Poetry in Motion

Poetry in Motion: Ode to Repression

I’m spotlighting some older poetry of mine (well, older as in more than a year ago) that I never posted. This is one of the first poems I’ve written since high school and couldn’t believe I hadn’t posted it before. Enjoy, possibly. 


The maiden desert, with its barren dunes and pits,

Is no less beautiful in its millennia of monotony,

Than the fertile tropics, engorged with liquid—

And even more blistering hot, in parched, timeless sands.


Lemons unpeeled but unpicked, unparched;

Watches never wound, seeds never sown,

Skeletons procured from the womb.

A most original, if un-Dutch, still life.


Woman-haters transcend space and time

To cry, ‘It is the hunt! Not the catch! That is romance’—

Well, the goddess of the hunt was a virgin.

We sing for the maiden, why not the maiden aunt?


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