today is awesome poetry day... 'cause E said so

Here's a poem I stumbled upon by Gabriel Gadfly...


Beautiful Like...

STOP!
Right there.
I want to remember this image
for the rest of my life.
I want to remember the shape of
your thighs clamped tight around mine,
the shine of your tangled hair,
the sheen of the impassioned sweat
on your slender, outstretched arms,
and the gleam of the blade
on that really big knife you're holding.

Just Stop,
because I've got to tell you something:
you're beautiful.
And I don't mean run-of-the-mill
girl-next-door kind of beautiful
You are stunningly, terrifyingly,
shock-and-awe beautiful.
You are beautiful like
bullet tracers over Fallujah are beautiful,
beautiful like the thousand shapes and colors
swimming in your vision
after a too-soon flashbang
in a Baghdad bakery are beautiful.
Beautiful like the grenade at your feet
still has the pin is beautiful,
beautiful like the bullet that kissed your dog tags
and only went halfway through is beautiful,
beautiful like the bullet that kissed your throat
and went all the way through is beautiful.
Beautiful like the bright instruments of a British medic
in a field camp hospital clamping your veins,
and stitching your flesh, and saving your life are beautiful.
Beautiful like three bags of
Typo O negative blood are beautiful.

Stop
Right there.
I want to remember this image for the rest of my life,
like I'll remember the image
of you stepping out of a C-130 transport plane,
and realizing that when they told me
they never leave one behind,
they didn't mean they wouldn't leave a few pieces.
You are beautiful.
You are beautiful
like the edges of the broken pieces
of a celebratory wine bottle,
glittering like razor wire all across
the earthtone tablecloth are beautiful.
You are beautiful like the stares of people in Wal-mart
when the bang of a box sliding off a shelf
puts you screaming on the floor are beautiful.
You are beautiful like nightmares are beautiful.
You are beautiful like
“Honey, Mommy might be a little different when she gets back.”
“That's okay. I'll still love her, Daddy” is beautiful.

I'll still love you, baby.
We'll get you the help you need,
but you need to give me the knife.



It's absolutely beautiful... stunning imagery. I tend to write introspectively; desire, personal fear, reflection, metaphysics, sometimes of war, but again in terms of desire, fear, reflection etc. But Gabriel here, writes viscerally; he's pulled no punches. Got to admire him for that.

If I had to place one of mine next to his; not to contrast or compare my introspection with his clarity, but in addendum to clarity, I'd choose what follows below. We tend to see each moment of our lives as having absolute clarity, we see what we see and interpret as rightly as we know how the meaning of it all. One man sees the knife in his traumatized wife's hand with far more clarity than a man who's never seen the ravages of war-- personally or second-hand --while another man sees from a distance the high cost of war in purely clinical terms; of numbers and lives and flag draped coffins... Taps echoing across a field of white stone.

I've been in the military, but I've never seen war, let alone fired upon another person, enemy or otherwise. So I write introspectively... romantically. If anything war produces could ever be described as 'romantic.'

But if I had to place one of my own next to his? This would be it...


Resurrection

I draw the muslin over my head
Feel my breath mist beneath its weight
Trapped and drawn again inward
Last moment's breath
Called upon once more
Weaker now; bearing life still
        My brother lies near
        No mist beneath the muslin
        No breath revisited
        No life ~ weak or otherwise
        Only the sure knowledge that moments are fleeting

I pull the muslin down and away
Breathe in the cold chill of night
Fresh and unsullied air…
Open my eyes and see the heavens turn
Each breath new
Filled with life ~ strength
        My sister lies near
        Unmoving ‘neath the muslin opaque
        Oblivious of the passing of moments
        Oblivious to the sound of my heart's beating
        And the sure knowledge of the song it sings

Sing Brother!
Sing Sister!
Draw the curtain from your eyes
And let life ~ Fresh and unsullied
Beneath equally pristine skies
Fill your bodies once more
With hope and new breath
Let your wounds draw closed
Your limbs bind with sinew and bone unshattered
And let's walk once more ‘neath the stars of heaven
In the sure knowledge of life everlasting


ELAshley
020306.014802.1


Mr Gadfly understands the visceral human connection, I grasp the metaphysical. He sees the human toll, I see the spiritual. I'm sure he sees the metaphysical as well, but he chooses to rub our fine sensibilities in the hot coppery truth. And I wouldn't dream of faulting him for it. Bravo, Gabriel. Bravo.

disrEgard - what follows is meaningless without context

Aubade

Morning comes and the dream thins
Paint from heart world's canvas washes away
Sun's herald cries aloud, and our whims
Shall be forgotten come the light of day
I would that you might stay
Here in our gossamer bed
Where our souls lie safely wed
But the tapestry grows thin
Stay, my love. Stay

....

Auspicious our beginnings
How real the love of our dream

.....
092710.114302.6


Context will be made plain (clear) in time. For now, this is a snippet of notebook..

kisses

Kisses kept are wasted;
Love is to be tasted
There are some you love, I know;
Be not lothe to tell them so
Lips go dry and eyes grow wet
Waiting to be warmly met
Kept them not in waiting yet;
Kisses kept are wasted

--Edmund Vance Cooke

sensuality and haiku

Simple is best. Simplicity is the soul of grace. And the simplest pleasures are free. Take sex, for instance; assuming you're not paying for it in some form or fashion it is free. It is an exchange. It is more than simply give and take... give and "accept" is the greater form [for the semantically challenged, yes, there is a difference]. But what does all this mean? If my words don't lead to a responsible conclusion I've wasted my time.

I believe I find myself exploring the topics I do because they hide themselves from my own personal experiences; they rarely darken my door, or brighten as the case may be. Is it my fault my life has not lived up to my expectations? But this is a digression.

Sensuality. I love the feel of silk on my skin. I love the feel of no clothes on my skin. I love the feel of bare feet on plush grass or carpet. I love the sensation of clove in my mouth and rushing through my nostrils. And like countless others I love the sensation of being inside a woman. I would consider it the height of pleasure to simply slip inside and stay there... unmoving... just relishing in the enveloping heat, arms, and vision... the sound of unhurried breath, the scent of soft, clean, unperfumed, skin. Just to be inside and stay there for as long as desire and patience will allow.

And then there's this. Written this morning. For no particular reason at all...

Our love lies squandered
Souls spent swift in sweat and seed
Soft lips hot with breath

ELAshley
091610.092621.1

My Haiku... Eleven long years down the road from this gem...

Her eyes slid closed
Emeralds. Slowly and softly
And her form unclothed
T'was bathed with light. Softly
She smiled and posed
Her lids eased softly
Open. Then shut and dozed
Dreaming slowly. Softly
Her legs, lithe and hosed
My hands caressed softly
With desire prosed
In tender words. Softly
With moistened lips I 'trothed
Kissed her throat softly
Thighs parting she glowed
Mystery and pleasure. Softly
Her scented petals flowed
My tongue did taste her softly
She to me bestowed
The jewel of her love. Softly

Her lips. Her scent. Her taste. Her touch. Softly
On this deepest of nights proposed. Softly
The union of lips, scent, taste and touch. Softly
Her warm embrace held me enclosed. Softly
And I gave to her my soul,
Completely


ELAshley
060199
Latest Revision:
091610.111117.1


I wrote that when I was 39... a young man yet. Now I'm 50. Why am I still thinking the same things? Why do I still dwell on sensuality?

artist watch -- Moony Khoa Le

"Birds" by Moony Khoa Le, Moonywolf at Deviantart.com


"Little Voice" Moony

e at fifty

I reached this milestone early last week on the 23rd of August. I can't say I'm happy about it, neither can I say I've accepted it, let alone become comfortable with the idea that half my life is now in the tank. But there it is, whether I like it or not.

And without any fanfare.

the promise of shared synchronistic stirs ?

"If It Should"

And if it should happen
that one day you play our song
when I am not there
know that I will hear it
because you are hearing it.
Know that I will not
turn my ears from you
when my chimes ring-
they are yours.
Know that I find instances of you
in distant songs
faint music
old books.
Know that I hear you when I drink
your soft voice
your brush of hair
your tongue full of eden.
And if it should happen
that one day I play our song
when you are not there
know that I will listen for you
as wind listens for doves.

--Michael Gravel


..::(e)::..

If it should indeed. I know this feeling all too well, and have even managed to capture some near-equally fitting imagery myself, but I must give credit to Mr. Gravel for capturing "it" so succinctly... so beautifully.

A sample of my own, you ask? Here... enjoy.

Souls are not bound, as are bodies
To a point of reference
On a geographical map
Nor should they be thought of
As bound by the laws that govern flesh
They are transcendent
Larger than human form
Which cannot hope to contain them
My soul lies beside you as you sleep
And it whispers to me in my dreams
Every wonderful detail
My soul’s arms ~ Such as they are
Hold you throughout the wheeling of stars
In a sky much like my own
We share proximity…

As I said... near-equally (in my own estimation). For the entire poem click here. My stirs, in this offering at least, are not as strong. Here's a link to something stronger... Resonance, and something immensely more satisfying here, The Dance. IT is this last one I feel the most affinity for; it most closely shadows my inner turmoils. It more truly reflects my heart.