blood-whetted lips – many snatches bandered

Tanka / Kyōka

an old man in grey
sword and staff in weary hands
falling to his doom
a creature twisted by hate
triumphant and graced with gold

odysseus loved
no one so much as himself
a stallion man!
in troy he had an orgy
of self-congratulation

three glasses empty
lips curve round a bellyful
of eternal youth
my epitaph’s carved in stone
and my coffin yawns open

my call clear and wild
I shake my sails at tall ships
and dream of sweet tricks
I steer by a merry star
and seas are never lonely

what if he sees me?
what if, and does not seize me?
I think I would die
though if he did… why then, I
wouldn’t mind a little death

heed the carrolling!
that frumious bandersnatch
has many bands snatched
snicker-snack and knickers-slack
many snatches bandered too

a threshold moment
the once blue Danube unstirred
by the broken night
I eavesdrop on warm laughter
but the bat does not return

my lips by your ears
in silent conversation
I share these five words
thus have I learned great wisdom
for much is best left unsaid

I share these five words
with a tanka (see above)
is this too meta?

Maids & Laundry

fin de siècle
Dracula finds a red sock
amidst the white

washing machine
the hamster wheel
of progress

spin cycle
the maid begins
a new day

maid in the garden
more than one pecker
assaults her

is’t true passion cools?
blackbird, hear me lament her
too encrusted heart

Humour

silence is golden
coins falling down
a bottomless well

women of the west
leave men to pull their pistols
and blow themselves… up

haggis
running rings
foreign inspectors

music to my ears
a deer in a bakery
eating jam and bread

an abacus I
of words and syllables too
I count my miscounts

Romulan decloaked
her mother warned her about
the dangers of ale

lava in the pot
injured housewife venting steam
over wild oats sown

Universal Thoughts

three witches stirring
a cauldron of genetics
mothers all to one

between earth and moon
the blue danube’s flow is deep
a pen floats unheld

what if we unearth
beneath the moon’s silver sands
evidence of gods?

why risk pluto’s wrath?
we are doomed by the hubris
of categorists

the inverse square law
is a promise never kept
we run in circles

we chase horizons
and unreachable rainbows
on a space-marble

do-si-do
the moon also turns its back
on the earth

Vampires & Succubi

size doesn’t matter –
you don’t count unless you’ve come
till the well is dry

I measure a man
not by the length of his cock
but by his sighs

wine glasses raised high
toasting the wonders of life
with blood-whetted lips

four years already…
will four centuries pass with
such alacrity?

cloaked in shadow
the monster is free to dream
of divinity

springtime
the trembling of a pale neck
unpunctured

Errant Thoughts

laundry list of differences ironed out

students looking down on their professor

sunlit shade I pluck a daffodil

my blood-soaked words are sharper at night

sunlight twinkling in alien eyes

treasure map ‘XXX’ marks the spot

flash of forbidden knowledge

red cheeks a naughty girl punished

high balcony executives turn the spit

naja naja you swallow my rash words

odysseus lashed by song and wave

vapour trail wake of a politician

a tear falls… a new crown

sunlight driving along winter roads

flock of construction workers whistling at birds
crane above it all

the whisper of cold hard cash
against fingertips

Highland planting
is a deer business

a faithful mistress
luna never looks away

A Lonely F/F Tea Party

my body craves blood
but it is the taste of tears
that brings ecstasy

she rules with passion
and measures pain and pleasure
in millimetres

she’s walking the earth
with an imperial gait
feet in six inch heels

two lusty ladies
party in true vampire style
high heels trailing blood

lips an opening
to promises of pleasure
she lies with beauty

she dies with beauty
sun shimmering through a rain
of red carnations

make a feast of me
oil, dress, season and garnish
for your mouth only

am I not a dish –
dainty, and fit for a queen?
let me sing for thee

settling all disputes
with rock, paper and scissors
it’s always a draw

Miscellaneous

femme fatale
point of a stiletto
heel

between my fingers
the reflection of your love
drops of moonlight fall

wine-dark ocean
marooned on a dream
of peace

acceptance eludes
my haiku cast on a sea
of turbulent words

curse thee, Horatio!
did I dream that brevity
is the soul of wit?

sugar and spice
little girls in the kitchen
stirring things up

in infinite space
why must I strive so to be
alone with my thoughts?

I keep my words cool
and hum them during the night
to my witch hazel

today we take flight
falling from greatness we’ll learn
great humility

it’s the end for me
the low road undertaken
to the bonny banks

truth lies
between the lines
of history

hero in repose
John McClane in the bathroom
washing bloody feet

her song could call
new blossom from the trees
I lie unsleeping

lashed to his ship’s mast
odysseus lived to tell
of a breaking heart

light flows through my veins
my lover shares my bunk bed’s
superposition

I stood by your grave
but three thousand years and more
separated us

my words overflow
and spill across fallow fields
where betony grows

About Frank

A Sci-Fi & Fantasy author and lyrical poet with a mild obsession for vampires, succubi, goddesses and Supergirl.
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6 Responses to blood-whetted lips – many snatches bandered

  1. Quite a collection, Frank. Well done. 🙂

    • Frank says:

      Maybe. It’s very random, and no way to do a poetry collection. Mostly it’s a record I keep for myself, since posts in social media groups get lost so quickly.

      From time to time I send a handful of what I consider the best to a haiku blog or journal, but so far without success. There are many amazing poets out there, although as with all art forms it takes familiarity to differentiate ‘entertaining’ from ‘genuinely talented’.

      I like to think of myself as a poet, but I’m not a serious poet. I have too much fun playing with words and telling stories, and my stories can often be serious in a way that my poetry isn’t.

      I love writing haiku, not least because it focuses on the power of words, but in its purest form there’s no space for story. Or is there?

      kryptonite tears – kara falls
      in love

    • Frank says:

      Ah, what blissful irony. In the short time since my initial reply, I have received word that tomorrow’s issue of Failed Haiku will include three of my senryu. What a lovely way to end the month…

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