Eve Rises Up, Revised

I have revised the poem I view as one of my best, most honest efforts.

Eve Rises Up

For an eternity and longer

Have I knelt at the altar of Cock

Have I bowed down to the white worm

Beneath the loin cloth 

 Have I swaddled it in the satin hive

Of my warmth

The holy cavern of my body

Have I cooed to it

Laving it like a troubled dove

Have I bound my feet before it

Have I strummed it with my tongue

Like a Lyre

Have I let it come searching and bleeding

White gall into my mouth

Stopping thought and word.

For forty years—think of it

A nun in the chancel of Cock

In the Kingdom of Cock

According to the Bible of Fuck

The holy writ according to the Father

Eve shall know not of her own body

And put herself

At the mercy of the Cock.

  

ii

Now I tell you

I decapitate you

As my Head of State

As the Chancellor of my Desire.

I come wet, singing with the sin of it

to tell you

That more than you have imagined

I have a Cock of my own

Between my legs

Under its pretty prepuce

A delicate white falcon under its hood

A nub of love that fills with blood

With petals running beneath the skin

A sensate arbor for the wines of desire

A cock of my own with its sensate head

A bird with long red wings

Between my legs

So that in rewriting the writ

For the sake of the Clit

I spread you out

Like a corpse taken down

From the Cross

I oil your torso

I slide over your length

With my strong little bird

I rise over your mouth

I nudge against your lip

I am far away from the snake

Between your legs that beats

With blood--

The one-eyed watchman in the watch tower

The python among the apples.

 I ride your mouth

With the little goddess in the boat

And when I've pleased 

my little briny dove

And tears bead from my flesh

And I know the petite morte

Is at the base of my spine

Eyes to eyes,

Mouth to mouth--

I let you nudge into me

I let you in inch

By inch

We move at my direction

I say barely move in me

And that is what I mean

You know nothing

You never knew anything

I am your Maestra

You are my schoolboy

I am your Priestess

You are my Penitent

And when I crest and burn

And pull you through me

And you feel my trembling

And my fever sets you on fire

Manchild in the Promised Land

We together in the Kingdom of Fuck

A thousand angels dancing

On the Clit’s soft head

Your fingers coaxing

The fevered dove’s head

  

Then, I’ll let you in

Boiling over

To the root

The love-sword in the hilt

You little boy Adam,

With your Weeping King Cock

In the wet spent sea-flower of my Love.

cc

copyright Jenne' Andrews 2011

New Poem Toward the Rapture of Women, Fulfillment of the Both

Eve Rises Up

I come wet, singing with the sin of it

to tell you

That more than you have imagined

I have a Cock of my own

Between my legs

Under its pretty prepuce

A delicate white falcon under its hood

A nub of love that fills with blood

With petals running beneath the skin

A sensate arbor for the wines of desire

A cock of my own with its sensate head

A bird with long red wings

Between my legs

So that in rewriting the writ

For the sake of the Clit

I spread you out

Like a corpse taken down

From the Cross

I oil your torso

I slide over your length

With my strong little bird

I rise over your mouth

I nudge against your lip

I am far away from the snake

Between your legs that beats

With blood--

The one-eyed watchman in the watch tower

The python among the apples.

 I ride your mouth

With the little goddess in the boat

And when I've pleased 
my little briny dove

And tears bead from my flesh

And I know the petite morte

Is at the base of my spine

Eyes to eyes,

Mouth to mouth--

I let you nudge into me

I let you in inch

By inch

We move at my direction

I say barely move in me

And that is what I mean

You know nothing

You never knew anything

I am your Maestra

You are my schoolboy

I am your Priestess

You are my Penitent

And when I crest and burn

And pull you through me

And you feel my trembling

And my fever sets you on fire

Manchild in the Promised Land

We together in the Kingdom of Fuck

A thousand angels dancing

On the Clit’s soft head

Your fingers coaxing

The fevered dove’s head

  

Then, I’ll let you in

Boiling over

To the root

The love-sword in the hilt

You little boy Adam,

With your Weeping King Cock

In the wet spent sea-flower of my Love.

cc

copyright Jenne' Andrews 2011

In Celebration of the Body...

Poppy, Georgia O'Keeffe-- reposted via Net Fair Use copyright exemption

Ode to the Mound of Venus

I have found my sacred flower

Is that not the tumescent aching of her heart

She undoes me with her shameless power

She undoes me with her untamed power

She pulses, moistens, plays a burning part

O taste and see this brazen flower

I knew little of my hungry bel fior

I had no blueprint for the art

Now I have found a secret pleasure for les heures.

I have found a secret pleasure for the hours

Touching her,  ecstatic waters part

O marvel at my brazen flower.

I adore my honeyed bel fior

She blooms by swelling in the dark

I break a sweat from her bien sur, 

The red wet slaking of her heart.

# # #

Alternative version below, closer to a classic villanelle--?

Ode to the Mound of Venus  ii

 I have found my sacred flower

Is that not the tumescent aching of her heart?

She undoes me with her shameless power.

I have found a secret pleasure for the hours

She pulses, moistens, plays a burning part

I have found my sacred flower.

The poppy’s taste is  sweet and sour

I had no blueprint for the art

She undoes me with her shameless power.

She torments me in my untamed hours

She pulses, moistens, quivers like a hart

I have found my sacred flower

She tickles me pink within her bower

Touching her, ecstatic waters part

She undoes me with her shameless power

There’s no time to spruce up in the shower

She blooms by swelling in the dark

I have found my sacred flower

She stuns me with her shameless power. 

.

copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2011

all rights reserved....

.

copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2011

all rights reserved.... 

Also posted at La Parola Vivace per One Stop Challenge...

And here we are...

On the threshold of a small project that could do good things for those of us who spontaneously write rich, sensual poetry.  I'll be looking for good stuff that's funny, tender, poignant-- and that sings.  Don't be offended if I make a few suggestions.  My idea for the blog thus far is that it become a focal point for a writing community with similar interests-- those that are uplifted, made to laugh, and inspired by work of this orientation.