poem: Shadow of a Muse (from "Shards" poetry collection)

I created her
I can do as I like with her
spray her with water, sparkles and chill
leave her in the snow to winterkill.
Or I could marinate her
in a cauldron of bronze and gold
I could add spices to the brew
Until she's boiled anew.

You know I am Victor Frankenstein
I am her Dracula
I am God Himself to her
I will do as I please and send her on the battle line
Where a company of soldiers will have their taste of her soft flesh
I shall lock her in a tower where she will never know man's scent.
I made her
and I can break her.

I will whisper sweetly to her
But only when I am sweet.
Other times I will yell and lash her
And with tears and hair, she'll wash my feet.
If she ever tried to stand her ground
With small trembling shoulders
I would stare and laugh.
"My darling, do not go there."

You know that I am the sculptor
and she the shadow of my muse
She is only worth what I say
Or worth the ways she can be used
If you suggest that she exists in a world beyond my lab
I will promise you, mister, that you are mad.
I made her
and I can break her.

I know that she has stood
Over my bed as I sleep,
Her breath in shallow waves,
A sculptor's scalpel in hand.
But I shiver not in the shade of her form
I know her capabilities
What she can and cannot do to me
"My darling, go back to ---"

poem: I Am a Coward

I am a coward

I am a coward

I do not love myself enough to love another

My blood is bled only fr dramatic purposes

All my defenses only exist to win

at petty games that I play because I like pain.

My company is by law

and never by the choice that cannot live in a void.

I am a coward.

I am a coward.

The kind of coward that disturbs a peaceful night's flow

by crying through the muzzle only there for his own good.

You know I am no person.

A person would be grateful for the leash 

that keeps him sheltered and positioned

before his creator

where his little plays, plots and ways

can be monitored.

I am a coward.

I am no person

so beware and keep and eye on me in water.

I may begin to fight and gasp for air

and betray you

instead of sinking as I'm meant to do.

Derelict that I am,

I may act as if I don't owe you life itself sometimes

and I may even forget that I'm a ragdoll

for I am a coward.

Derelict, coward, ungrateful, traitor.

I am no person, no.

But if I were I would fall down on both knees

to beg your pardon for

everything ever and plead

yet since I am not thus armed with the power of love

my moral compass is void

and I push when I'm shoved.

If I were a person then I would take the brunt

sadly I am too weak.

I'm a sniveling cunt.

My name is Coward.

I am a coward. Oh

If I were brave 

I wouldn't know any discomfort

If I were loving I would eat your bullshit, pinky-up!

I'm sorry I'm not strong enough. 

I've no choice.

If I were human I would know the way to rescue.

But being cold and so unreachable

why should I be dependable?

I would never tell you

"Just pull the trigger."

I am, I am...yes

I am quite 

the little

confused

coward.

(Emphasis on little.)

(c) Luz Briar 2010-2011.

Chisel in Hand

 

(Pygmalion & Galatea by Bulfinch)

 

I am asking you

Who gives a damn about

The finished sculpture now,

Without its feelings,

Or a soul, or a spirit endowed?

If it can no longer cry to you

With tears that empower

If it can no longer smile for you

As a gardener’s flower

If it can no longer bleed the blood

That falls for you to nurse

Than what use do you have of it?

What is this object’s worth?

When your object’s failings cease to be

Its personal tragedy

When that subhuman statue turns to see

The world in full humanity

And marble eyes fill with tears

That you did not supply

And leaks its salty water

Is it still lovely in your eyes?

When it happens to step into the sun

And into the night wind, curious

Will you say that it has shunned

Its creator, and abandoned him for play.

Chisel-wielder, do you see

How you look upon me

Not as a Someone with a reflection

But as an object for your needs?

A sculptor looking with aspiration

Never with full admiration

Chisel, ever in your hand

©2010 LuzBriar.

 

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