Love’s Lorica

Posted on March 18, 2022 by Catastrophe Jones

I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of Love, 
Through a belief in Love, 
Through confession of love 
Of the love of Love.

I arise today 
Through the strength of Love, 
Through the strength of Love, 
Through the strength of Love, 
Through the strength of Love.

I arise today
Through the strength of the love of Love, 
In obedience of Love, 
In service of Love, 
In the hope of Love, 
In the prayers of Love, 
In preachings of Love, 
In faiths of Love, 
In innocence of Love, 
In deeds of righteous Love.

I arise today
Through the strength of Love; 
Light of the sun, 
Splendor of fire, 
Speed of lightning, 
Depth of the sea, 
Firmness of the earth.

I arise today
Through Love’s strength to pilot me; 
Love’s might to uphold me, 
Love’s wisdom to guide me, 
Love’s eye to look before me, 
Love’s ear to hear me, 
Love’s word to speak for me, 
Love’s hand to guard me, 
Love’s way to lie before me, 
Love’s shield to protect me, 
Love’s hosts to save me 
From the snares of hate, 
From temptations of vices, 
From every one who desires me ill, 
Afar and anear, 
Alone or in a multitude.  

I summon today all these powers between me and despair, 
Against every cruel merciless power that opposes me, 
Against incantations of cruelty, 
Against black laws of heretics, 
Against false laws of politics, 
Against craft of dramatics, 
Against spells of meanness and selfishness and hopelessness, 
Against every knowledge that corrupts me. 
Love shield me today 
Against heartache, against self-doubt, 
Against anxiety, against isolation, 
So that you may come to me in abundance.

Love with me, Love before me, Love behind me, 
Love in me, Love beneath me, Love above me, 
Love on my right, Love on my left, 
Love when I lie down, Love when I stand, 
Love in the heart of every one who thinks of me, 
Love in the mouth of every one who speaks of me, 
Love in the eye that sees me, 
Love in the ear that hears me.

I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of Love, 
Through a belief in Love, 
Through a confession of love
Of the love of Love.

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I bring her red fruits

Posted on July 12, 2021 by Catastrophe Jones

Love is messy,
ruinous,
and sweet, I think,
paused for a moment
in my efforts for my beloved,
fingers stained,
nails dug into flesh,
flecks of red splashed up my arms,
my cheek.

I draw the knife
around the dark cherries,
split them in two with my thumbs,
and smile
to bare my teeth.
I bite the pit free from one side,
my mouth touching the soft, sweet red.

Half a kiss,
to be fully realized
when she plucks it from the bowl
and brings it to her lips.

The ripe peach is washed in warm water,
the pads of my fingers slowly rubbing away
the dusting of fuzz,
the softsharp fur on yellowpink skin.

When I pull the stone
from its wet, red center,
I put it on my tongue–

I sigh around the weight of it
as I slice the fruit
from my hand into the white bowl,

–closing my lips on the secret,

until my teeth
take the last of its sweetness,
and I can discard it

with the rest of the scraps,
the rest of the leavings,
the feasts for the compost heap,
for the scratching chickens,
for the wild garden of our life together.

I bring her red fruits,
and bid her eat them with me,
that we will know things together,
and if my violent love of her is at all frightening,
she gives no sign,
and delights each time
I kiss her red-stained mouth
with my own.

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What’s new

Posted on October 23, 2020 by Catastrophe Jones

I wake up alone, and

it isn’t new, but
it is earth shattering
every time.
The bed is always cold on that side,
cold enough it tries to pull the heat from me.
You’re somewhere far, and

I haven’t been able to reach you.
It isn’t new, but
it is earth shattering
every time.
There’s an echo in the phone line,
the land line I keep —
the land line of yours that I keep.
I had to get a new phone.
I had to get three new phones.
I have stopped crushing them
when they are wrong numbers,
spam callers,
robots asking for me.
The last one I had to replace
because it asked for you.
I thought maybe it meant I was closer.
I thought maybe it meant you were closer.
It’s getting colder now, and

the fire escape has had
the first eyelashes of frost on it,
the chipped paint and

rust shivered with
fractals of ice whispers.
I slept out on it the night before, and

woke a little before dawn,
to climb up to the roof and
lay out on the tiles and

stare up and

up and

up, and

let the tears come.
They aren’t new.
I’ve lost the flow of it, I think, and

I’ll have to start

again.

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What You Ought To Be Taught

Posted on September 30, 2020 by Catastrophe Jones

You whimper, a kicked dog
but refuse to stay
instead playing dead at my feet.
I could help you

if only you would
bare your throat
to bear my collar.

The mewling
isn’t warranted, you know.
I’ve never raised a hand to you
because you don’t want
that sort of petting.

So you say.

A pity.

Should I believe
your bark, then?
Or should I believe
the puppy eyes turned my way
whenever you’re tongue-lolling
for a morsel of affection?

Down boy.

Heel.

Stay.

Posted in Fiction | 2 Comments

This Thing

Posted on September 9, 2020 by Catastrophe Jones

It’s not a thundering

but a rhythmic stutter,
a seizing beat,
a rapidfire-horse-hooves-in-the-mud kind of pounding,
like it could
break through
its bone cage,
a strange clattering
of opened-wing hopes
and clutched-talon fears,

a gasping,

reaching,

aching

kind of pulse,
a throb
with force enough to
bend backs
and weaken knees,
with power enough
to raise gods
and topple empires,

this whole,
this thing,
this heart,

and

in its echoing chambers,
the name it sings
is yours.

Posted in Fiction | 1 Comment