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Falling South
by Max BouilletTo be reborn, one must die.
I fell south
wearing a deadmans shoes.
The great Southern Belle
curtsies as I plummet.
Her voice, well-worn and rehearsed,
tolls as a clock approaching midnight.
Her tongue is deadspeak seduction
as she wields a frilly parasol
to shield sins
from an ever-watchful God.
(She is adorned in lush forest
and her belly is the beach
giving way to the Bay
and I am baptized
into the waves
lapping against her sex.)
Gazing into her depths,
I become confused as to
which is reflection
and which is me.
Clarity is an ineffectual
illusion and she embraces
us both. Her kisses trigger
ripples that
cumulatively cascade
salvation to unworthy
flesh. 09/22/2004 Posted on 09/22/2004
Copyright © 2024 Max Bouillet
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 09/23/04 at 01:30 AM Hmmm Vivid imagery! Reminds me of Proverbs, such as, 5:3,4 "For the lips of a loose woman drip honey, and her speech is smoother than oil; but in the end she is bitter as wormwood, sharp as a two-dedged sword." |
| Posted by JD Clay on 09/23/04 at 12:57 PM Your metaphoric speak has fulfilled my every wish. If love is blind, then where does that leave one in lust? Powerful poetry, Max...pe4ce |
| Posted by S.J. Tyler on 09/23/04 at 02:44 PM Goodness. I am always riveted by what you write, no matter how many poems I randomly sort through. This gave me a warm tingly feeling. Fabulous use of metaphor! |
| Posted by Christina Bruno on 09/24/04 at 02:48 AM hot max, totally hot. brilliant |
| Posted by David R Spellman on 09/24/04 at 10:52 PM Superb Max! |
| Posted by Karl Waldbauer on 09/26/04 at 02:20 AM A visit with the Godess certainly enriches the soul and the body, it seems. Beautiful work, Max. |
| Posted by Michele Schottelkorb on 09/26/04 at 07:18 PM max, i am ever in awe of your descriptive nature... your double-sided outlook, and the sheer insight i receive just from reading your poetry... i am grateful... this piece has sent ripples through my very being... blessings... |
| Posted by Rachelle Howe on 09/26/04 at 10:58 PM uh.. duh... how... do you say anything to that? i mean, f*ck. (well, that's the concept, right? *grin*) this.. is.. killer. |
| Posted by H.M Stevens on 09/27/04 at 02:22 PM I like how this poem intertwines two uses of "south". 1) in the geographical sense 2) in the physical female sense. It is is interesting, for your home page references that you move a lot- and it appears as your current (new) location is south- so this poem couples with your locale...
On another note, the line "I become confused as to which is reflection and which is me..." speaks in haunting beauty of a reoccurring theme within classical philosophy of love- how we lose ourselves in the presence of the other-- falling in that whirlwind of emotion, that turns into a holier love of self... Many would agree, seeing another with such exhaltation is just an appreciation of the self- as in we come to love ourselves more so, by loving another.
Despite that this poem does not reference love- it it can be mutated through the physical- as in bodily love- appreciation of the physical self. If the speaker is male, as it appears to be-- than the closing line "unworthy self" is the ultimate manifestation of this, while at the same time revering ubiquitous female beauty. Overall, I have to say great work. |
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