unpodded
Date, oat and banana, peanut butter,
Eat bread and butter heated.
Potato, beet, and rhubarb battered,
Ant, prepared and treated.

Ephedra (heart rate),
Jubaea,
Jojoba (to poop)
Rue (an herb)
Anredera tuber and Dodonaea, Barbarea and Burnet (to eat)
Heather or Burnet (bleeding).

Or tap another order,
Pet Nepeta,
Burn Jatropha,
Thorn Duranta, Brahea, Butterburr,
Threatened Jubaea, heated, treated, prepared, and poured.

A parent portent:
Don’t hunt Bothrop alternatu, the red round tan tattooed urutu,
Or the hooped and headed Japan habu,
A banded death adder, returned to a horned tree boa,
Ate a rat around a rubber tree.

Thuja tree Arjun,
Brahea, Toona,
Baobab, Todea Barbara, Phylocladus
Trapa natan, Jade, and Pear.

Arjun! Dare an Andrea, Anna, or a Barbara perhap’?
Beth Dana, Rohdea to Deborah, Arjun phoned
Then Hope, Janet, Joanna, Arjun dated
Adenophora to tart Nora,
Rehderodendron for Randa and Nanette,
Both are tortured.

An auburn-headed babe deep and hot
Or a redheaded partner, tanned, draped neat and true
Tantra’ ruder, and taboo.
A tatoooed ten’ rather rare
Bad Dad Burton dare to be rude
Bathe Arjun!
Rub a dub tub dude, to bed a brunette nude.

A European hab’tat Arjun?
Or a Honduran deep harbor port?
Perth enroute to Aberdeen or Toronto?
Board a Papuan boat to Peru
Japan, Andora and, Nauru
Jeep tour terra Tu, or northern Aruba
Departure ‘or Pak’tan ‘n Urdu
Bonapart Ath Dour abandoned.

Tune a rune to a tone Arjun
Nuts, roots, buds, pods,
An art erupts at heart
A potent jaunt
A baba parent taunt
Don’t be truant Arjun!
Or be a herder at the border
Don’t trade jade.
Be proud
Hone a tanned hand . . .
Antennae heard around
Don’t pretend about, or tend to bend
But attend and bond
Breathe . . . .
Be hearted . . .

Arjun, Bhutan robed, and pated?
Arjun, an Arab ‘n an urban turban?
Or a threaded, bearded abbot to an upper order?
Bhutoh, Noh, or Dada theatre dared.
Not a barbed hunter or a predator,
A Bhatt Potter pure and true.
Nor a porter . . .
A prophet honored . . . .
Arjun! A broader reader opened
Arjun! A tender poet reported
Arjun! An author honored.
Hedera to Arjun! A proud parade u earned.

Poem for Kristina Louise

To Kristina Louise Tr____y

Minneapolis, Minnesota

I'll make a poem to you on my laptop . . .

out 'o all letters in your name . .

.A, E, I, K, L, M, N, O, P, R, S, T, U, Y.

So your name spells mine . . .

I really am a potter, a painter, my name is Mark

I'll not tell Aesop's tale to amuse you,

 . . or animals, asses on an ark. . .

Nor pirates or players or Pan's pipes,

Or a serpent . . or an apple,

Or Mars, Saturn, Moon, astral suns, 'ere starlit planets soar,

    or a union o' opposites,

I'll simply say it - I look’t at your port.

Your sensuous eyes. . . your nose, your ears, your ankles, . .

. . . your knees,

In all, I see a million symmetries.

I kno' you not at all

Nor you me,

So you are my inspiration as a Muse to poetry.

An' see you on lonely spots o' yore,

A passport to your European roots

I'll take you to Paris's opera, Italy, Spain, Europe's pretty estates.

To Israel. . . 'ere Semites rule,

To Pakistan's Oriental ruins,

'Ere in Eastern Turkey amnesia appears.

As rosy poppies milk makes opium.

Or an Alaskan mansion, a moose's antlers rear,

. . . or Maine's mute mists, mountains near a sea.

‘Ere salmon leap, . . . an autumn set, some pumpkin pie 'n tea.

You’ll pray at an alpine altar - mysteries to keep Eros near,

I'll play a piano sonata in a minor key

Or a Roman ruin . . nuns, priests,

Saint Peter's in Italy.

Or to a limestone manor paint' pink,

at nine I rise to spill my poet's ink . . 

An eruption o' eats, . .. a Latin menu.

Salami . . . pesto, . . panini, . . tiramisu,

Parmesan, pepperoni. . . tortellini. . .

‘Tis a trip you an' I are on . . .

. . . amaretto, an' spumoni.

Matisse? Manet? Monet? Pissarro?

An artists installation, limestone, plaster, papers paints . . .

I'll pepper you in insane kisses . . . as Parisian royalty,

. . . or plain rosemary an' snails . . eels. . . oysters on a plate

omelets, pastries.

'Tis not an international liaison,

Or a multinational ploy, I make my plays on,

'Tis to you my emotion takes . .

So my art to initiate.

Mortal Muse, your portraits portray simple positions, 

Poses speak to ritual sins.

I'll take a primal risk

‘N apply to your lips a kiss

You say stop! You're rite!

No no! 'tis not polite

To lose you - insanity

Else I'll stay to poetry.

Eternal purity

Emotions enormity!

Your skinny sister sits, an' sleeps,

Your aunt seems a million miles alone

No more kin in your name. . .

So alone. . . alas you're so alone.

So to NY you must my paramour

Sit in lotus postures, utter mantras . . .

Sail to me to learn my tantras.

Your eyes erase, eliminate emotion . . .

Yet passions simmer porous potions . . .

Eros is a potent poison,

'Ere your eyes seem to moisten . .

A onetime union promises, I take your panties . . .

. . . in pleasure, I see your eyes, your pupils pool,

. . . your uterus, menses, your pussy moan . . .

As I speak poetry to your loins,

. . . to you my primal pollen runs.

-:-

Poem for Ileen

I scan Ileen Scala's nice fine lines
Ileen's a nine, a sac a sins . . .
I sense an assassin in Ileen.
L, A, C, E . . S, I, N, S

Ileen Scala's clan is nice.
Ileen's C, L, A, N is N, I, C, E.

Cease Ileen!
I see Ileen in lace.
Insane!
In science class, I see Ileen's nice lean ass.
In a casa in Sienna, in Alsace, in LA
Sail a sea, Ileen.

I see Ileen in Cannes . . .
Cine and cannellini Ileen?
I see Ileen in CIA all lies . . . L, I, E, S
. . . Sail a sea Ileen!

Acacia, Acaena, Lilac and Linnaea
Alcea, Neillia, Laelias, an Cassinia
Ananas Encelia, an Ananasas
Cassia an Callisia is Salicaceae.

I see Ileen in Silene
In Calisia I see Ileen
Ileen nice as ice in Acca,
In Scilla, Seneca is Laelia clean in lace
. . . Sail a Nile Ileen!

Classic lines Ileen, nice lean lines
Ileen in Alsacian linen . . .
A classic lens . . . an Asian scene
Cillia’ cells' license acacian essences. Insane!

An Isle calls, a canal seal,
An ale Ilene? In Alsace?
Alien snails 'n eels, 'n ice,
. . . Sail an Asian sea.

A clinical call cancels all.
Call Ileen, else I'll 'e insane.

As Lilac incense ceases nasal illnesses . . .
. . . Salicin essences lessen clinical ills.
Ileen sacroiliac science is ace.
. . . Ileen's essence is lace!

In Ileen I sense incense,
Alas in Ileen licenses lie:
Neil's an ass, Allan a classic case.
Leslie, Anna, Anais, Celia all allies . . .
Lecia, Alice, aliens.
Alice, insane. . .
Lance? . . . asinine.

An ally I am Ileen,
An ally I am.

Ileen, Ileen, nice 'n lean.
Clean lines - I sense sins . . .
Ileen's lines Il access an' scale,
Else I is insane.

Poem for Tamara Ann

To Tamara Ann Carsonova,
a canto ‘n C,
O, M, A, N, R, S, T, an’ V,

Tamara Ann's o' so smart.
No rants or consonants can con Anna.
A tart, as constant manna, on a savanna,
A Samoan manor Anna?
A tattoo 'n Montana?
Mantras ‘n Monaco?
Tantras ‘o Tamara, 'n Toronto.

Tamara Ann can scare a man,
so Tamara‘s Sonoran tan.
At contrast, a cat's so vast 'n cost,
. . . . so . . . 
a contract attracts a mass o' rats,

A tart’s avatar attracts atoms.
No ammo, nor tarot cart,
or 'n tattoo art, on an ant!
Tamara arms a man, ‘n cannons!

Mom's 'n a room, a corn aroma,
's mom torn in a coma?
A can o’ tomato's, carrots ‘n toast
Mom at ‘om’, ‘ov’s Tamara most.

A contact sacrosanct,

Soon a son at noon.

M’ nom ‘s Marc

‘M not a common man,
Not a caracara, nor a cormorant,
nor a coot, nor an arc.
Nor a Tom ‘n a van.
Nor a Roman, on an ottoman,
nor a Cartoon man on a carton,
. . . ‘n a cotton cocoon.
Nor an marooned man on a mast,
on Oman’s coast,
Nor a tan Moroccan.

'M a savant,

A Montanan man at noon.

M' nam's Marc, 'm a Carsonova too!

Tamara's art so starts to soar,
A man, as 'n amor,

A mantra, as tantra art!
Roars a toast to Tamara's star,
A toon, a staccato canon!
A moon-star toon, on a Mac?
Tamara cantos sonatas at a moon.

Tamara starts a’ sort o’ act.
An Marc tosses Tamara across a canvas coat!
So Marc storms Tamara's moat.

Tamara Ann Carsonova
An avatar ‘n A, C, M, N, O, R, S, T, an’ V.
Tamara can attract a man,
As art cannot.

Poem for Jordanna

Jordanna Adr_____ Ols______
     an Arkansan . . .
I’ll draw you an ode in ink
     in J, O R, D, A, N, E, , N, O, L, S, Z, W, K, and I

Nine one won no dollars, no loans
Sell a dozen Nikon lenses a week . . .
     laziness dizziness slowness 

     sadness disorders
     diseases and ills, 

Insane DNA
     needles worsen
     iodine and iron.

 I read, liked, learned.
 walked, worked, needed
 I knew a deed was done
 'ere I knew I drew his seed.

 Is Land’s End near Adrian’s wall?
 Or Arizona a sea eroded?
 Do Illinois dine on Alaskan krill?
 Is Kansas an island, or Ireland sand?
 Indiana an area of Delaware?
 Or Iowa end in sand somew'ere?

A sane Arkansan ate Jordanna's

     sorrowed swill,

     and drank a London landlord ill.
A swan, a zed, a rascal drake,

     a kennel sired zero, 

     a drone, a dodo or an ass.
A doe I was, a swan I liked.

An Alan, Andre or a Joe.
An endless error . . . "Will I learn?

"I was a looker, a lass
 Was I an ewe 'o a jaded rake?
 A nannie ‘o a kid in jeans."

Are a lion’s nasal noises leonine?
Or a snails slow sliding limacine?
So an ass ears’ are asinine.
A dead dodo’s is didine. I know
     Less is known so I’ll allow.

Ana Elsner dined . . .
Dianne Wakoski died
Add weird lair.
Nine o us ran
Rained all year
All seasons.

“Aird an ald is a downie,
Ire I know Norse", I said.
“Well .. . . Well’s wood!”

Annie Liddy added anoles
Laura ad 'er sea adder,
as a sea-snake side wine'd inside 'er,
Skinks of snake, so lied a snake
So a son ran beside ‘er.

A soldier wanders warlike, an Iliad,
one sailor’s odd I see.
One Nazi’s address added, dialed,
a lion’s nasal noises so leonine,
or a snail slow sliding, so limacine.
As an ass's ears are asinine,
A drake’s jaw so is anserine
A dead dodo’s ass, didine.
Is a Kansan-Alaskan an Indian?

I ordered wine and dinner,
Son drank kola.
Rare salads 'n sardines
Snails in oil, dried leeks
Aniseed added, dijon raw in jars
Rare sea sole, eels in seaweed rinsed raw
Wine we drew and drank,
. . . seasonal salads, daikon, wild dandelion
. . . sorrel, seaweed, soko and onion
. . . nori, kale, kiwis, . . .
. . . okra, and seasonings.

Noon in Sweden,
a Weiner Seal solos.
In Ireland a Killdeer walks alone
Larks of Israel and Jordan near
A wake of Sri Lankan rooks in Indian air.

Lizards lie in New Zealand seas
Sierras, A'las, or Andes,
Iranian Swallows near an eerie
Aras, Neka or Dalkaki.

In Swaziland some lions reign
. . . Near Komali’s sea low . . .
‘Ere Nkanni road rises, Manzini
. . . Maloma and Nsoko.

As Korean Wrens solo
one Kim, Lee, or Park
On Asian soil, an Ark.
Like Iris, Andrea or Eleanor.

A red rose in Jade
A Rowan in an old oak wood
A Linden or a Willow o’ so wild.
Alder we’ll allow.

A seeker senses kinder arrows
"You’re kinda loaded,"
Dawn. I reawaken Jordanna's rose
Inside undresses noises soiree ankle’s narrows,
nose and ears,
Ladies’ drawers drawn lower, downward your knees your endless loins,
darkness drizzles on, Jordana’s dew oasis,
raw answers kindle kindnesses.

Zones oiled, join loins I ask
Darkness dared laid rear
Ironwood indeed inside
Resin rises, skills so slow
I releases ink.

In dark Sierra Leone do orioles sew solo?
Do snakes in India sink inky skinks?
Asian owls swallow swallows, in Laos?

In Silesia linen and silk soirees, in ladies’ woolen dresses
Dawn - we liaison in old Warsaw
An Oddessian sea we sail, on wine dark awkwardnesses.
Drink ozo in Eros’s 'Ellas . . . near Adrianna’s wine dark sea

O wild Jordana Olszewski,
     Is an oz. ‘o weed allowed, or LSD?
Awaken Kali’s dark desires in India’s old Del'i?

Dear Diaries. . . I dialed,
Dressed in jewels and Alizarine
. . . . drank a rare red wine . . . .
added desire
. . . laid in Silesian linen.
Silken dawn weekend liaisons
Raised sessions in old windows
A seeker senses kinder arrows
Kindles, answers kindnesses.

Kinda loaded, I reawaken loins a’ dawn
Kiln zones oiled, join loins I ask?
inside undresses noises soiree ankle’s narrows, nose and ears,
ladies’ drawers undies drawn lower, swells,
downward knees endless loins I dare
Eros’s zones I see, a nodal zone so rare
Sin is near, skin is raw
     Will I reawaken Jordana's warrior?

Darkness drizzles on oasis dews.
Diomedes' sword,
a nodal zone slewed.
A darkness dared laid rear,
Indeed inward, deer inside,
A rider ridden, risks, riddled, a reward,
Iliad's Akilles win Jordanna's war,
     or will lose, adored.

Resin rises, skills so slow, in Jordana’s old jardin,
Nearer I know, nearer a doe in Jade,
     Arrow Wood, Oleander, Ironwood,
     Red osier, Redwood, Willow,
     Alder we’ll allow.
Oak, Zinnia and Wild Rose,
     a Rowan in an old Oak wood.
A Linden near a Willow o' so wild.
     Willow Redweed, Silkweed, 

     Roadweed, Sneezeweed . . .

I releases ink.
Soil soaked, oozes, as in sand.


more lipogrammatic poems . . . 

The Master

A Moral Tale
 

I went to North Pond's conifer groves,

Where sacred Hemlocks cling to rock.

Over the years the needles have fallen,

And built up a century thick old growth stock.

Beneath the jeweled green crests

Of the hemlocks that rose up so high

Grew fruits of a mycelium below them

Two blooms of the most pale white.

As I neared to make closer inspection

A hue in the forest rose up high

A flock of jays swarmed my direction

As I looked down at the pale fungi.

I remembered a story of some pilgrims

Walking in Europe long without food.

They came to a grove without acorns,

Above the snow some mushrooms had showed.

-:-

They inquire who owns this Wood,
And ask their Sire, Are these mushrooms Good?

"Who is the master of this Forest?

Perhaps he knows if we can eat these?

We're starving, surely he won't ignore us!

If we don't find him, do you think we should flee?" 

-:-

A solitary man of noble Age
Is a Holy man, on a Pilgrimage.

An old Priest stood amongst them

Of the twenty he usually spoke least

But on this occasion his voice was held steady

His cold reason cast a spell on the trees . . .

"God is our Master, He looks after his own,

He leads us to pastures, and to mushrooms He's sown.

Our captain of this wood is All Knowing,

Praise Him!, Let us shout it out loud!

He gives food to all things that are growing.

Even these fungi have a season to be proud!

"We've shown him our Faith, He won't starve us like Wraiths,

The Grace of God is fair.

He’ll not plan for our deaths, or play games with our breaths.

His Wrath is not displayed here!"

-:-

A country Cook with an unfed Clan
Without his book, without his Pan

The crows and the jays were calling,

They sang a language the pilgrims couldn't make out.

"For an old forest this is a noisy one,

With so many cawing blackbirds about."

"This is Caesar's Amanita", spoke the cook,

"It's most nutritious and tasty, just look!

"It's the same variety as we find in old Italy!

I'll show you a picture from my book!"

"I've eaten funghi my whole life,
Wild ones, and ones grown by my wife,

I've gathered with care here - this is fabulous fare here!

You'll want your share too when we're done!"

-:-

A youthful Prodigy speaks Aloud
Against the Cook, Against the Crowd

"Let's not!" said the lad, "I once heard from my Dad,

What grows alone must live in peace.

Whether one or two, or a meal for a few,

These loners are not meant for a feast!

"The fungus tend the roots of the oak

That provide a season of benefit for all.

Leave alone the one that mends them,

And enjoy nutrition from the acorns that fall.

"The truffles that swell just after a storm,

Have a powerful allure for pigs.

They loot and dig for oak acorns,
And root puffballs with their snouts as they dig.

"The fungi below are the creators,

Of the dozen or so fruiting caps.

In an area as large an an acre,

They're poisonous, I assure you of that!"



-:-

The Leader rejoins, 'Tis his Job
To listen to All, not conjoin to a Mob

Said the leader to the youth, "You're a well spoken one,

It would be uncouth to listen to thee!

If we all act as one, we'll not be undone,

Let's face facts as a committee, and agree."

-:-

A Lonely Soul of increasing Age
With an empty Bowl, sans Meat or Sage

An old hermit sat hunched, amongst the small clan.

For him it was an effort to stand.

So hungry was he, that he fell to his knees,

And prayed, "God please save our wretched band!"

"I'm just a poor hermit, so I won't give a sermon,

Nor do I know this mushroom . . .

But over the years I've become aware of my fears,

And so have become acquainted with some.

With respects to our leader, this Amanita's not Caesar's,

It's too pale and white to be one."

-:-

Once More the Leader Chairs
Seeking the Median, In order to be Fair

"Let's ask the good Doctor," said the Leader as Proctor,

"He is learned in all things that nourish,

If we don't eat at all, we will starve and then fall,

But if we all eat all at once, we might perish."

-:-

An Educated man of Medicine speaks,
But knows not Enough, of Things that we Eat

The Doctor spoke sadly, "These are matters I know badly

Not subjects I know well by rote.

As a Man of Science, I'm not prone to defiance,

Unless I've read it, I'm reluctant to quote.

"Let's not be sods, let's limit these odds

So our misery won't morph into Fate.

I advise caution, let's limit our portions!

It'd be best if some of us wait."

-:-

A student Alchemist of French extract
Relates Poison to Color, whether Fiction or Fact

The Scholar spoke up, "I would like to take sup

This decision is fateful for all . . .

Whatever's decided, and howsoever we tried it,

We never gave up on God's call.

"I study mythology, but alas not mycol-ogy,

. . . in the cloisters of distant Paris,

Though it is high form, it remains a far-cry from,

. . . the mastery of plant bot-any.

The physics of hues, might give us some clues

Like a bump on the head in phil-ology!

"Salamanders and snakes, or roots like mandrake

Are emblazoned with yellow and red.

What's poison to a man, is painted like a fan,

Eating bright, can end you up dead.

'But when shrouded in white, how close to a bite,
Must I be to know what poison's inside?
The complexity of life, is more tinted by strife,
Than the hues that are pasted broadside."

-:-

A Man of the Hour harnesses Water and Stones
Whether grinding Flour, or grinding up Bones

Said the Miller to the group, "I've used these in soup!

By my life you have nothing to fear.
The ones down home, have nearly the same comb!

As the ones we swill into our beer.

"This mushroom is white, it's pure delight!

It's the color of my best pounded flour!

I say eat our fill, like the wheat ground from my mill,

Bright as sun at the noonday hour."

"Night comes on soon, perhaps this mushroom

Will glow like the flesh of the dead.

If it reeks of a corpse, then I think not to absorb,

The flesh of this unknown bread.

"But if it glints by the moon, in the belly of a spoon

Hints we have nothing to dread or to fear.

Like a yeast bowl that's rising, though not least surprising,

'Tis a sign that we'll be well-fed this New Year!"

-:-

A faithful Dame, a Faithful Wife
To a Burgher of Fame, in a Prior Life

The good Wife spoke next, with a voice so perplexed,

"I'm so weak that I hardly can see!

For two weeks we've been cursed, the damnable worst,

That's plagued every last pilgrim like me.

"I'm faint from terrible hunger,

       I don't know if I'm tired or cold.

I know we can't live on much longer, 
       It's time that one of us got bold.

"I'm not afraid of dying, 
        I'm not even afraid of Death.

Yet it would defeat me to die not trying, 
Even if eating took my very last breath."

-:-
 
A Soldat returned from the Saracen Wars
Gives council to spurn, the growth on Forest Floors

Midst their league reposed a Norman soldier
Returned from the First Crusade
He'd walked through lands that were colder
Than the ones faced by the pilgrims that day.

He'd spent a good part of his life fighting
With his truncheon, his bow, and blade.
Through cunning he rose to be knighted
Touched by Godfrey, the Duke of Lorraine.

"It's the dark time of year it is true, I'm sorry I've not found us some food,
If I were home, I'd go where the deer roam, but alas I know nothing of this wood.

"In my march to Land of Jesus, we avoided the route by sea,
We left that to the Count of Toulouse, and went by way of old Hungary.

"I know God watches over our tour.
I knew my Lord lead me then,
I've faced Death at every turn,
Since Godfrey took Jerusalem.

"The true knight is one who is fearless,
Secured by God's love on every side,
His soul is protected by the armor of faith,
Stronger than the armor of steel outside.

"We encountered many legumes and colors,
Here and there I learned them by name.
But each had a different tongue from the other,
So the task was an impossible game.

"There's a red Amanita, a toadstool, spotted all over with white
One eve before bed in Edessa, I allowed myself a small bite.
Some soldiers I knew had advised it . . . they said it gave strength for the fight, 

Now I hear the advice of my Alchemist Brother
Since it played havoc with my mind and my sight!
Henceforth I avoid bright colors,
But I know nothing of this pale white Knight.

"Our chandler gave us a piece of advice,
We lived by it night and day.
We ate only local produce
That the resident folk said was okay. 

"I see no locals 'round here . . 
In this most depopulated Wood.
I'm not sure we should partake here
Of mushrooms that rear a white Hood."

-:-

The Decision is Made
Some of them Eat, and some of them Wait

The Leader summarized, the opinions they devised

This is the last advice that he ever gave  . . .

"Eat if you are sure, and let all doubters abjure!

If you stay well, then the rest need not wait."

Aware as they were of the dangers,

They split into two groups of ten.

One group foraged on the toadstools

While the others sat down to watch them.

The voice of warning was ignored,

After six hours all ten pilgrims felt fine.

The youth that cried wolf then felt hungry,

So he sat down and decided to dine.

The night that passed went quickly,
The ones who ate slept best.
Those who didn't eat felt sickly
The ten pilgrims who had decided to fast.

-:-

The Breakfast, Giving thanks to God
Avoiding his Wrath, with a vision that's Flawed

The breakfast that morn was joyous.
All twenty foraged wide and abroad.
Gathering the fruited loners, 
That sprung singly from small lumps of sod.

The health of all turned much better, 
Their voices became happy and strong
They broke into peals of laughter,
The Priest led them all in a Song.

They no longer felt the curse of all Sinners,
Their Hell turned back towards Heav'en.
The Soldier shot a deer for their dinners,
And thus avoided their Armageddon.

Soon all were thankfully praying, 
Provisioned by this beautiful bread,

But after three days all twenty lay dying

Another day and all twenty lay dead.

Copyright 2010, Mark W. Potter, Jr., Florian Reissinger

An Epilogue to this piece, "The Princess"

A Germenglish version of this poem.