Tag: Poem

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A Light Among Monsters

“This Little Light Of Mine”,
that’s what they sang,
as they tried to steal yours away…

They bruised you and broke you
and tried to provoke you
in multiple Christian like ways…

A monster, they named you,
They wanted to blame you;
your truth had shattered their lies…

And they claimed to love you;
looked down from above you;
with “love” they said their goodbyes.

But the truth that was spoken
that left your hearts broken:
It wasn’t your fault; you were right…

And now we all see
what they cannot believe:
They were the monsters while you were the light.

Written By Jason Wright
June 16, 2006

For Jeremiah Kenneth Merklinger:
A Light Among Monsters.

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KNOT OF THIS WHIRLED

He strokes my skin…
Fingers whispering over my back;
which ripples when moving,
when dreaming,
when standing still in icy winds.

He pulls down my pants…
Cupping my ass in those hands of his
as he darts his tongue in where
my brain has be craving.

He buries his face there & reams me
with pleasure –

The molten penetration is a knot of
sex magic whos strands flower out
to my chest, fingertips, penis – as my
eyelids snap shut, & my toes curl in a
moment of whirling hardened madness
of the highest, hottest, bliss.

That kiss…
Leaves my hungry mouth sated;
Nerve endings elated;

The tip of his tongue on my balls –
celebrated –

That is until this memory is faded.

Written by Jason Wright
October 2, 2000

For Jeff

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A Thorn For Coronation

In the cold summer heat
where the chill is inside…

The boy in the garden
has secrets to hide…

Walking with walkman
and singing a dirge…

A screaming erection
while fighting the urge…

To talk to his idol;
soft spoken and gentle…

The man is a monster
yet so sentimental…

The man is tormented
and torments this boy…

With feelings that threaten
to create or destroy…
The boy in the garden.

The man that was chosen…
By fate or by chance?
He never will know…

But the boy has been captured.
The boy is enraptured.

The boy is in love
with a man made of snow.

Written by Jason Wright
February 3, 2000

Inspired by Jason Alery,

who I obsessed over endlessly in school,
while listening to “Winter Marches On” by Duran Duran.

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Brian Was Here (2026 Edit)

Brian was with me
in his home tonight.

Brian –
he carried me…

Brian –
he married me…

Brian was buried
in my arms tonight.

In these dreams he was older
than he ever was…

And his eyes shown then
with his long last love…

He held me in his arms because
his arms were a promise…
His tears were so honest…
His sorrow was love
in the presence of pain.

His fingers undressed me…
His skin pressed against me…
Tomorrow would come
so we lived unrestrained.

His passion, once gone…
and for ever so long…
Unspooled
in the starkness
that above us was aching.

His fingers, they whispered…
His kisses, they blistered…
Then cooled
in the darkness
that our love was making.

The kisses between us
were innocent lust:

expressions of love
in the absence of fear.

For our time is precious
when doubt is infectious:

We must love our loved ones
while we have them here.

Written by Jason Wright
January 9, 2000*

For Brian,

Who visited me in dreams
to love and be loved.

* This version was edited on July 24, 2026, which would have been Brian’s 50th birthday.


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RECIDIVOUS

I met him that night when it couldn’t have mattered…
We had gone too far when it did –
(to be sure)…

For before we had ever spoken or thought,
we were lost to that darkness –
with never a cure.

His eyes bright with drunken
boyish wonder,

This frock coated gentleman
bathed in black light,
and filled with a sadness
that tore me asunder:

We shattered together
and splinted the night.

In the encounters that followed
we rescued each other
but we knew we would never be saved…

For there are no survivors
from the plague of desires;
not when both men are ripe to be craved.

Our dire bravery in ruinous pleasure;
this sickness that found us as brothers…
was doomed from the moment our eyes met each others’:
no cure for these lost hungry lovers.

Written by Jason Wright
April 28, 1999

For Dorian:

Who is far too delicious and urban an angel
to not inspire my mind or my dick.

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THE PARTY THAT NEVER WAS

Like whispers in the dark
corrupted coven of my youth

The matrix of our lives;
a subtle subterfuge of truth

The damage of desire;
a curse both brilliant and Orwellian…

For nothing can save the damned
but the crucible of rebellion.

Our covenant
was destroying us

A sacrifice
was our need

But high is the price of redemption
and all of us would have to bleed…

But someone would have to begin this quest
into the dreaded evermore…

I was the perfect choice for this mission
because I had bled before.

In the fountain of repression
where the battle was about to begin,

I took my cue from another
and surrendered to unholiest sin,

The pain and the pleasure mingled
as they stripped away inhibitions,

And I understood in that moment
the consequences of our decisions.

The danger of destruction
heightened experience beyond any other,

At last we could face the truth of our pact;
we could finally LOVE one another,

And we understood that this blasphemous act
could save or destroy us all,

But nothing could destroy this moment in time;
nothing could make us fall.

Our clothing was torn asunder
in order to change the coven’s fate,

But still the question remained:
Were we in time or were we too late?

In our minds we’d fucked each others’ souls
in our orgy of repressed lust…

Our symbolic salvation:
Eternal damnation
or renewal of friendship and trust?

The surviving coven members
were a breed both tempered and pure,

Defeating disaster and embracing desire
that no power could destroy or inter…

Sex was our drug and deliverer of choice;
denial our insanity cure…

And so this was The Party That Never Was
for the lovers that we never were.

Written by Jason Wright
July 6, 1996

For Paul, Steve and Darla –
and all of the other coven members who couldn’t make it to the party, because it never happened.

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The Incubus

From within
my brutal dreamscape…
the Incubus takes control.

His somber gaze inflicts my heart;
his countenance takes its toll.

For once you’ve drowned
within those eyes of his…
eyes like burning coals:

Their memory will haunt you,
tempt, rape and taunt you…
and torment your immortal soul.

This riveting integration
of arctic death and heated desire,
burns colder than any blizzard
and blows hotter than any Hellfire –
his torrid aura bathes us
as his jubilant sufferings inspire,
he’s the passive assailant –
the willing victim –
he is the conquered survivor.

This archaic newborn…
This pedagogue of innocent corruption…
This algid inferno trapped
within a flesh enshrouded seduction
is an intimate portrayal of pain
and of a generation’s self destruction.

Written by Jason Wright
April 1, 1995

– For Steve –

Who is far too damned beautiful
for his own twisted good!

I wrote this, half in love with this guy that I didn’t know, but hesitant to pursue him. There were good reasons not to, or so I felt. He was quite young, though I met him at a bar. And there were rumors which I later learned were spread by an ex-lover, that made him seem slightly predatory. I liked the word play and I’ve always liked contrasting opposites, and my lust, trepidation, and mistrust (aimed more at myself than at him, given my then recent breakup with a man who had raped me) was clearly apparent. I gave him the poem and hoped that he liked it, though I’m not sure that it’s very flattering. Someone, I can’t remember who, later told me that a boyfriend of his (Matt) who had read it, brought it up in an argument and said that I’d painted a perfect picture of him, which has always made me feel a bit guilty. It felt like something I’d written had been used against him and that hurt me. I doubt anybody remembers this now except me. I mean, people are always telling me that they are astonished by the kind of things that get stuck in my head and this is likely one of them.

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