a poem that some or none may like...(WARNING!! QUITE ADULT SUBJECT MATTER)

jacjessen90's picture

(I wrote this last easter and still find it rather odd. no disrespect meant to any religion, just something to read as a responce to "Two loves")

(WARNING!! QUITE ADULT SUBJECT MATTER)

"THE LOVE THAT DARES SPEAK ITS NAME" By Jac Woods

As they took him from the cross

I, the centurion, took him in my arms-

the tough lean body

of a man no longer young,

beardless, breathless,

but well hung.
.
He was still warm.

While they prepared the tomb

I kept guard over him.

His mother and the Magdalen

had gone to fetch clean linen

to shroud his nakedness.
.
I was alone with him.

For the last time

I kissed his mouth. My tongue

found his, bitter with death.

I licked his wound-

the blood was harsh

For the last time

I laid my lips around the tip

of that great phallus, the instrument

of our salvation, our eternal joy.

The shaft, still throbbed, anointed

with death's final ejaculation
.
I knew he'd had it off with other men-

with Herod's guards, with Pontius Pilate,

With John the Baptist, with Paul of Tarsus

with foxy Judas, a great kisser, with

the rest of the Twelve, together and apart.

He loved all men, body, soul and spirit. - even me.
.
So now I took off my uniform, and, naked,

lay together with him in his desolation,

caressing every shadow of his cooling flesh,

hugging him and trying to warm him back to life.

Slowly the fire in his thighs went out,

while I grew hotter with unearthly love.

It was the only way I knew to speak our love's proud name,

to tell him of my long devotion, my desire, my dread-

something we had never talked about. My spear, wet with blood,

his dear, broken body all open wounds,

and in each wound his side, his back,

his mouth - I came and came and came
.
as if each coming was my last.

And then the miracle possessed us.

I felt him enter into me, and fiercely spend

his spirit's finbal seed within my hole, my soul,

pulse upon pulse, unto the ends of the earth-

he crucified me with him into kingdom come.
.
-This is the passionate and blissful crucifixion

same-sex lovers suffer, patiently and gladly.

They inflict these loving injuries of joy and grace

one upon the other, till they dies of lust and pain

within the horny paradise of one another's limbs,

with one voice cry to heaven in a last divine release.
.
Then lie long together, peacefully entwined, with hope

of resurrection, as we did, on that green hill far away.

But before we rose again, they came and took him from me.

They knew no what we had done, but felt

no shame or anger. Rather they were glad for us,

and blessed us, as would he, who loved all men.
.
And after three long, lonely days, like years,

in which I roamed the gardens of my grief

seeking for him, my one friend who had gone from me,

he rose from sleep, at dawn, and showed himself to me before

all others. And took me to him with

the love that now forever dares to speak its name.

Comments

Perhaps We Should Leave's picture

Huh...

Fascinating. I must say that I rather thought for a moment that the love that dared not speak its name in this poem was necrophilia. Not exactly my personal taste.

In any case, you've certainly taken la petit mort to a beautifully literal degree.

The poem is visceral and disgusting, and incredibly offensive to religious sensibilities. That said, I think it's brilliant. There's certainly beauty in it, and in the end, that's all that matters. I admire your work.

* * *

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
and miles to go before I sleep,
and miles to go before I sleep.

jeff's picture

Actually...

The Love that dare not speak its name is historically homosexuality, first made famous in the poem Two Loves by Lord Alfred "Bosie" Douglas, who was in a relationship with the much-older Oscar Wilde.

The poem came up during his infamous trial, and he used the phrase in his reply (it sounds like pederasty, but all his boys were 18+, btw):

"'The love that dare not speak its name' in this century is such a great affection of an elder for a younger man as there was between David and Jonathan, such as Plato made the very basis of his philosophy, and such as you find in the sonnets of Michelangelo and Shakespeare. It is that deep spiritual affection that is as pure as it is perfect. It dictates and pervades great works of art, like those of Shakespeare and Michelangelo, and those two letters of mine, such as they are. It is in this century misunderstood, so much misunderstood that it may be described as "the love that dare not speak its name," and on that account of it I am placed where I am now. It is beautiful, it is fine, it is the noblest form of affection. There is nothing unnatural about it. It is intellectual, and it repeatedly exists between an older and a younger man, when the older man has intellect, and the younger man has all the joy, hope and glamour of life before him. That it should be so, the world does not understand. The world mocks at it, and sometimes puts one in the pillory for it."

---
"You don't know you're beautiful." - Harry Styles

Perhaps We Should Leave's picture

Oh, my silly little Jeff

I knew that. I'm a huge fan of Oscar Wilde. I was simply making an observation unrelated to the term's origin.

* * *

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
and miles to go before I sleep,
and miles to go before I sleep.