I feel around your edges
until I find the entrance.
I sense your essential essence
Four words
spring to mind
”every kind of juice”
I am surprised.
Delighted and surprised.
Every kind of juice.
Sustenance sublime!
Poetry
Slow Swing Sonnet
If I wouldn’t look like a stalker
I would follow this woman everywhere
Just for the pleasure of looking
Like a hot calypso
A summer rumba
The way she moves her body
Is a slow swing sensuous sonnet
Full of warmth and sunshine
Such grace in every gesture
And her face
Such a smile
It makes my heart race
Just thinking
I wouldn’t presume to pursue her
No more than I’d chase a breeze
but I’m caressed and soothed
by her passing
Reaching for Heaven
when people talk of desire
they speak of fire and heat
but a fire can be extinguished,
in itself it’s not complete
desire is the beginning
the waking of stronger powers
that sweeps you off your feet
and put a stop to time
only when you are mine
that power comes with a passion
far beyond ourselves
it pushes, it tears, it’s agony,
it’s joy, it’s free, it’s sweet,
it’s the urgent demand of life
when the wind comes down from heaven
and whirls true lovers up,
groaning and gasping,
flying,
upward,
through the longing stars,
they cling with desperation
there’s another dimension
to the grip of their grasping arms
until they fall together,
soft to their tumbled bed
you touch my beating heart
we can talk
or fall asleep
we know we are one whole part
i feel such tenderness
it’s then i can stroke your lovely skin
and cradle your gentle head
excite me, ignite me,
never needs to be said
the fire of desire will return
we’ll go to heaven again
by a slower, gentler path
Behind the Masks
I see you walk in the world,
but your life is a closed facade.
I see the face you wear,
the same one you wear every day.
Expressions sometimes change.
It’s basically all the same.
I hear your conversations,
polite and carefully restrained,
and the poses you’ve adopted
and the way you think you are.
We’ve all been conditioned that way.
So for god sake put on a mask,
a mask of your own creation.
Yes, wear that one.
Let your hair down.
Log into virtual reality
if that’s what it takes to be free.
Behind that mask you can hide.
It’s the way to express yourself.
I’ll never be your judge.
You can be that hidden creature
you truly want to be.
Become your avatar.
Your dream ambitions
will show your secret essence
and then, for better or worse,
we’ll know who you truly are
and,
at last,
you will know your self.
Dazzled
I look around
and see the life
that glows within
and shines about
from every place the sunlight falls
and I recall
the times before
my sight was dimmed
by crippling grief
and realise that I’ve been blind
to all the joys that once I saw.
I sense a sunrise in my heart.
Writing Fairy Tales
Paris Suburbs – Carnaval
great atmosphere
I step silently through the streets, colours beneath my feet, as i crouch to the floor. A drum beckons me close and i strap its frame to my body. There are voices on the air, excitement and rainbows interlaced in the fabrics of those around. The echoing of bells, there sound swells and ricochets off bricks. Shakers and surdo´s, glitter and gold. Timba´s and conga´s on the old and the young. A whistle blows sharp across the throng. The sounds of the sun, from the ground to the sky. An elephant draped in silk, crafted by man, rolls down the street, followed by children swift of foot. Dancers twirling and rejoice in every voice heard. A parade of life, sounds and colour, a community together for a moment. Food shared on long tables, talk and friendship. The heart of Brazil in the passion of France.
Laura Berry
Confessional
My heart slips,
falls.
Ice encrusted long ago,
disappointed.
Abandoned. Ignored.
Disgorged.
Shattered sound
ricochets.
Too late I understand.
I am the abandoner.
Aortic contractions
in northernmost veins.
Earth shudders
heaves
lets go,
as I have her.
Anmol hosts Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today, she asks us to explore confessional poetry. In Confessional, whose voice is heard in the first stanza? The confessor appears in the second and third stanza. This is how I felt when we took our trip to Alaska several years ago. I witnessed and heard the calving that is occurring more and more as we ignore the plight of our earth. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!
Birch’s Armour
Time Stopped
The clock struck two
I heard a ding
Waiting for the second
Still waiting…
The second ding did not ring
.
With a raised brow
Approaching the clock
Its face cracked
The clock had stopped
An eerie air encircled me
Can it be?
.
The midst of a storm
Yet no sound now heard
I look out the window
A motionless bird
Stuck in flight with its wings outstretched
.
The trees bent by the wind
Yet static they remain
Water droplets suspended
Like frozen rain
.
I open the door
And walk the street
Emotions captured on faces
Smiles, pain and sadness
The beauty and ugliness exposed
Unfinished thoughts
Traveling feet
.
Overwhelmed i take a seat
There is a sacredness
I cannot touch, just observe
It was best i left them undisturbed
I studied the scene for what seemed hours
Every expression etched in my mind
.
The…
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The Dreaming Path 