New Poem: Through The Looking Glass

Through the Looking Glass

Here, inside

Is the scent of death.

My mother said

The roses had died,

The roses have given their final breath,

The roses have bled

And turned white.

I thought I heard

A sound there

That hushed my cries.

Was it the coo of a bird?

Or your silly laugh? Your foot on the stair?

Or the heavy sighs

That you might

Hear from a weary old house

Settling in its tired foundation?

Yet in the mirror I swear,

In your minnie mouse

Pajamas, with boundless elation

I saw you were there

To kiss me goodnight.


This poem is property of Lissa Fulton and may not be used without written permission from the author

New Poem: Tulip

Tulip

The tulip glistens

With morning dew

Its soft petals are flush

With rosy hue

It bends its neck

It feels your soft caress

It hears the secret wishes

You confess.

It does not know

What those fingers need

Or if your eyes

Are filled with greed

Or if your mother’s wisdom

Will bear fruit

Or if you’ll pull its stem

And tear its roots.

In you it plants

Hope of sunny days

Of cleansing, fortifying

Water sprays.

Will you give it a life,

A promise, a pledge?

Or have its juices

Stain your scissor edge.

The tulip glistens

With morning dew

It doesn’t know

What you will do


This poem is property of Lissa Fulton and may not be used without written permission from the author

New Poem: Ballad of Bilquis

This post is slightly NSFW, even though I wrote it while at work *coughs awkwardly*

Ballad of Bilquis

In a nicotine stained bar room

On the corner next to the shop

With one-room flats rented up top

He waits, overstuffed, in the gloom;

That ragged wolf with eyes that shine,

That through urban prairies will creep

In search of some innocent sheep

To lure his way, to mark her fine

White wool with his sharp yellow teeth

And watch the light dim from her eye

And hear her desperate dying cry,

That wolf is now waiting for me.

And I meet his gaze with blushes

And I bare him my supple chest

He can imagine well the rest;

A Syrinx among the rushes.

And I give him a cherry smile

For the rank words slathered on me

And I will pout and I will tease

For every voracious and vile

Touch from his groping, greedy hands.

On the stairs we hurry up

I promise he may drink my cup

And rape and pillage all my lands

I promise to suck and to kiss

If he would please lie on this bed

And wrap my arms around his head.

He arches back in total bliss

Unaware of my eager blade

Till it buries beneath his skin.

Joyfully the blood may begin

To run, and his sick glimmer fade

But not before he sees his doom,

The face of all those he defiled

Bright with vengeance, flush and wild

The once consumed that now consumes.


This poem is property of Lissa Fulton and may not be used without written permission from the author

New Poem: "Underage Drinking"

A new poem for class (first draft, just like the last one)

Underage Drinking

At twelve I had my first taste

A bottle of Jack in leather

With hair like honey bourbon

It bit and stung but still I drank it up

I was hot blood, head dizzy,

An alcoholic animal

Fighting blindly

For a taste of forbidden fruit on the tongue.

At fifteen I thought was ready

To hold spiced rum

Warm in my heart

To sing songs to Bacchus and Smirnoff

With lips like liqueur

Spilling over my glass

I gorged on the taste

Of bitters dulled in rich fruit flavors

At four I tripped in the morning mist

Alone, groping for home

Mouth open to find

The last dregs in my cup all drunk up

A churning, fermented ocean

Rising in my belly

The sweet turning sour

And drunken memories wretched up on the floor



This poem is property of Lissa Fulton and may not be used without written permission from the author

She

I am taking a poetry class this semester. Here is my first poem (for the class), before any edits.

She

She descends

Like a bird of prey

I know her

Unknowable name

She comes now

To fill me with clay

She tells me

Not to speak again

She comes now

To fill up my breast

I know her

Unknowable name

She flies now

Off to her cold nest

She watches

Till we meet again

This poem is property of Lissa Fulton and may not be used without written permission from the author