Good karma moved quietly,
Revolving back with purpose,
Finding the hands that gave
Without witness,
Lifting the hearts that remained
True in the shadows-
Returning softly
I’ll take it to the grave,
all the secrets I hold.
I will not live and tell
such sacred memories.
They ogled a bombshell.
I’ll take it to the grave,
coral lips tightly sealed.
That taste of seventeen,
one night at thirty-five,
the best waits to be seen.
I’ll take it to the grave,
behave like a lady.
Hiding stains on satin,
what a splendid charade.
Urban legends fatten.
I’ll take it to the grave,
this is worth repeating.
My mantra will not shift,
loyalty’s never loose.
I’m okay if you’re miffed.
She who perceived what dusky tones to lyric
visions and visitations drifting sea beats
her obsidian deep in bowels of rock
mermen watching neat
River spirit maidens ask freedom's turquoise
within midnight's black grimace God gleams white light
against rainfall sky her fair deploy was
Love's only employ
Sappho's obsidian dust incubating
on Earth ~ Aphrodite's coal its sound inert
no beetles can roam its aura's fast converts
implacable hurts —
Muse awaited no crown pharoah’s lips fleshy
in cosmic time concept will bell excell
grecian pudding spiced hot on cypress table
obsidian spell
Soft dew drops upon unbound black hair curling
sprinkling coloured leaves of body's flesh tree
jet night pale blossoms wrapping barefeet pitch
woman cracked stone itch …
Amidst obsidian leaking indigo
Sappho's loamy dream creating blackout moon
sleepy swoons across mossy floor encircle
legs entwine quirkle —
Hierophants composed illusion stories
she did not believe, dark related truth’s scout
as sure as fire heats every sunset closing
Sappho’s stone reigns clout ~
as aliveness innate
we just rest in being
at peace feeling no lack
content the way we are
knowing God’s got our back
as aliveness innate
we watch the dance within
of divine magnetism
Divine Mother’s caress
igniting body prism
as aliveness innate
living in the moment
one with the universe
we play out our life role
with no need to rehearse
as aliveness innate
we feel love’s benign burn
transforming feeble form
as we remain centred
in the magnetic storm
The poets always say,
whatever they want to.
Brilliant facets chosen
with a great deal of care.
No stanza’s saccharin.
The poets always say,
it’s written in the stars.
Kismet and wanderlust
transform us everyday .
In the process we trust.
The poets always say
complex lines so clearly.
Fifty cents or a dime,
words will fall in order.
All that’s needed is time.
The poets always say,
the Muse will inspire you.
Tears allow ink to flow.
Plant poetry in clouds
words transform into rain.
Adrift across the world,
I dreamt of black waters.
Flat sea from long ago.
Journey inside my mind,
choppers pick up that flow.
Adrift across the world,
opaque lisp on high tide.
Can’t quite get it all out,
I’m bitterly hindered.
A princess with a pout.
Adrift across the world,
calling from my belfry.
An ache inside my throat
is so raw with shouting.
It’s best not to emote.
Adrift across the world,
strange stories come alive.
Murky surf pulls me in,
every forgotten land
chooses my voice again.
The tools to let it flow,
salt is good for healing.
Breezes carry the sea
swirling around my waist,
what the water gave me.
The tools to let it flow,
take a more placid pace.
Sweet determination
is brought to a hot boil,
rolling with such passion.
The tools to let it flow,
truce tumbles in and out.
Tension can go sky high,
sometimes the answer is
to let things slide right by.
The tools to let it flow,
smooth the craggy edges.
To control this temper?
I can go off and walk,
bringing me to center.
the after burn lingers
as kundalini moves
its centred everywhere
spine holds all energies
at all times self-aware
the after burn lingers
feet too radiate bliss
nose chakra also glows
above head’s a bliss blob
bubble that slowly grows
the after burn lingers
space flickers, we look on
our shoulders seem like wings
with forehead now aflame
spiritual heart sings
the after burn lingers
noose of oneness tightens
as we metamorphose
although the world rotates
we remain in repose
Fire-bright moments press against my heartbeat,
pulling breath taut as wire in a storm wind;
even stillness trembles under their pressure~
pure, unbroken force.
Moon-stead voices gather in measured longing,
Shaping thought to linger in lyric stillness;
Fourteen lines become a lantern for meaning~
Light over silence.
poem written for online poetry class assignment=write a single stanza sapphic
Pure instrumentation,
a dance for the senses.
Full pit orchestra eyes.
This sounds so cliche’..
You give me butterflies.
Pure instrumentation,
touched by a silent song.
Facing complex rhythm
you have a sweet timbre,
flashing like a prism.
Pure instrumentation,
the more the merrier.
Nuance is the turnkey
to charge an ensemble.
Each note joins seamlessly.
Pure instrumentation
arranged for all to shine,
I cannot look away.
You dangle a hard hook,
all I can do is stay.
Night pays no attention
to love’s secret meetings~
a flowering bower
and ecstasy when two
hearts find one another.
Night pays no attention
to the ache of parting,
to tears overwhelming,
of hearts piecemeal breaking,
to loneliness swelling .
Night pays no attention
to day’s sudden dawning~
the night will rise again
to loneliness swelling
in life’s foolish fast lane.
As my mascara ran,
a fake smile was plastered.
I cannot keep trying
to wipe out every word.
The skills to mask? Plying.
As my mascara ran,
its streaks lit up my face.
Shattered cage now collapsed
set me free to find me.
Not once have I relapsed.
As my mascara ran
it was pure catharsis
that mixed with renewal.
Done with perfect poison,
going my way’s the fuel.
Hail, fair Aphrodite, foam-born, star of the sea-ways,
Mist-veiled sovereign, mover of mortal bosoms,
Bearer of sighs and bloom of the secret garden—
Hear now my praising.
Thou who mak’st kings bow low and shepherds mighty,
Thou whose glance sets the coldest spirit burning,
Soft is thy yoke, yet none may flee thy binding—
Sweet is thy governance.
Dost thou recall our hours in hush and amber,
When breath met breath and time itself stood hearkening?
Say, if thou wilt, in dream or sign or whisper—
I yet remember.
Take thou this vow, by rose and hidden ember:
No tongue shall loose the tale we twain have carried;
Close kept, sealed fast, our chronicle unspoken—
Veiled be our history.
a crowded glass bottom
sobbed empty on a vine
flowered look is stopping
pain's time for telling time
Lambrusco's weight mopping
a crowded glass bottom
circles make more circles
another one tastes you
metaphor lies shingled
its pass with my sinew
a crowded glass bottom
part they, my countenance
ruby shadow filling
falling through the chalice
it spills like heart would freak
a crowded glass bottom
when empty your bouquet
the dehydrating drink
in my dripping grape play,
the pressure of seeing
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