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LOVE
Where
is the love we dream about
As
we dream our earthly dreams?
Castle'd
high up in the air,
Far
away from earthly care.
Love
abounding, true forever
That
will never leave you ever
And
the story old, but new
Ever
faithful, ever true.
Could
it be, we love amiss
Thinking
love is in a kiss
Not
to notice or give heed,
Truest
love is in the deed!
Mary
Walne,
1916 – 1996
Submitted
by Mary Hunt
I wrote this shortly after I did the wedding for my father and his bride. He was in his eightys she in her seventys. I set up the picnic table in my back yard as an altar. She thought it was "lovely". hmmm
in Her light
Diane
Bringing in the Goddess
When those you love don't know Her
You bring Her to them.
Colored candles,
Yellow to the East
Red everywhere.
Spirals on my Cape
Starfish and crystals
Roses and water
Standing beneath a canopy of ivy
the Elements present, but not invoked,
gaze benevolently on the couple
The beloved couple,
sensing something wondrous,
believed it was their love that
made their hearts soar
But I sense the presence of the ages
The sweet gaze of the Goddess.
She smiles and glides silently away.
DancingStar
2002
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Evening Mood in the Shadow of Sappho
Wind, sweeping across the shore;
my hair tangling in the salt-bejeweled air.
The fine figure of a woman
whose curves are the perfect shape;
The Birth of Venus!
A cloth of fine silk whirs around
her soft naked curves.
Her pink body mounts
softly against the icy overcast
canvas-sky.
We are warm.
I do not want her;
I want to be her.
But a shadow casts over,
her sensual bosom.
The cold wind of the north
Shall wilt the fine petals of a Rose.
As jealousy, resentment and bitterness
Chills the blood of this beauty.
And Sappho,
contemplating her poems of
love, glaring at my curves.
I reach out, to comfort my
beautiful Sappho but
a shroud of melancholy
juxtaposes our encounter and
swallows her in the realm sublime.
From the island of Lesbos
she erected an altar to Venus.
Holding her lyre for musical inspiration,
desperation,
and died of the unrequited love.
Oh Phaon, how beautiful
she was when she loved.
Spreading her arms, Icarus-like
(I fan-out my little hand), but
Sappho has already flung herself from
the Leucadian rock.
Where is the Evening Mood now?
Natasha "Morgaine" Wall
Copyright, 2001
This is a poem inspired by merging both paintings, "Evening Mood" by Bouguereau and "Sappho" by Mengin, into my one interpretation.
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Dancing with Darkness
Lightness to dusk into midnight
Spin
Spinning goodness
to mysteriousness
into depravity
Weave
Weaving happiness
into apathy
toward emptiness
Whirl
spinning
twirling
whirling
weaving
Wrapped in gauze and
diaphanous billowing silks
Changes barely visible
hips sway
lips part
eyes smile
breath quickens
Her wild heart captures another victim
From memories
deep within
haunting music explodes
All the while she is dancing
Dancing toward her darkness
DancingStar
Your Softness ...
bent knee resting softly on the covers,
backside lightly freckled, waiting in its sleep...
to be awakened
flesh, soft breast, nestled in the cup of my hand
sweet brown rosebud, moist from the taste of my tongue,
rising to meet my lips
in eager anticipation .........
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Lilacs for My Love
for my love, I prepare her sacred bed
that I may pleasure her in ways yet unknown
covers on the bed kissed by the sun....
special oil, lightly scented
our music softly plays, a lilting air
pillows here and there, soft mounds of clouds....
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candles gently burning, set round the room
their glow casting shadows in their dance
flickering brightly like our love....
one last thing I add, her pleasure to awaken
purple lilacs placed round the bed
their soft petals and fragrant scent.... |
For Your Pleasure.....
Bendis
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