The Blood That Binds Us. {poetry}

{Photo © Lone Morch}

{Photo © Lone Morch}

This poem is bleeding. And grim for someone who likes to conjure and contribute grace and beauty. But I was contemplating the blood that binds us and our bodies, as I was witnessing the never-ending news of gang rapes, date rapes, war rapes and hate crimes against women. Rage. Violent attempt of possessing the female body. Blood spilled.

Usually, I process my rage and grief on the private pages. I resist adding more anger and bloodshed to the anguish of our world. But this came out, raw, bloody, painful, knowing we come from the same blood, the same soil, it is what sustains us, enliven us, procreate us, and I offer this as a prayer for the mystery and wisdom of our bloodlines.

I’m no poet, but hey… tell me what you think?

The Blood That Binds Us

Somewhere in the world

two kids prick a hole in their thumbs

with a tiny pocket knife, and

press their thumbs together,

their loyalty forever sealed


Somewhere in the world

a couple is naked in the desert,

his hands on her hips, pushing into her

from behind, each reaching for climax,

blood and sperm down her legs,

aimlessly drying on her skin


Somewhere in the world

a woman collects her blood for

seven days to offers it to her garden,

with prayers for fertility, please

make succulent my arid womb,

give me my child


Somewhere in the world,

in a woman’s body, two lineages

collide, and spark the seed of life,

blood amasses, a belly grows,

and a family is born


Somewhere in the world

a woman in a bathtub, releasing

an unfinished child, the placenta

dissolving, red down the drain,

silent tears into the earth


Somewhere in the world

a young woman cuts her arm

taking strange delight in seeing red

emerge from her skin, a sign of life,

easing her lonesome pain


Somewhere in the world

a woman gazes into a pair of

fetching eyes, blood rushes to her cheeks,

lips quiver, wordless, and two hearts

light up the dark


Somewhere in the world

a wounded man gets a transfusion

of blood from a stranger, and life

returns to his veins with the gift of

a few more breaths


Somewhere in the world

lies a girl in the wet puddle of

his pleasure, her destiny, she bites

the soft flesh of her palm, her hand

pushing between her legs, smearing

her anguish onto the sheet


Somewhere in the world

a newborn sacrificed in a circle

of strangers, intoxicated by the

smell of blood, they each drink

from the well of youth


Somewhere in the world

a woman moans, her vagina

torn again, as he pushes his need

into her, keeping fresh the open wound

that no longer sings


Somewhere in the world

a group of boys jack off with

a biscuit, while somewhere else,

a group of men circle their prey

awaiting, who attacks first


Somewhere in the world

ruthless women cut the pleasure

out of their girls, forever dooming

them to a painful relationship to

their erotic nature


Somewhere in the world

a woman pronounces herself a

free bleeder and, once a month,

blood seeps through her clothes, leaving

a trace of stains behind her


Somewhere in the world

bleeding women hide in huts

shedding their monthly dues, dismissed

and too dirty to occupy their bodies,

owning their nature


Somewhere in the world

a woman’s heart is racing, she’s

holding her breath, and in her hand,

a knife, ready to protect herself,

and draw blood


Somewhere in the world

two bodies collapse, two hearts

galloping, blood pulsing through

veins in an ecstatic explosion,

of awe, of possibility


Somewhere in the world

a heart is given to sustain a life

of someone, and somewhere else,

a heart is stolen to fill the

pockets of another


Somewhere in the world

an old heart’s last throb,

blood slowing, life ebbing out,

the sun sets behind tired eyes,

and I wonder, where does the

blood go, when we die?




LoneMorchFor years, Lone Mørch has been getting women naked through her photography, and now, she’s getting naked on the page, with her memoir Seeing Red. As a writer, visionary artist and freedom activist, she engages your heart, hands, mind and gut in sensory experiences and creative explorations. In her work, she awakens and aligns with your sacred path. Her vision is to catalyze your creative metamorphosis, and  help you reclaim your soul, sexuality and personal sovereignty. Find out more about Lone at LoneMorch.com and enjoy more of her work at Lolo’s Boudoir. You can also connect with her on Facebook and Twitter.


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