Science Fiction Series

Loren's Poetry

All so Was

Was it your handsome face, Mein Kampf?
     amazing hands
     ​or those lips
          oh, my, those lips
          and your kiss
     took my sight
​     my freedom
     my will to fight.
Was it the white hot rollercoaster orgasms?
​     commanding my hips
​          and, oh, your lips to my lips
​          screaming and screaming
          as we rode the night.
Was it your SS-Ehrenring?
     secret rage
​          or host of demons
​               in a hidden cage.
​The battered cigarette case?
​     wherein open graves
​     and bodies high
          to which you effortlessly shut your eyes
​          with a smile and a wink
          inhaling smoke, exhaling lies
​                of despots admired
                and earthly angels viciously satired.
I​ must leave, Mein Kampf,
     Mein Liebling,
          for I'm afraid
          a moment here
​          and I shall kneel.
​A moment more, Mein Liebling,
          and for you
          for love
​          I shall hate anything.

                                                                                           Loren Blowers © 2017

Fatal Flattery

You stacked your words upright
And told me I could fly
Then shoved me off
Because you knew
I'd fall
And
Die

                                                                                                              Loren Blowers © 2017

Unentitled

Ragged skull
    Hollow sockets
         Sharp cheek
              On prayerful finger bones

Rest shadow man
         In the coming dark
              On this blood soaked bed
       with me

Our sacred peace
     This side of hell
     That side of Eden

Rest your splintered soul
      Next to mine
      Safe
In my broken embrace
     
Sleep now
    Beautiful
    Hideous
             Shadow man
     
To your notched and wooden lips
    My
    Secret kiss
      I
         Lov
           E
     loVE yOu
                       Sleep

                                                                                                  ©2015 Loren Blowers

Sweet Spot

It feels so good

  To wander the woods at night
     Until you find your place
         There,
             close your eyes and breathe deep, deep
             Of forest and flesh and earth
          Until it hurts
     Until your head falls back from the glorious thundering pain

And howl at the moon.

                  Owwwwwwww!

                                                                                                                                       © 2015 by Loren Blowers

Inside Out

Eyes that serve champagne
     Touch like summer rain
          Kisses that drive me insane.
Why should I resist
     When he cuffs my wrists,
          Brings me to heel
          With fifty calibers of steel
     And turns me inside out

​          With his tongue?

​                                                                                             Loren Blowers © 2017

New Moon

Moon, my love, is gone
               Sooty sky
                      Shadowed mineral mourners

Too far twinkling lights
              Warm other hearts

And my icy vigil
              
Curled on this tomb
                        Gazing up

Forever back in time

              One more beat

              I close my eyes
              
Hold my breath
              
Press my ear

              …and listen
                                for one more
                                                  One more
                                                                             One more

Why didn’t my heart stop with yours?

           

                                                                                                                   © 2015 by Loren Blowers

...about Love?

Here's the thing...
​     it doesn't know the balance in your bank account
          color of your skin
          political leanings
          age
          weight
          height
          gender.
Here's the thing...
     it didn't read that book
          talk to your best friend
          listen to the podcast
          create that checklist.
Here's the thing...
     it knows emptiness
​          sorrow
          loss

          hopelessness
​          despair.
Here's the thing...
     it knows what completes
​          brings joy
          restores
​          gives strength
          fulfills dreams.
Here's the thing...
     it knows why you're hurting
          and what will heal
​     where you're broken
          and how to fix.
Here's the thing...
     it doesn't know what's recommended
         it knows
what's right.
Here's the thing...
​     it knows only your soul.

What else is there to know...

                                                                                                 ​Loren Blowers © 2017

 

Clumsy Love

You're the one who holds my heart
​Sometimes drops
and
​Oops!
​Steps on it

                                                   Loren Blowers © 2017

Lover

A dove landed in my garden today
  So I let my cat out
     To kill it
      Can you understand...
    Can you possibly love
The instincts of a cat,

         Lover?

                                                                                                     © 2015 by Loren Blowers

Truth in the Bubbles

“God is Love,” proclaimed the atheist.
               Bleated the sheep, “Profound.”

“Love is God,” lectured the professor.
               Marked the students, “T.”

“Love is patient,” preached the theologian, “Love is kind,”
               Recited the disciples, “Aa-amen.”

“Love is forgiveness,” assured the saint.
               Agreed the sinners, “Righteous!”

“Love is unconditional self-sacrifice” declared the martyr.
               Knowingly nodded the mother; knowingly nodded the father.

“Love never fails,” promised the winner.
              “Hooray!” cheered the losers. 

The Lover
    closed her eyes and turned away
      in stillness to a sharper authority.

Quietly, she sank
    beneath her coverlet of painted rosebuds,

Silent
    into her sultry lagoon,
      until she thought she understood,
        until she knew,

No one had a clue.    


                                                                                            © 2015 by Loren Blowers

Bible Control

Morons and the Wicked
use the bible
as they use guns,
to kill
then blame the book.

                                                                                                                                              Loren Blowers ~ copyright 2016
 

Parental Warning

My childhood was fucked up.
My head is fucked up.
My love life is fucked up.
My friends are fucking awesome.

End
of
fucking
Poem

 

                                                                                               Loren Blowers ~ Copyright 2016
 

Morning Song

I woke in his arms
       in the blood of our love,
With the warmth of his smile
   ​    chilling my heart,
And the light of his eyes
       not brightening my dark,
The honeyed fruit he fed
       I could not digest,
Yet the songs that he sang
       to the marks of your teeth
                   were sweet
                            so sweet.

                                                                                                                           Loren Blowers ~ Copyright 2016

There is Only East

Come now,
              Leave the pieces there, my son,
                    however precious
                    and dear,
              Do not lovingly gather them in your trembling hands
                    and wash them with your tears,
              Leave them in the uncaring dirt
                    under countless trampling feet,
             And turn your face East
                    one step
                           warmth
                    another
                           light
             So heavy
             So arduous
                    as though the strings of your betrayed heart
                    have tethered you
                           Where once you sang
                           Where once you flew
                           Now wound so tight
                           Too tangled and brittle for flight,
             Save your weary wings, my son,
                           You can't yet fly
                           But you can't stay here,
             And turn your face East
                    one step
                           warmth
                    another
                           light
             Until some day far away
                    From this place where you were torn apart,
                            There is no healing a broken heart.

                                                                                                                             Loren Blowers © 2016

Can't Shut Up?

Tongues chatter
             after thoughts that flee
             down dim
                         narrow
                                    twisting
                                               paths.
             Up three crumbling walls
                         the mind frantically crawls
                                    and round and round
                                                  the tongue chatters.
                          Not a trap
                          There's one way back
                          But to turn and see 
                          From what you fled...
                          Far too scary.
              Better to claw
                          Better to crawl
                                      Better to scratch and chatter
                                      Better to scratch and chatter.
Now as for me
            I won't say a thing
            I'll smile and hum

            and watch TV
            (the one they wheel in front of me).

            I shall brush my teeth
            and brush my teeth
            and brush my teeth
            and stare
            with a bloody grin
            pull whiskers from my chin

            and chew when I'm supposed to swallow.
And we shall be so very glad
           so very, very, very ​g​lad
               when
                      I
                        go
                             mad. 


                            ​                                                                                   Loren Blowers © 2016

           Not You

A rage so blind at times.
Watching you destroy our love.
Blow by maddened blow.
          ​As though you hated Love itself.
​Therein lies everlasting pain.
​Not in losing you.
​I lost you long ago.

​But I clung to Love, until the last.
Until these leaden words.
That tie me to what's true.
​         As though my heart.
That could fly.
​That could soar!
Left.
          Not you.


                                                                                                      Loren Blowers © 2017

​For Denis "Big Guy" who gave me courage today, 3/25/17

Better Off Dead

Were I ever to feel,
     the weight
     and warmth
     of his body
     on mine,
​The tangle of limbs,
The smell of our skin,
          t'would kill me
          to be alive again.

                                                                                    
                                                                                                                                         Loren Blowers © 2017

Happy

A figment,
          to savor and steal
          close
          don’t open your eyes
          hold tight
          before it’s torn
​L
eaving you far from then
          in the never place
          when nothing and no one and nothing is
          to hear
          to feel
          to see
          or taste
​And you wonder how you got from then
          to now
          to when
          to nothing
          in the never place
Because you didn’t move
          you didn’t move       
​          you didn’t
          you’re sure
          from then
But look again
          You didn’t
                            You’ve been here all along
                             all alone
                             with nothing and no one
          in the never place

                                                                                                                                                  © 2017 by Loren Blowers

 Inside Job

Every battle fought and won,
​     until toward me
     you turned your gun
​          not to kill but to stun.
Again, shots fired!
​     Along with me
     you looked to see
          and didn't know
​          convincingly.
​Then kneeling with a kindly mien,
     you dressed my wounds
​     and wished me well
     though every time I rose
          I fell.
Weaker and weaker with each hit,
     so little of me
     I longed to quit
          with no relief in sight,
          bullets winging left and right.
​But nursing me, you'd softly say, "Have faith, my love.
     Against the world
​     it's just we two."
​           So, how could I know
​           of your murderous coup?

                                                                                    Loren Blowers © 2017

Ode to Blue Ruin

Sleep, Sleep Lullaby Brain
Lest you wake
And go Insane

                                      Loren Blowers © 2017

Loren Blowers

Bio  /  Contact