lisamariebasile

[lisamariebasile]

saint of malady

bow before this body : kneel at this spine of fire : disease of divinity : unmoving, incurable : fuchsia blood : made of incessant summer : on fire forever : ligament of corrupt ivy : so tight, nearly erotic : this shell varnished in rage : vertebrae beloved : this sea so tired of containing : yet uncontained by shore : clawing toward morning : in me a sense of the perpetual : body tired, body…

[lisamariebasile]

Lisa Marie Basile, from "Apocryphal"

[lisamariebasile]

Lisa Marie Basile, from "Apocryphal"

[lisamariebasile]

Lisa Marie Basile, Andalucía

[lisamariebasile]

Lisa Marie Basile, from Light Magic for Dark Times

[lisamariebasile]

Apocryphal: An Interview With Lisa Marie Basile | HUFFPOST

[lisamariebasile]

Lisa Marie Basile, from "Apocryphal"

[lisamariebasile]

Lisa Marie Basile, from "Apocryphal"

[lisamariebasile]

“I hate to be loved when I cannot be in the country of my body.”

— Lisa Marie Basile, from “the love,” published in Vanilla Sex

[lisamariebasile]

the loneliness spills out of the box

the loneliness spills out of the box,  here onto my lap and up into all of it. a salty quiet rushing in, and of it, all of me.

— Lisa Marie Basile, from “Twelve Poems,” Sporklet Press (June 2016)

[lisamariebasile]

“I am trying to suffocate a desire. In the cathedral of stain, of resin, in this shadow palace, I steeple. Between god and body, between body and body, your body a god, a space disappears, folds in, on me. I try my best to stay beyond the space. To splay holy, to shape untouchable.”

— Lisa Marie Basile, “binding spell,” published in A Velvet Giant

[lisamariebasile]

i haven't done a "these are my top poems" in a long while but i haven't been reading a lot of contemporary poetry? so in no particular order, some poems ive been thinking about:

i put the coffin out to sea (lisa marie basile): this one is always sort of perpetually on my list. the way the language on the page gives itself to the image of the ocean is masterfully done... the words eb and flow beautifully. such a haunting and poignant description of grief

half-beautiful optic nerve (amy jannotti): "perhaps i will write dread so many times, it will lose / all meaning. perhaps i will float" ... this is a poem informing my wantingness right now that is beautifully written

but gravity still exists (jacquelyn bengfort): this one is a masterclass in a brief and beautiful hope. the final line sticks in my mouth like peanut butter and pervades on even my lowest days

[lisamariebasile]

saint of lost causes

I petition the afterlife,             the hands of men who made me, whose wings engulf me in black gauze. Pin me down to save me.             I am wilting for the soft fathers of time                         whose hands can crush me, but won’t. I need fear to put my fever out.             I petition the language lost                         in my cellular godbody. I am so bound in…

[lisamariebasile]

saint of malady

bow before this body : kneel at this spine of fire : disease of divinity : unmoving, incurable : fuchsia blood : made of incessant summer : on fire forever : ligament of corrupt ivy : so tight, nearly erotic : this shell varnished in rage : vertebrae beloved : this sea so tired of containing : yet uncontained by shore : clawing toward morning : in me a sense of the perpetual : body tired, body…

[lisamariebasile]

Thank you for including my work!

dune part one (2021) dir. denis villenueve / dune part two (2024) denis villenueve / the sorrow festival, erin slaughter / on the seashore (1879) by hanus knöchel / i done clicked my heels three times, taylor byas / saying your names, richard siken / study with two models (1913) by františek drtikol / binding spell, lisa marie basile / murmur, cameron barnett / roberto ferri / anatomical venus by joanna ebenstein / written on the body, jeanette winterson / all quiet on the western front, erich maria remarque / venus mourning the dead adonis by the workshop of thomas willeboirts bosschaert / the father, sharon olds

for @paganmindidnothingwrong

[lisamariebasile]

I’m the girl who collects the excrement. I’m the girl who cleans the sapphires in the lake. I lower myself down into the well, down into the beneath, down in the dark marshes where I pin up my hair and cry out. — from Lisa Marie Basile's poem, "saint of earthly things" in Lover's Eye Press

[lisamariebasile]

The summer was always waiting, a waiting, a wait, wait, wait. It wanted me, hunted me. And when the hunt found me it was still hungry. How I heaved my loaded heart. — from Lisa Marie Basile's poem, "saint of sepulture" in Lover's Eye Press