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Eight Poems

by Sterling Davis


​

​​
The Minotaur

The unplundered heart is empty.
Traces of burning, evisceration

The sacrificial bull
Eyes directed upward, toward votaries.
Ariadne's eyelids;

Libation jars pour forth sweet wine.
A priestess walks by bearing a heart made of pure plastic

A plasticity.
The minotaur's horn thrashes and thrashes



Thaïs

Though dragon-beaked---
When she rolled her eyeballs back you were astonished.

It is glorious to become----
Warily you sought her candidature

Looping Petronius Arbiter,

Soot-wet
You sought her almanac.

Thunderstruck, in her eye's neon
You rolled back, shrieking, dumbstruck----.



​Anecdote of Rameses II

Bow or be vanquished;
Who dares disturb me from my embittered 

Sleep?
I have your soul is a canopic jar;

The pain was voluptuous.
My god is fate;


From the verrucose limbs of amethyst
The cerulean of your eye’s oculus.

The light phosphorized the glint of seas.


​Colloquy to Cleopatra

What if I become your lover?
Would you shriek?


Would our mandalas unite
Or collapse under the glare of the laburnums?

My own fear is of another man’s
Scent;

Admixing with your Baiser Volé.

I contemplate your mounds

Your wet skin;
Your invisible aura.

My eyes, the death-beams
Scrutinize the hardness of your thin body.

Does my poshness impress you?
The profundity of my body-form

The negative capability--
The stolen light-beams.

You’ve never met a character like me.
    


Amaryllis

Amaryllis, you are unimpressed by my poetry.
One ought not bear the displeasure 

Of unsatisfied desire--
I love what is animal in the girl.

I cannot countenance displeasure.
One must not fear what they love--

There is no immortality in our love.
Every human being must live without fear.

The piety of gaping mouths.



After Tyrtaeus

I can command great armies
And superintend Our affairs in the Senate.

A Sovereign in Balenciaga.
It is sweet to die in the pursuit of immortality.

But no mortal man, even Plato.
Can gaze upon the entrails of the Future.

Best be a lawgiver.
Man of Sparta, hoplites--

You were destined to die, and die gloriously.
Now, you may rest under the boughs of

The blushing Ilex
And sport with the Pierian maidens.

Best be health, wealth.
Redound yourself in patriotism.

Be about your shops, and ateliers
And have no fear of War.

Rest and eat the Nectareous Ariusian;
And most importantly, BE THYSELF--

As in God, and Adam
All man are made alive.

The wages of sin is death:
And the purgation of sin is the law.


​
Sementivae

​            I

The dome let out into heaven
         A Dresden
I declare this dome   is like a solitary church;
         The saint's eyelids 
Were heavy with sleep
         Sleep dear Saint
Don't let the sound of the fishmonger
         Destroy your slumber

The last of them went out with Dürer; 
         The charnel house opened right up
Outside one could see the plowed field
         The shrieks of cattle    
The policeman
         In his robe of black.



           II

The heavy materiality of sunset and old bones;
Mantle quaking, eyes bloodshot.

The stars let out into a blank heaven;
Under Ariadne's lids


Firenze too can frost;
This is completion, then. 


                     This stone megalith.


          III

Meliboeus loved his resplendent life

        The daily conquest

The singed alabaster
        The dog's ichor

His atomic egotism.
        His manners were particolored

Eviscerations.
        By day, palmy annihilations

The catechisms 
​        of bleeding Suns.



           IV

In the Sun’s phosphor
Barque laser-beams


Flung to theorem of goat-skins.
Outward, adamantine heavens

Foam to crest of indigos.

​      The Night’s blades sanction this fury;

A malignant wave 
      Pompey’s antediluvian;

In Firenze too waves can frost
      This is completion, then. 

                        This stone megalith.



In Memory of Rob and Michele Reiner

It is something out of Aeschylus.
The dramatist has become the tragedian--

Parricide is made most foul by the hands of 
Entitled killers.

Even the Moon, above Cahuenga
And moreover, the macadam

Outside the lozenges of Brentwood.
It is odd that hands who are so ready 

To spill that vial of Ethereum
Fear death themselves--

However, somewhere, in some bower
Of Acanthus

Divine Minerva
Touch this frozen child.
​

Sterling Davis is the publisher and executive editor of Poetries in English Magazine.


​​​​​SHARE - Issue: 1.8 / April 2026
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Poetries in English Magazine
ISSN 3067-4204
​​​​​​© COPYRIGHT. DAVIS PHILANTHROPIES
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