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Enchie Poetry

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enchantress
Post subject: Enchie Poetry
Posted: Wed 30 Mar , 2005 11:52 am
Sorcery in Action
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Posts: 1406
Joined: Mon 24 Jan , 2005 8:54 am
Location: Ontario
 
...Because Stellie and Ro did... :P and gave me confidence :)

My poetry is mainly therapeutic. When going through tough things I have to write; if I didnt, I would be in a nut house by now, no doubt :P
A lot of this is grim and painful, since I write most at times of distress. I tried to put a few lighter ones in here as well...

In no particular Order:

Mirage
(Villanelle)

My blood like paint will drip on stones ahead,
In viscous drops descending on the rock,
You summon me; I go without regret.

No better path out there to gladly tread,
No shore more fair where ship may safely dock,
My blood like paint will drip on stones ahead.

On edges sharp my skin and pride will shed,
Two feet across the sands to you will flock,
You summon me; I go without regret.

Your words alone to me will be like bread,
A trail of ruby drops will mark this walk,
My blood like paint will drip on stones ahead.

Connecting points in space with crimson thread,
With no regard for ticking of the clock,
You summon me; I go without regret.

The sun will scorch; the jagged edges shred,
The desert breeze will circle like a hawk,
My blood like paint will drip on stones ahead,
You summon me; I go without regret.


Game of Necessity
(sonnet)

No longer do you call me your true love,
Your eyes have fallen elsewhere in delight,
You saw nothing beyond me or above,
Today you see my need of you as blight.
Destroyed and shattered, wounded by this change
I begged and reasoned, asking you to stay,
Without your warmth my life is awkward, strange,
But you are cold; in vain I curse and pray.
Though truth, not lies I have always espoused,
To keep you I will gladly don a mask:
I’ll cool the heat and feign I’m not aroused,
“No more than friend,” I’ll say when you will ask.
An actor will act; a child will play games,
And I shall pretend I’ve smothered love’s flames.


Shapers

I wish I had the gift of grandmothers,
to knead confusion into wholesome dough
to grace the family table, and fill
growling stomachs with substance.
To make of tangled yarn a smooth thread
deftly arranged by wrinkled hands
into a sweater that guards against the night.


Concert

When not by the piano,
he must be half a man.
He holds me spellbound
in the carefully negotiated space
between white and black.
He grins at the inside jokes
only the two of them share.
A two-part being of sound
unfolding in space,
studding its silken web
with captured listeners


Cycle

Bear the weight
of scales pulled down
by plump pods
of ripe worries and regrets
some well past due.

Bend gracefully,
ready for the harvest.
Present the dangling burdens with pride,
like heavy earrings adorning a slave,
telling of value and devoted service.

Sway lightly,
let the wind stir the ornaments,
without effort composing
from their many meetings
rhapsodies of sorrows and hurts.

Weighted swinging pendulums
chiming and tolling,
greeting and grieving;
bells that from their hearts
shed swollen droplets of dew.

Liquid jewels
shatter on the earth;
chords accenting the melody,
pooling water absorbed by your roots.


Foolish

You say with delight you get lost in my eyes.
Foolish -
The tears you pulled from them
stand in brimming water-wells
and threaten drowning.

You must first at least see them,
before you can empty them,
and start your journey
without overhanging threats.


Inconsistent

Most subtle touches of wrangling treason,
bright foliage of love wilting into grey.
Small lies so quickly can alter a season,
transparent masks cut short the day.

A half turn, when I expected a quarter,
so easily explained; an insignificant slip.
Freud knew sometimes it shows when we falter,
traces of another in the taste of your lip.

Charmingly unaware of your transparency,
sure-footed pack-horse dancing on fine sand,
blind to your blatant lack of decency,
your fingers stroking the forgotten gold band.


Everyone Came

All frozen still beneath a silent shroud,
shy bonds between the living drawing tight,
soft chants, bleak sighs, and prayers said aloud.

With open, livid wounds but standing proud,
belief-their subtle shield against the night,
all frozen still beneath a silent shroud.

Around them loss hands like a stifling cloud,
each seeks to gain some solace from the rite,
soft chants, bleak sighs and prayers said aloud.

How can such pain be sanctioned or allowed?
Where hides this famed and holy soothing light?
All frozen still beneath a silent shroud.

Alone and sealed, so lost inside the crowd,
by tears bereft of sharp and lucid sight,
soft chants, bleak sights, and prayers said aloud.

With heavy, brittle silence heads are bowed,
defiant hearts will not give up the fight,
all frozen still beneath a silent shroud,
soft chants, bleak sights, and prayers said aloud.


Chronicle

Clippings
from old papers,
bathed in frigid candlelight,
not quite vivid.
Pale photos
taken with poor lighting,
mediocre spectres of the past
striking poses.
Vain,
blood blue beneath the skin,
fashionably low in warmer hues,
drunk on the best vintage
of many ripe years.
Fading,
from proud yellowed paper
frosted with many winters of dust;
glamour preserved for ages
faint from the impact
of handling.


Completion

She folds in his arms, bends,
and takes on an intricate, particular pose.
Like pale, sporadically freckled origami paper
willingly aligned into its pre-destined form
under a skillful hand.
The directorial debut of attraction
playing out against the backdrop
of clouded, sleepy reality,
wrapped in bed sheets, and already dreaming.
The arch of her back,
the swell of her breast,
nestled in acceptance.
A puzzle of flesh;
an artless tableau of belonging.


Mark the paper

Contact made.
The drumming cadence
of skin on plastic.
A symphony.
Light, fluttering caresses
and thunderous strokes.
Blood and bile,
warmth and ache
the visceral distilled
into a thing more civilized?
Solid black markings,
digital bits.
The throbbing heartbeat
of spiritual metabolism
translated,
transcribed.

Proper,
At the high price
of clumsiness.
The sublimation
of carnal thirst,
of deepest ache,
of parched yearning.
The modality of words
often too far removed
from palpable afflictions
of the Soul.
From growths and scars,
that mar and distend
the pulsating tissue
of Spirit.

Hands calloused and bleeding
and the feverish whirling
remains concealed,
understated,
untold.


Tasting

A garden party in late July,
hammocks heavy with buzzing lethargy,
lazy smiles and the odd, fashionably bored
feminine giggle to break up the warm, humid air.
Her laughter tickles, and the paper laterns
are warm spots along my palate.
Textures of summers gone
with hints of scraped knees
and overtones of bittersweet infatuations
languidly recline on the daybed of my tongue.
The warm chocolate of your gaze,
deeper than my wine glass,
sticky on my memory.
Fresh beams of muted sunlight
trapped by your irises
fill my mouth with every sip.
Burgundy laps against my lips,
washing ashore a smile.


Relativity

Colour streaks mingle,
Run together,
across The White of the canvas.

A Flamenco of glistening hues,
Weaving together,
advanced by adventurous brush-strokes.

Vibrant creators of imagery,
Shaping together
the depicted semblance of reality.

Abruptly they break,
Parting ways
in stark separation that leaves only yearning.

No longer interweaving,
One left alone
the other irrevocably departed, lost.

The masterpiece still intact.
Only the crimson ache of one bereaved line,
A subtle jarring of the idyllic landscape.


Impatient

Its not hard to find a rhyme
in discrete measures of time
when each single, trembling minute
holds such luscious need within it.

Needful surfeit of the lack
makes a heavy laden pack
only whetting, not fulfilling
strange - the food desire's dealing.


Faster

Overtake me, dancing wind,
follow me where roads may end.
Let me revel, feel the thrill,
weave your whispers into my yearning hand.

Past my fingers slip and fly,
to distant spaces most remote.
Brush my cheek; caress implied,
before soaring high to help an eagle float.

Ruffle the folds of my flowing skirt,
Whirl in my ears wit your urgent speed,
inflate my lungs with your frigid soul,
feed my heart the oxygen I need.

I’m drunk with cool vitality,
your heady freshness: the taste of rest,
I feel the Earth’s breath cleansing me,
Contently sensing the heaving of my breast.

Rise and fall, and fall and rise.
In, throughout, and out again.
I lift my eyes to the sparkling skies,
and smile, truly knowing who and why I am.

Overtake me, dancing wind.

_________________

Falling into Autumn... :)


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Rodia
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Posted: Thu 31 Mar , 2005 10:44 am
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Very sensual and womanly...very Enchie. :love: I'm glad you posted these...

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Hades
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Posted: Thu 31 Mar , 2005 11:28 am
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Joined: Wed 12 Jan , 2005 10:13 pm
Location: In the Void
 
Using writing very therapeutical myself.

I really liked "Fooish"...

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Nin's Dark Lord
[ img ]
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dreamed before.


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enchantress
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Posted: Tue 05 Apr , 2005 5:08 am
Sorcery in Action
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Posts: 1406
Joined: Mon 24 Jan , 2005 8:54 am
Location: Ontario
 
Rodia wrote:
Very sensual and womanly...very Enchie. :love: I'm glad you posted these...
:Q :scratch :oops: :P :scratch

Hades/Nin, Thanks! :D :oops:

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Falling into Autumn... :)


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Elian
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Posted: Tue 05 Apr , 2005 7:50 am
Let the dice fly.
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Joined: Sun 30 Jan , 2005 8:24 pm
Location: Still flying
 
You already know what I think of your work, Enchie...;)

I'm always so impressed at your use of form, especially. :D

And I still love 'Concert'... :love:

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What does it take
to stop getting carried away
by the force of my love...


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