Contemplative, yet futile batwings
Flap indecision and scrape distrust
Down soulless windows of hurt's faded past.

Lilting echoes of corrupted snapshots
Clutter journals of macabre contempt.
No amnesty of cardiac oedema.

Unshed ridges erode the marblesque form
Expose narcissistic flesh, ripe for gouging
Contempt within this chronology.

Hemlysis and desecration of intimacy
Murdered with utterances of vitriol
From lips of parched abandon.

Wherein reclines the order?
In repose of ancient illumination?
Or reverbed incessant gloaming?

Jester, mime and larrikin
Evades scrupulous persuasions, diligent discourse
Carousel turns of caustic repartee.

Unfurled, unfinished, un...un...un...


Undone.

Very perceptive.

Yessssssssssssssssss

well now!!!!!! .... you know I am grinning like a loon

Remeber when desire was a god thing
How you listened to it's voice
Craved to know it's magic
Celebrated carnal sounds
Explored every sacred thing.

Could there have beat
A more trusting heart?

Then the dark angel of change
Worked his lie
Ghosted from hand to eye
Killed the wild skin of dazzle.

If you put yourself in the smoke
Make peace with the lingering fires
Blaze harder
Than those hot mornings
You will learn to heal.

Ask poetry
It says come
You can drink my melted smiles
Eat of me and be free.

I see
.........an elaborate woman
She sits in a cool blue place
and all she has
...............goes for an arm and a leg.
They want two thousand for a raw egg
.....................incubated in her hair.
I think
she has
diamonds
.........in her head.
it is said
.............true beauty is in her blood


And power in her scream.

These are the dreams we left
On love's soft pillow
Under the film of time

They are lighter than the tree branch
The wind shakes this morning.

I can smelll their shadowing
I can feel your neck a silkenache
Around which beauty climbs and glitters.

One is the dream in which you stand
Before me
Breathing so lusciously
The stars weep around your head
Like yellow goddess eyes.

In the other
Whole forests imitate my body
Rocking gently upright in pure madness.

Even the wind there crying love
Turns it's thousand powers into music.

Wrapped in snow soft as cotton wool
Unwrinkled
Unconcerned unrepeentant
Toes warm
Wide eyes frosted by haloes of winter cloud
Belly still
Younger than my children
I shall never perhaps
Risk an uncoiled rope
Never link or permit
Unmarked feet to feel the ground
In the moon palace.

His heart beneath the skin and bone
Is porcelain ice and beats too slow.
If pierced it would not bleed but she
Can warm the knife with whispering.
Can melt his blood with velvet words
That boil his lust with poison urge.

An angel speaking poetry
A drink of liquid symphony
A dance in evening gardens sweet
With haunting looks and naked feet
Milky moonlight falling wet
On flowers moist with summer sweat.
Marble gods stand stiff and wear
A blushing smile and glassy stare.

Above, the stars blaze silently.
Devouring every word she breathes
Lingering long in language deep
In fevered moans and perfumed sleep
And so her fire can lick his blood
And change the concete into flood.

Dovewing lashes hide pearlescent lense
That mystery's darkness shed.
In mind's vast universe resides the key
Of galaxies splendid in their bed.

Rested feet upon the helm of yesterdays
Supping from the cup of wonders hewn
Gawdy banners flutter in winds of sighs
Wondrous masters of lives astrewn.

Her silent song on whispered ears
Catch moonbeams in her net of dreams.
Bewitched in shadows of forest floor
Engorged with memories, asplit at seams.

Entangled blooms within her hair
Perfume nights with dark abandon.
Oh love's sweet care is woven tight
And sheltered in thoughts a'random.

Jess

~ Forbidden Fruit and a Lust-worthy Daisy ~

~~~

I lust for the succulent flavor of life
often chastised for my selfish desire
yet my lust is as selfless as that of an infant
for I dream of lusting life with you

How prudish of a fruit tree
to bear disparaging fruit
in the midst of the garden of life

Rotten apples falling at my feet
desperate to step on my toes
proclaiming blame for their putrid condition

Unfit for even the making of wine
only sows ingest their rancid sap
passing it through their entrails
to be drained into the bowels of the earth

A sweet and innocent Daisy catches my eye
I lay next her nakedness in the sunbathed sea of the meadow
coveting the beauty of her petals
I crave the sent of her bosom
touching her softness with the tip of my tongue
I savor the ecstasy of pure physical pleasure

T’is heaven-sent these human senses
for without them we couldn’t see

Eyes are the windows of the soul
the body, a doorway to intimacy
arms, a means of embracing
lips, the sultry sweetness of God

All these things are gifts
from a purposeful creator
a creator who saw that they are good
and who laughs at the rotten apples
who have lost their way into darkness
in the abyss of judgmental damnation

Rotten apples have caused their own demise
but they will once again arise from the bowels of the earth
and be given another chance to rejoice in the glory of creation
in the meantime, I covet my lust for Daisy
and bask in the glory of god

~~~



(Abra 9/22/07)

All of us are travelers lost,
our tickets arranged at a cost
unknown but beyond our means.
This odd itinerary of scenes
--enigmatic, strange, unreal--
leaves us unsure how to feel.
No postmortem journey is rife
with more mystery than life.

Tremulous skeins of destiny
flutter so ethereally
around me--but then I feel
its embrace is that of steel.

On the road that I have taken,
one day, walking, I awaken,
amazed to see where I have come,
where I'm going, where I'm from.

This is not the path I thought.
This is not the place I sought.
This is not the dream I bought,
just a fever of fate I've caught.

I'll change highways in a while,
at the crossroads, one more mile.
My path is lit by my own fire.
I'm going only where I desire.

On the road that I have taken,
one day, walking, I awaken.
One day, walking, I awaken,
on the road that I have taken.


from "The Book of Counted Sorrows"

Dean Koontz.

Sighhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh its good to be home

If you were a
flower
I'd eat you
freely
slowly
lingering on your
velvety soft
lips
celebrating
as
my breath danced
in and out
like the rhythm
of a wild
ocean breeze.


Charlotte Wilson.

One Peachy Day

Smear the white juice
of crushed sunlight
over my breasts
the delirious milk
of summershine.
Go on to tell the sky to
lick me to death
with his hot tongue
of blue music.
Show him how
to pound out the beat
in my bad mood.

All I want is
to sweat topless
under the true language
of skin
cooking like pink honey.

What a trip it is
from here to there.


Dianne Borsenik

ahh and her beauty shines from within

"Remembering is the secret of poetry."

Rebecca Gabrielle Porath Katz

(age 9)

Hmmm...little people ...our best teachers.