June 23, 2016

is love meant such a fragile tourniquet, my Venus .......................

Diana and Actaeon 
Jean François de TROY (1679 - 1752)

"... tomorrow tomorrow creeps in this petty pace ..." 

and the nymphs all sing :

what we desire today 
mistress of the Moon
we'll hunt tomorrow 
for there is 
no sorrow 
if forest marrow 
be filled 
with love 

I stood toe to toe with knowing and blinked 
for ignorance at times blissfully winked 
I could not fathom or afford its knowledge 
when love it seemed was at its best a blind edge 
with which I could make hate encountered, rest 

so I went begging for eggs surrey-ed in a basket 
turning sky reminds why I mustn't go metal casket 
and by chance or want, now is my life as it does bleed 
for I knew never stop wondering with awe I need 
to live surrendered in a moment, blessed ... 

with you 
my Venus 
I am corpus 
fed by seasons 
wind and rain 

surrender or tamed 
it is all the same
your cuts are 
a thousand 
tiny knives 

do your whispers 
explain how 
beauty holds me
a scent past 
broken ... 


no spoken word 
need be applied 
when caught 
by drift net 
or tied bundled 
then set on fire 
with what I am 
to myself through you ...
slow iron 
with rust 
a mouth 
an ocean 
palms full 
of how 
I've left you
a gesture to come 
towards me, again 



  1. Wow, what a wonderful read first thing this morning. My muse has something to say..

    and the mistress of the moon
    whispered time is now love is here
    no need to worry about the monsoon
    I hold back the tide, of your tears
    here we stand in the wonder of June
    burn the sage, and wisdom will appear
    listen a whimsical song, a druid's tune
    can you see the vision, it becomes clear
    breathless hearts, in a trance like swoon

    I am not sure where this came from, It is just pouring out of me, thanks for the inspiration on this Friday morn...I may have to work this one and see where it leads.

  2. what we wear of her
    sends us underbelly
    dew into rain
    two hands cup
    press fleeting evenings
    June is all her breast
    heaves and weave tales
    to be told by unfurl
    wet wings and all
    wax to wane
    and fall

  3. dressed in the veil of night
    lost in blue shades of light
    entwined vines they sang a song
    heavenly stars danced along

    tis better to fall because of love
    than to never hear sparrows call

    sorry, I don't know where this is coming from it has been speaking to me all day. I might have to put this together and give you a shout out for the inspiration.