The May Selected Poet is
Meghan Wood
Please feel free to email Meghan at: ladywolfsbane03@gmail.com
DELICACY OF DISSECTION
Sullen the mind as the skin strips away
The bone hollowed now displayed
Surgeon hand, delicate the knife to command
Cleanly the muscle flayed
Sinew finally gives way
Veins struggle, the blood intoxicates
Extract the anatomy in demand
The Iris honey hues
The lens protruding like gaping wound
Careful to severe the optic nerve
Images set in the cells, a theatre Cirque Du Perverse
Antiseptic gasoline proscribed and used
Purifies the bile that ensues
One, Two, Three, Four, Five, fractures loosen joints that infused
Split the nails, with no excuse
Coagulated jugular wraps around the neck as a noose
Canopic jar for the frontal lobe
Remove the larynx, no more cantankerous tones
Breast plate opened, shards deploy
Ribcage broken, brought slowly through the back
Blood Eagle beautiful, so much artistic joy
Sharpen the instruments
Disembowel the abdomen
The Y incision gives entry to the core
Valve by valve its cut from its kin
The buckets swallow the plasma, the table a desert
Now onto the vile act that persists
Rosemary, sage, and a little thujone
Sweet ginger with garlic sautéed
A dash of salt and a pinch of lemon zest
By candlelight and porcelain
The Aorta tasted best
DEATH DEFY ME NOT
Through open wounds in time
I have learned words from beautiful strangers
On desolate roads, on cemetery tides
I served you loyally; I swore to bring the damned home
I have listened serpent tongues and to them my soul entwined
Through the shadows I am shown the way
Across ruins of haunted shores into the black mass
For the dead travel fast, and for faith fulfilled
I swore to avenge with darkness
Death I do not defy
Darkly, darkly, such a somber lullaby
Waiting for my time to come
I dwell in your darkness your voice passed into mine
From summer nights, to sleeping moons
They came bearing teeth like wolves
Coming to blanket me in darkness
He sits like a Herod over Genesis
I carved a god from the eyes of forbidden lore
He trapped me in verses lost
My veins ran cold so long ago
A coffin for his story
Drunken hearts will line in red
When whispers sulk behind sinking sun
A dagger for the back who turns to run
I fear not mortality
The ageless river that carries me
A gear in the clock of life
Rust in the slowing sight
I have bent backs of Babylon whores
Drank from the cup and ate from the vine
In the end I will reign over all
I will be King
THE PACT OF NINGAL
Twilight came in a bold ambitious sweep
The sea breeze mourned over the shore sable streaked
Nor travels the meandering eye of the ken of mortal men
Where the endless wilderness pines through the vales, streams and glens
The radiance of the soft yellowed moon
Her ardor to shine her fervent hue
To rid the cloudless sky of dampening gloom
To usurp the throne of darkness’s doom
Yet in the solitude of calm summer eve
Unwavering whispers uttered among trees
Yes, they slithered and hissed, twisted and seethed
When through dark wood glades spied a single light
It danced in acrobat themes
To this place is best to forget
Golem tress, menacing and bleak
Mists skulking, desperately grasping, nipping at the flame
Yet dapper dressed gentleman here we have in secret display
Shadows hide upon their faces
Dust kicks up as they sit around
Single candle flickering bright
Now a flash of teeth smiling bright
They greet in the morbid grounds
To one another they tip their hats
Brazen and poised, gold dripped from their vests and flasks
With confident sway they sat down
A table ebony embossed the candle mirrored upon it now
Not a word but in minds they jest
Smiles devilish and vile depict deviants of lustful acts
Oh how their rampant desires hungered for evil and tainted flesh
To the night my friend!
To the living dead!
To the night my friend!
If God dares to deny us, there is always the Devil!
Crystal glasses sit between them
Emerald glow
Quaff the liquor from the gods of Netherworlds
All glitter may not be gold
But to our vices let our tongues grow bold
Their cheers rung out across the hemlock and nightshade
Bogs boiled as they spoke of the women they reclaimed
Yellowed scrolls penned in decadence, reddened by Cabernet
Tonight is the night when by midnight souls are to take
Meghan Wood, a graphic designer and has been a horror fan from a very young age. She has published poems through Booksie, and is always working on new ones. She lives in Bancroft, Michigan and cites the Universal/Hammer horror monster movies as her inspiration along with her favorite authors, H.P.Lovecraft and Samuel Taylor Coleridge.