Thursday, 10 November 2016


Listen while you read

We begin the descent, he & I,
It's always around 2am that he enters,
My sleep induced, unconscious mind,

In the Under-World, there's no such thing,
As Spring flowers,
Wedding showers,
Birds of bower.

He brings me here to witness;
The dark sky rumbling,
The masculine electricity pulsating,
The mountain of ashes that hides the Phoenix (for now),
And I am touched by the erotic thrumb of our environment.

He uses his words to soothe & caress me,
Then reaches for me - his hand is alive with,
Desire, passion, lust, violence even.

Then I wake up,
And I lie there staring at the ceiling,
Wondering how I can get back into that dream!

"Come back!" I whisper to the dark, dark night,
"Don't leave me here. I'll let you touch me,
You can do anything to me that you want!"

And then I become aware;
The wind is howling around my house,
And it's a Super Moon night and I wonder,
Does it mean I'm verging on madness if I go.
And stand under the streetlight in my white, lace nightgown?
Maybe that way he'd spot me!

But, I know, he's not out there,
He's a feature of my mind,
And belongs to either the future or the past,
Who can tell?

He will enslave me in the end,
As I submit to his will,
And hand over total control of myself,
- my mind, my body, my soul.

And as the fever of arousal starts to break,
I use my hands,
To quickly flip on the light,
And sit up to write it all down,
But will be unable to share it with the world;
Too sacred, too profound.

The tears flow freely,
Tears of longing & yearning,
For something that will never be mine,
Not in the material world anyway.

Then I fall into an exhausted sleep,
Knowing that the break of day,
Will drive a mighty wedge between us,
But he'll be back - as sure as the day is long,
He'll be back ... he always is.


Now that we are recovering from the Trump Triumph, I'd like to draw your attention back the Supermoon coming up on 14th November. This poem is to honour the moon. Last week I was laid up with a seized back for 24 hours and could not move except to write poetry and take photos of my hair and then edit them. And so Persephone was born ...

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