On the Birth of Feminisis

Unfurled the black flag on yon Golgotha’s diluvian
Shadows, a blot beyond the hastening, as hideous
Ravens hover over the death-road nigh. A bloodless
Marble, unborn were the dying of the angels strewn

On savage shores, to be submerged of arcane worlds,
To sigh beneath the drowning of obsidian night, hence
Were the conquered banished upon groaning zones
Purgatorial, the ghosts of Salem whispering round at

Every door; a trial without jury whereon seven witches
Presided, beneath the horse’s head did they decree with
Heartless eyes. Each held aloft an image of evanescing
Courtship: a beast and a beast, a woman and a woman,

A man and a man, a harlot and a man, a man and a beast,
A woman and a beast, and a woman and a man gathered
Round a hearth with tender babes. All saw exoneration,
Except the woman and man enjoined together in undrawn

Light. For this sin was the greatest sin of all, and knew no
Other word but Death. Thereon did the banshees implode
Their fury on the azure citadel, where noble Gawain slew
The green specter of a wayward nigh; and the black sun

Undrowned its vengeance on the meek and the innocent,
And the eye of love turned inwards, beyond the expanse
Of primordial time. Unmoored was the apparition, a grave
Where Galahad’s sacred bones knew not but weeds, and

Satan’s daughter was enthroned, across her murderous
Brother ne’er forgot, with a broken bottle for a crown, the
Head of her groom for a sovereign’s orb, and a cannibal’s
Scepter engorged on the soul of man. Of song and gentle

Laughter, once cascading and soon forgot, the half-light
Enveloping the wailing of the callow, as dahlias dissolved
Like dew on a windswept isle – then vanished forever, as
The portcullis slammed shut, to glisten in crystalline dream

Nevermore, a dissolving chimera vanquished on the pall
Of a broken hourglass. A pair of Christian Louboutin shoes,
A Prada bag, an empty bottle of Louis XIII Cognac, a red
Robin encaged, a howling wraith at every door, thrice cruel

Cages born anon; thereon were the virtuous condemned of
Forlorn hands, pale hands that knew not the way to realms
Empyrean. And upon that hilltop bore down a harrowing sight:
For it supplanted the cross of light, it augured the cross of sorrow.

David Penner has taught English and ESL within the City University of New York and at Fordham. His articles on politics and health care have appeared in CounterPunch, Dissident Voice, Dr. Linda and KevinMD; while his poetry has been published with Dissident Voice. Also a photographer, he is the author of three books: Faces of Manhattan Island, Faces of The New Economy, and Manhattan Pairs. He can be reached at: 321davidadam@gmail. Read other articles by David.