Bosched

In the garden of earthly delights

A disturbing assortment of sights;

From sublime… to more ominous,

Holy Hieronymous

Painted abysses and heights.

Lay of the Knaked Knight

Revealed beneath her seventh veil:
A poem on her ass in Braille.

My fingertips caressed that verse
And read her lyric universe.

An astral plane of swelling curves:
Her lyre well-strung to calm my nerves.

My lovely muse! All lettered charms
Grow warm in her angelic arms.

Her noble face, her tawny cheeks
Bestow the balm my spirit seeks.

Bright thoughts arise, and glowing, pass
Upon the volume of her ass.

PROMPT #6: a poem from the point of view of a person from Bosch’s triptych The Garden of Earthly Delights

Fowl Feminanity

The chicken coop unmanned, adrift at sea
Rolls aimlessly upon hormonal swells.
Her crew, well-versed in gynecology
Repaint in pink dull feminism’s hells.
Such lunacy as ovulates their womb
Impels them now to celebrate our doom.

First freed from God, then finally, from men,
The silly sailors, decked like women’s parts
Scold gender’s greater half, like hens, and then
Cluck on, devoid of biologic arts;
Useless fowl, squawking fit to neuter us
Who dare exist without a uterus.

MORE VAGINAL POETRY:

Vaginalia

Stoking the Pussyfires

Feline Frenzy

PROMPT #5: incorporate a whole bunch of things into a metaphoric poem

Hard Questions

𐩣𐩧𐩨/𐩣𐩧𐩺𐩨

And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree . . .

Coleridge: Kubla Khan

Sheba’s ghost, lamenting, wails for Yemen:

Her incense trees are lacerated, scarred.

Sapped for their fragrance, drained of life and marred

Their smoking blood offered up to heaven.

No sinuous rills flow forth to bless the dead;

Beneath her ruined dam no gardens grow;

And Bedouins only sing of what they know

In wastelands of the nomad past. It’s said

That all those spices, all that golden smoke

and irrigated dreams beneath the sand

were just a subtle Solomonic joke.

The yearly weight of gold, the camel-trains,

Are cryptic numbers—chanted in refrains

That only Marib’s phantoms understand.

PROMPT #4: write a poem based on an image from a dream.

Ntl. Poetry Relief: Dolly