Monthly Archives:March 2016

Ants

Two wandering across the porcelain
Siberia, one alone on the window sill,
four across the ceiling’s senseless field
of pale yellow, one negotiating folds
in a towel: tiny, bronze-colored, antennae
‘strongly elbowed,’ crawling over Antony
and Cleopatra, face down, unsurprised,
one dead in the mountainous bar of soap.
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Sub-family Formicinae (a single
segment behind the thorax), the sickle
moons of their abdomens, one trapped in bubbles
(I soak in the tub); with no clear purpose
they come in by the baseboard, do not bite,
crush bloodless beneath a finger. Peterson’s
calls them ‘social creatures,’ yet what grim
society: identical pilgrims,
seed-like, brittle, pausing on the path
only three seconds to touch another’s
face, some hoisting the papery carcasses
of their dead in their jaws, which open and close
like the clasp of a necklace. ‘Mating occurs
in flight’— what better way? Weightless, reckless
rapture: the winged queen and her mate, quantum
passion spiraling near the kumquat,
and then the queen sheds her wings, plants
the pearl-like larvae in their cribs of sand:
more anvil-headed, creeping attentions
to follow cracks in the tile, the lip of the tub,
and one starting across the mirror now, doubled.
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Vertical Inspiration

A feast for my womanly inner beast!       
I tease, I please, you have me on my knees
I wring my hands, you oint my head
With your fingers locked in my hair of red
You -I call Master! 
Begging for forgiveness, in a position of love
My words are bashing with one stuttering sound
Moaning & Moaning, 
As you make my head spin like a merry-go-round
Craving for you to unleash a liquid heaven sound

My body speaks and mumbles a language meant for you
A touch of intimacy, that lathers up like liquid glue
Sticky but, yet so compelling
My tongue slips silent beloved words of joy into the air
You play the master of this dark solid room
This dungeon's all I consume
You engage me, to provoke you with everything I got
Yelling, please master don't ever stop!
At this moment, I yearn for excitement
To feel the arousing sensation of your presence
That melts me and chill me with a flow that does not kill
I'm your thinker
Your muse and poet
You are my composer creating liquid tunes
Come here and expresses the hardness of your boldness

I confess to you my love
You are all I'm dreaming of
You drive your hands all over 
Reaching every steamy spot
Encourage me to stimulate your mental needs
You are the master withholding a liquid element
In me, you release fluids that hit like a silent tide
A desire that comes with a full force of the fire inside
I crave for the taste of your lips
Your hands on my hips
Your fingers with a tight sensual grip
I dedicate my heart and my lust
To get lost within every push of your trust
Like a treasure deep underneath the sand
I'm addicted to the feelings of your command
Your hazel eyes are the sunrise
You bring out the obsession,
And my sweet tooth temptation
Like the moon above a misty night
Seducing me in every way in a poetic write
YOU, MY LOVE!!!
Your liquid heaven is the beginning-
-Of my delicious delight!

stmichaels5
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Insect or Flower

Let us watch how they cluster in whirlwind ballets, 
lifting like clouds from the dark swampy ground. 
Burrowed in sunlight, then full-bloomed at midnight, 
bouquets of white moths wings, that gather like flowers. 

Rising from shallows, with satin-soft petals, 
that circle the meadow in small constellations. 
With great expectations, they rise in their journey. 
Star-struck, while seeking the light of the moon. 

Imagine a beautiful guide sitting in soft dirt, 
as we fathom the mystery indulged with fragrance. 
Aborning the beauty bribed by the sullen dark- 
Under the lunar month, winged flower stands in confident. 

Sailing in wander against the moonlit sky, 
pillowed flowers, ring throughout the atmosphere 
Satin-soft petals tend to crystallize into splendor form 
Behold, the journey embellished by the canvas we adorn.

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In the debate between accessible and difficult poems
Poets' poems and poems for people
Only the single poem and private reader matter

Both kinds and anything between can matter or not
Solid or made of air, a vase or heavy clay ashtray
One word repeated or many like a lei

An acquired taste, like wine, and like wine
Not sustenance, yet men die with their miseries
Uncut without it, news and mere matter

I advise everyone to keep a personal anthology of poems that matter
Or not. Perhaps it should be novels. Stones, insect wings,
Feathers, Birds you've seen, People loved.

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Many insects creep upon this earth,
and hardly anyone refers to them as “nice”
or writes a poem reflecting on their worth!
Spiders sometimes make me jump as if they were small mice,
and how repulsed I feel to see cockroaches or lice!

How many cute soft cuddly insects can we find?
 Worms are soft, but cuddly? I don’t think so!
Which bug both cute and sweet comes to your mind?
Well, Butterflies are lovely; fireflies have a nice soft glow.
But the one that comes to MY mind I bet you know!

She is a lady beetle, and when she lands on me,
I do not flinch or swat at her or gasp out “Ugh!”
People like to count her spots. A lucky one is she.
Protecting crops, she is well liked by farmers. What a bug!
If she were but my size, I’d give her a big hug.
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Inspirational and Motivational Images

Experience life though the images around us.  See the beauty in everything.  Even in the darkest place you can find the light.

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?’ Actually, who are you not to be?

flower1a

How can one help shivering with delight when one’s hot fingers close around the stem of a live flower, cool from the shade and stiff with newborn vigor!  God’s grandest messages are not loudly self-assertive. His most fragrant flowers, unlike the hollyhocks and the sunflowers, do not challenge the attention of the careless wayfarer, but hide under the cool hedgerows and only betray themselves by their sweetness. Our dearest and deepest joys are not those which we have in the glare of publicity, but those which cluster round about us in the home.

Perfumes are the feelings of flowers, and as the human heart, imagining itself alone and unwatched, feels most deeply in the night-time, so seems it as if the flowers, in musing modesty, await the mantling eventide ere they give themselves up wholly to feeling, and breathe forth their sweetest odours. Flow forth, ye perfumes of my heart, and seek beyond these mountains the dear one of my dreams! ~Heinrich Heine, “The Hartz Journey” (1824)

Against a dark sky all flowers look like fireworks. There is something strange about them, at once vivid and secret, like flowers traced in fire in the phantasmal garden of a witch. ~G.K. Chesterton, Alarms and Discursions, “The Glory of Grey”

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