Wing-headed, skirting
/city-flirting; psyche-reaped and kissed
into a lushed womb where
coiling into my lap, she lay,
one wonders, infused
in makeshift blood humbly to orgasm,
whether it be design; tumored with mirth or flowers,
daring nightmare to dream,
whether it’s benign.
Psyche revived blotched with lies of prosody,
vignettes a quiet I haven’t seen
ignoring the roses, ignoring the A.D.
© 2022 Pseudopsychosis All Rights Reserved.
Written for the 01/04/2022 dVerse poetics prompt.
Pseudopsychosis. 
Awesome poem! Loved it! ❤
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Thank you! That makes me real happy to hear that.
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Interesting poem!
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Thank you so much!
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This is wonderfully…I don’t quite know what adjective to use, but it’s wonderful! Disturbing, original, inimitable = Lucy 😊
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Hahaha, aww, Ingrid, you flatter me! Thank you so much. ❤
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I… Ok, Lucy, you might need to tone down the awesome a bit cuz it’s getting hard to handle.
❤
David
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David! You’re too kind. I thank you! 😊
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😘
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A mystical tribute, raw. literary, heartfelt, true and honest…lovely flow
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Aww, thank you so much. That means a lot, especially from you! ❤
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This waking is postcoitally reflecting, wondering what world one has been burnt into with a kiss. Mirth or flower? Nightmare or benign dream? Waking to what? “Lies of prosody” or “vignettes of a quiet” defiant of the millennia? These waking meditations belie a strange world to come, to love.
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I love your thoughts, Brendan, and I think you captured what I wanted to convey perfectly with a dark aptitude. I wanted that sense of intimacy there and then that questioning of what has been done. Thank you so, so much!
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Myth rendered through your lens, Lucy. So original–love and darkness twined.
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Thank you, Merril!
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I am starting to think which sculpture you are referring to…
The winged Victory of Samothrace
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Very good guess! That’s a beautiful sculpture.
I was cheeky and named my poem after the actual sculpture, “Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss.”
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I do not remember that sculpture from the Louvre… 🙂
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Wowww!! This is incredibly gorgeous writing, Lucy! 😀 I am especially moved by; “one wonders, infused in makeshift blood humbly to orgasm, whether it be design; tumored with mirth or flowers, daring nightmare to dream, whether it’s benign.” Thank you so much for writing to the prompt 💝💝
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I thank you greatly!
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Enjoyed this mystical piece inspired by the sculpture. The last line intrigues and is so effective. Your background for the page is perfect for this poem as well! 😍
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Aww, thank you so much, Tricia! Glad you enjoyed.
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A fascinating & luscious response to the sculpture. Made my skin tingle specially reading the first stanza.
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Thank you so much, Grace! ❤
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Another wonderful poem Lucy. Full of great imagery! I really loved this line…
tumored with mirth or flowers,
daring nightmare to dream
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Dwight, thank you! ❤ ❤
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“tumored with mirth of flowers” is the sort of phrase that only you come up with, and that I greedily anticipate every time I click over. You’re always a must-read for me, Lucy, and thank you for the kick-ass comment at my place. It made my day.
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Hahaha, Shayyyyy, stoppppp, you’re so sweet. ❤ ❤ And I’m honestly flattered you would say this about my work, that means so much to me. Thank you, thank you so much. You’ve made my day.
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The sculpture in the title lives in the poem–(I identify it as exactly Psyche Revived By A Kiss)–a classical marble dance of two lovers, where the female is obviously coming out of a swoon while the winged Other–here the speaker–is guarding her tenderly. Yet both as in the poem have that withdrawn quality, of being more than images of love or concourse–your poem seems to delve into exactly what that might be, what forms it might take–psyche is also the soul, after all. I especially love the opening stanza which is like a clarion, and the final lines “.. a quiet I haven’t seen/ignoring the roses, ignoring the A.D..” Fine writing.
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I LOVE your thoughts on this piece. My goodness, it’s stunning and the lens you view this piece from, it models my own thoughts about it too. It makes you wonder about the fine lines of love. Where exactly does it lie with these two? Is this love or is this something worse? Is it stuck in that treacherous swoon or is it an embrace to come back to? Who knows? Thank you so very much!
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well i haven’t read your work in quite awhile, i forgot all about your wonderful use of language, it creates both lush sounds and imagines… and seams to ask a question “is this love or is control” at least that’s how i read it. enjoyed this very much
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Thank you very much, Phillip! I am glad to see you in my comments again. 🙂 And that’s exactly what I wanted to convey in this poem. There’s different types of [romantic] love, but I wonder what happens when there’s a difficult balance among them? It leans into the intensity of such feelings where it makes you wonder how much more can you go in to lean further and how much farther can you lean away?
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This poem reads so toxic. There is danger and threat everywhere. Amongst the blood and quiet unseen, I don’t think it is going to turn out anything benign. You pack a dreadful punch.
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Thank you so, so much! There’s only so much comfort in such embrace, right? 😀 In this dance, what exactly is it? I’d like to think it’s a passionate love that makes way for intense feelings in relationships. Without compassionate love to balance it, one wonders if it would evolve to toxicity overtime.
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Beautifully penned! 🙂
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Why, thank you!
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