An Apostasy in verse…

The incarnate

Never until her making
Deity or spirit of evil
Did she mother a child like a debilitating darkness
Within her bones, elbow and foot,
Would go from sane to mad
Slowly dying on a synagogue rack
In the shadow of a valley of sackcloth
Anointed by a water bead (unmourning),
Dark veined after the first death
(there would be others trudging on her womb),
Manwaged, tapping like the holy ghost
And riddled with stones by pompous priests.

It chose this virgin mother on a drunken shore,
A riddled sea stronghold, yet the waves
Scolded—cannoned her with the tide; groped
Her soul. The tombstone told where she would
Be laid to rest, resurrected… she
Cried as her white-dressed limbs tore in a
Groping wind—the incarnate silenced her mouth
With its numberless tongues; nostrilled her
With a dull, evil sense—a thief of innocence.
In a taken body, it was a trespasser, blaspheme
In a brain. Now she is but sand grains in a
Seabed. Tarnished, dissolving under a salted veil.

The incarnate

The trouble with Mr. Otterhole

Between his index finger and his thumb
The crinkled paper rests; snug as a wish.

From his mouth, a clean rasping sound much
Like a spade sinking into graveled ground;

But in a glance, he takes flight, a stones throw
Down a described route: his next appearance

Perhaps in an hour; others, many have been
Glimpsed and avoided, feeling neglected.

Yet, without any warning they feel a barb in
Their pulse, and to death they do part caused

By erratic breathing; what did I do, they ask?
Draft of a funeral, circular grave, below in a hole.

Oil gray skin, clutching at dirt as a blind person
Does their cane; some neglected the roots,

The headstone tells where and when; Mr. Otterhole
With his jagged fingers hands you the paper as

Recompense: there will be others full of language,
(when? he is rather forgetful); have you left him

Nothing, not even your soul? He gropes for you
In the afterlife; four beat time for a signature.

The trouble with Mr. Otterhole

36 comments on “An Apostasy in verse…

  1. crazywitch25 says:

    Interesting. I love your pictures but not as much as your words.

  2. NZain says:

    Dear Lance, I just read this three times now and I have so many questions for you, but I am speechless—so I’ll let the mystery remain. I need to read again…how you capture with your words the visions you see, and how these words affect the reader. Thank you.

  3. Lance, your verses are simply beautiful and captivating. Deep and poignant poetic splendor and pictures that match your poems. Too good

  4. charef says:

    Des métaphores qui nous laissent rêveurs avec pleins de questions dans la tête.Merci pour ce partage.

  5. Thank you for your words , Lance !

  6. Devon Brock says:

    Damn Lance, I don’t know how to comment on this, the first a sort of birth of the anti-christ and the second, death snapping his fingers like he was singing “King of the Road”. Stellar, my friend, stellar.


  7. Your compassion is always so evident, Lance; your use of language, always superb. May God watch over you during this virus crisis.

  8. Another amazing poem! Great imagination! Very beautiful and fantastic! Thank you, Lance!

  9. I marvel at your way with words, my friends! Your enthralling writes help us enjoy these home-bound days! Keep well, Lance, stay safe, God bless!

  10. lampmagician says:

    Mine as well dear friend, great and bleak poem, brilliant 😊🙏👍

  11. Hello, Lance. I like your blog posts a lot. So, I nominated you for the Sunshine Blogger Award. Keep up the good work.

  12. Have you read WH auden’s poems ? i need help in understanding them.. it’s interesting but the references are little tricky

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