Mangled Doves

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a poem that I put together from several fragments in my notebooks, partly to complete the cycle of poems which comprised the "Verses for the Vixen" in my anthology, and partly because the closing verse struck me with such power--the slightly awkward opening is well repaid by the smooth and flowing meter which begs to be read aloud at the top of your lungs (yes, even at four AM when everybody else is asleep). Mangled Doves is available at and in paperback and ebook format (NOOK only).

The adult content is a bit suggestive, but not explicitly sexual.

Submitted: June 20, 2012

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Submitted: June 20, 2012



Mangled Doves


Conjured images cry that words should try--

Translate, if they can--tell of all my plan.

Written right, storms will pass the bleak crevasse.

My feelings--not to ban--enjoin the van

And travel to defy words to belie.

I rough it out en masse, skirting impasse.


Damnable silence

Precedes tornadoes,

Verbal pestilence

Hastens death throes.


We can dream, yes, and we can play with words,

As long as our ascriptions be not false.

But if we live the lie, mix oats with curds,

We won't with Polonaise be dancing Waltz.

Yet cattle-cows we always find in herds.


Sleep with your love

Until you wake.

Mangle the dove

For not your sake.


Awake empty,

The bed is sheets.

Blanket clumpy,

Rose pillow reeks.


Do not tell me to suppress my emotion!

It flows out of me like a swollen river.

All I can do is express my devotion

To you, that I am smitten, that I shiver.

In your presence, I feel intoxication--

Speak children's lies, words I mutter awry.

In your absence, I fear denunciation--

Weeping empty skies where I shudder and cry.


Oh, for the time my arms behold you,

I dream.

Yet, from the time my eyes depart you,

I scream.

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