A strychnine pose on a symposium post
becomes a one-armed hug for a Nabatian scribe.
This Boston stranger lost his 'L' in some hippie tent of
a New Mexican wasteland beside a blistered lizard.
He stirred a weaker decency with previous
obliterators of human consumption –
able to rectify by wire,
solemnity without pajamas –
disparity without trend.
Now look around this hollow, sandy manor –
as charming as a wet toad in a 9-inch hanger
strapped to his alligator waistband,
and he wets himself with a batch packet
that says he should do so, wondering
how to apply this alone on his birthday…
Back in the stab shack, she imagines
how sensual her complacency can become
by seducing torrid suitors, one by one,
dressed in birthday, cashmere, and silk suits.
With a strychnine pose, arched in a bandit’s bed,
naked flesh is handled, freed and united
in a convergence only she can invent with her
southern Yankee accent dripping onto his
rodeo backside, slipping onto the silk sheets
that she washed by hand the night before.
© Nublin’s Pub, 2008
becomes a one-armed hug for a Nabatian scribe.
This Boston stranger lost his 'L' in some hippie tent of
a New Mexican wasteland beside a blistered lizard.
He stirred a weaker decency with previous
obliterators of human consumption –
able to rectify by wire,
solemnity without pajamas –
disparity without trend.
Now look around this hollow, sandy manor –
as charming as a wet toad in a 9-inch hanger
strapped to his alligator waistband,
and he wets himself with a batch packet
that says he should do so, wondering
how to apply this alone on his birthday…
Back in the stab shack, she imagines
how sensual her complacency can become
by seducing torrid suitors, one by one,
dressed in birthday, cashmere, and silk suits.
With a strychnine pose, arched in a bandit’s bed,
naked flesh is handled, freed and united
in a convergence only she can invent with her
southern Yankee accent dripping onto his
rodeo backside, slipping onto the silk sheets
that she washed by hand the night before.
© Nublin’s Pub, 2008
Author notes
imagination is where the real men are -
don't tell us you don't know that already...
Artwork by FlowComa - http://flowcoma.deviantart.com/art/Strychnine-55548265
A contest entry
- Summer Sizzler...Men Only by Dalaney.
1300 points, ended August 14, 2008, 19 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 11 of 11
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certifiable "Gack"! golden gack of unpurest flack.


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This reads like a tour de force inside your mind. The imagery is so vivid and layered and there are so many levels to explore. This is one to read over and over just to get it all in. Once I could breathe again, it was very impressive.
Shouldn't that "blistered lizard" be a "horny toad?"
Great write.
Garrison

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Wow, I'm impressed. Unfortunately I don't think I'm quite..open, smart, etc...to get your abstractism.. But it is a good poem, anyway. Thanks for sharing, and thanks for the wonderful comment on my poem, Ed.
Ellie
And now I'm reading the comments below and think I'm getting a better picture of this poem....haha


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Interesting take on the prompt...thanks for entering


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Whores are so...thoughtful. Clever. Impish. Whorish. I like the whores.
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Hmmm...
I imagine looking past the present moment and into the maze of many... Now I wonder what dark snarling demon from the mordant recesses of my psyche would make me do THAT...???
Please don't say something like "Penis Envy"... I won't sit still for that...


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this poem, is intriguing and mind bending as a one arm hug. the phallus of the symposium post and the constricting images [strychnine, strangle, 9-inch hangers (ha), waistbands, suits of silk (read cocoon), and on...] run like rebar through the heavy weighted fetish-voyeristic-sexuality of the stanzas, tying the entire construction together so that it stands erect and naked as belgium garden statue. or maybe a nabatian obelisk. i could go either way. but my favorite part is the vision of her riding his 'rodeo backside' like a giddy-up horsey. or is it the other way around? i could go either way.
-whoafish

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Oh my, the mind is as satisfied as the senses are within this digestible scenario of ed-ible words, like the wordplay, a tad unsure of the repetition of strychnine pose, in the title and twice in the poem but perhaps I am being pernickety. Indeed, magic moments are fired and fueled by imagination impressing seven senses. Neat.


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I've already told my thoughts on this, no sense repeating myself
so i will give you a few clappies and say Bravo Eddie B 
Hey love your author's note, Good luck in the contest!
galfalfa

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This contains a bit of this, some of that, like a stew of images that creates a series of very strong story, thematic revelations held in a testament of delicate and sharp words. That toad is a lot like gods fist. Fat and sweaty like an alligator tongue. Your imagination is always so unbrokenly yours. This can be read a few times, which I will do as this deserves to be read many times over. Your ending is perfectly dense, with all the connections that ties the looseness.
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