The Knives Upon the Table

The Knives On the Table

We’d gone in a convoy,
the doors of her car were blown off

An evil twenty swarmed out
from fields of Sunflowers tall
knives redoubtable

They tied Her Sacredness to a fence
gagged her that She’d not reproach them:
their scabbards empty of their treachery

Such evil drawn out
upon the dastardly ceremony
that hides a scoundrel from a conscience

“Kill her,” I heard the tall one bade.
“Righteous tyranny of the Gods
“can not be malice when obeyed

“Let the least of us wound,
“the greatest stab Her in the heart,
“the fearful give the coup de grâce.

Villains, villains, I shouted.

Halt at once this vileness,
these sneezed speeches
a phlegm of your diseased souls

A frenzied one spoke:
Her Sacredness
would fawn to the Council
and not to the Gods

She would banish our Sister
who champions the Gods

This impostor usurper
who takes the crown
would deny our true Priestess
her enfranchisement with the Gods

Let the Gods rightly
paint our true Priestess in
the light of Their Love, and
make her star brighter than
the day of this puny planet’s sun.

Hasten us all
lest we’d be interfered with
in our noble cause to
stab out the usurper

Draw now the blood of Her Falseness,
each of you in turn do act:
stab out this blotch

Sazrgk, begin!

But I crawled closer,
picked up rocks to throw

Thus I:
Sazrgk no! You of the least
do not now promote yourself to fiend

Let them have their honors.
Sazrgk, if you’d save your soul
take your mercy and go

But Sazrgk stabbed her in the shoulder.
’tis true: of weakness cold-hearted, he
did indeed plunge his dagger.

I screamed the ancient kinesis:

I became splattered in red screams
drowning in oceans of slaughter that
pulled me out of my mind with
a fury that engulfed the sun, and
made it set in vomit

By T’ukmpuxogt bold
the sunflowers were decapitated
in exploding shards of skull, and
headless bodies were
strewn across the road.

Thus I protect my Love
the only true Priestess.

— Douglas Gilbert


Utcoozhoo Says HL001

Utcoozhoo Says HL001 (Draft 5)

Give me a place
to stand with love to
peddle compassion, yes

give me the world’s bouquet
and hard hearts to stand in too.

Just these and I’ll
beat the stale hatred
into the lungs of Love, just

come down from thin airs
to see if mountains can wait
when the valley is sanguine.

If you give me standing in you to
untangle the tango, I’ll

dance with you
until the flowers
all clap their red petals

— Douglas Gilbert

The Crooked Crown

The Crooked Crown

Once you were a kind child
I remember dearly, but

you did not open your heart, my Queen
when tears were in your Reign.

What keeps you from Hell, Your Highness
when the traitor dogs are at the opened door?

Have you not lost your mind to the burdens of office
doing the obligatory executions, openings
given to the hounds who tear the throats of freedom?

If you’ve lost your politicians, your
damn loyal pompous patricians
who strut across a platform
angling to brace a tyranny
suffering their madness upon the people
standing on their hind legs,
mighty and high on mole hills, with
no standing in the Great
Hall of Virtue, then, if you’re lost,
their words will echo well there
like the growls of vicious creatures.

What stays you from Hell that
you’d give the creatures audience to
pontificate for evil, for torture, for death.

Do they have standing in the History of Spit?
Are they not slime?

Ha! They’re artisans of treachery
who hang and admire their artwork
until they sell it for a bribe.

Let the loyal consorts save the Queen.
The elite effete have lost their sheep.

What a pretty throat
for the dogs to rip out

Do come in
the door is open.

— Douglas Gilbert