Note: This is a poem I wrote to vent the anger I felt in my twenties; a back at ya, suckers! It’s such FUN to play the VILLAIN! Just remember, IT’S ONLY A PLAY! I was getting my Chinnamasta on. Although my inspiration was the Salomé of the Bible, the narrative is biblically incorrect. The image is from a painting, also done in my twenties. The last part about the older Salomé I wrote recently. The old hurts are long gone!

Salomé is frank
about the nature of Her desires,
and accepts the fact
that they rule Her completely,
and nothing gets in the way.

The only value She recognizes is desire,
and the only things She values
are the objects of Her desire.

So all-consuming is Her voracity,
She overlooks none from the vine.
Few are the helpless fools
who in their silly arrogance
attempt to escape
the devouring vacuum suck;

And many are those
who maul and shove
in their greedy scramble,
that much sooner to reach
the gaping, drooling womb.

And those who cease to serve Her,
She casts aside contemptuously—
emaciated weaklings,
worn out shells,
sucked up into the pit
of Salomé’s desire.

Salomé, at the pinnacle of Her power,
the nemesis of John the Baptist,
triumphant over Her silver platter,
and the severed head that lay thereon.

An older Salomé now, the She-Satan,
revels over Her many conquests.
Her witch’s cackle,
bubbling up high from the back Her throat,
in Her triumphant glory,
She continues to exact Her just revenge.

Her enemy’s own weapons,
She turns greed and lust against them.
Ruthlessly
She eviscerates Her fallen foes.

Gleefully
She surveys the piled up,
massacred corpses.
And with a long, loud, throaty “HA HA HA HA HA!,”
She kicks them over the cliff.

BEGONE!

© 2020 Leona Patrick, all rights reserved