Wednesday, April 22, 2009

anessa blaine highlighted poet for today!

When asked about herself on Authors Den, where I met her, I loved and copied what today's poet said:

boo radleys and quasimodos.
the beauty of words is enough....
fascinated by anything but myself.
rain and crayons.......

i really hate writing about myself;
id prefer to be incognito. .
so i guess some points::::
i am terribly uncurably romantic and hellenistic. ..
in my opinion, every thing
should have a scar or a workable beautiful flaw... .. ..
i write just for the words to have a home.. ....
my art is more a cathartic;
a cathartic chrysalis. ..i really just want some peace. ..
[[and maybe some rachmaninov/alice in chains, a croft in the highlands, and some long winded aesthetic conversation]]. . .

Here are some of her words...she allowed me to select the ones I wanted! Rated PG by author...

i cannot silence the beauty of this night

i cannot silence the beauty of this night

my throat cries a velvet sound
that stems from an alazarin sky
waterfalling in a wintery voice;
speak to me so that i might soar of stars
and skim new moons and maybe once, sing for you.

the earth is then a softer amazing grace.

lullaby’d by the rippling wind, love undresses
me before the eyes of simple belief: crafted and cut
like snowflakes. . .
and i descend gently with the desire
that echoes between words of forever
and ever; i single out your sigh
among all the other trembling branches,
to shudder with another
and in my body, there lies evidence
of where you touched everywhere,
before.... .. ..small dimples,
deep valleys and the one shade: a deeper,
darker hue of you.

play me your song of shadows and adorn me
in crystal st.rings of icicling obsidian.
spring cannot be far off.
. ...
hum against my nakedness,
and i beg, draw your lips to shape a wonder,
warm me like summer,

make me the night full as a heaven
of angels, fragile
in their feathery flight.
and from my flavour forge a river that gorges
in grandeur.. teach tender
with your ribbonfingers and spirits
to my soul, to drift
its faith, in you, like a lost leaf whispers
the gnostics of bliss begun, beneath, as i lay,
entangled and smiling under your repose.. .suppose
my frame
as your shelter
and hide from all you fear.
sink through the folds, moonlit fields as such, of this
to where my two.lips can speak only
your kisses, and remain still...
still, until
all the world sleeps, requited
of our eclipsing delighted
garden.. . of our hands

close upon the secret hours
and hold such flowers, even hidden
with snow; cold and shivering, they burn
yearning to find the sun
and unfurl like psalms riveted by the glow
of what i have found in you; anew within

the truth of
such an unspoken moment, as i am open.eyed but
asleep; for you come as a dream, folded and foot.stepped
and i am blooming as your dark snowangel,
your morning’s slow revealing glory

and you have bound me to this sacred ground.
reaped in me such warmth.
of such love.
as only you could grow.


i give him me



wet and curled,
i toss and burn in placebo abandon
and lull myself into sleep. .. .

i embody, already, tomorrow’s memory
and yesterday's malady.

...and all my unknown life,
outside, [it rains
inside] without restraint.
i sw.allow certain indulgences
like my fingers silent tracing of mimicry panes.

clouds do not break. stars cannot perish.
so i refuse to be constricted to this frame
[no more]
of a heart’s irrelevance.

i close my eyes and crumble, blinking hope back
into every sky. until i have taken
pain beyond relief and i sink
into him like revelation. .. .

..i give him me between thought and thighs.
my limbs and my leaves. of stories and of salvation.

hands clenching
breasts that reap everything from this
coming confession.
i grope at my love’s shudder in aching adoration
and i do not care if i will my soul addicted.

i redefine myself for
simple mortar
and cry knowingly.
creation has made more mistakes
than i. .....

.....i am pierced.. i am pulled.
i am the mere prick of a thorn
and i surrender

to how beautifully... ....
how unabashedly
whole fierce being
has eased its way inside,
making enough quiet room for a final


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