An den Mohn
Mond, du narbengrüner
Bandit, du vager,
nebelblühnder, flatterhafter Frager,
furunkelst Wahrheit zu
blindselnd den Karbunkeln
und wartzest heimlich
Keit im Dunkeln:
Und flunkernd von Flüssen
tünchst du das Laub
ins Bleilicht schüchterner Tassen.
Denn sieh,
in altersstarrer Farbenpracht
hast unten du im Hof
dir Licht gefacht.
To the Moan
Moan, thou scarface
greenish, thou art Father
of thy foggy bloomies rather.
Fur ’n uncles of far hides
and sin’s end is King Duncan.
Under waters’ whitely
side the Ship is sunken.
Alas, flitting by flows
touchest thou the loud
into plumbum shy of dishes.
Behold,
in Saturn’s sparkling colours
His Courtly Masquing
Majesty has laughed.
(Haydn: „Il Mondo della Luna“)
addendum 12/2017:
moon’s silent moan to audrey
(a sonet to audrey, shakespearian style)
we’re sharing silently our words and moans,
we type and sometimes speak through digit channels.
while all our longings are just distant foams,
we squirt from elsewhere into present panels.
but no one hears us cumming off between
your spreading thighs amidst my tender kisses.
i feel your moan, your home just off the scene
and i imaginate those pouring hisses.
it’s just a sound of silence, symphony,
a fugue with me in baroque counterpoint.
let me your cries and sighs whenst ever see
and let me be your moaning moon, ascending
as sickle not of billhook, but in joint
with thee, my tongue and love attending.
(to audrey/mdw 171221)
