She Writes Poetry
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- Eternum 1
- Black Ferret Poet
- Posts: 2112
- Joined: Fri Apr 22, 2005 12:59 am
- Location: British Columbia
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She Writes Poetry
She searches hidden places, knowing intuitively that poems are the bubbles hidden within the caldera of creative volcanos. Letting those bubbles come slowly to the surface or with an explosion decides the tempo of her writing.
Her readers wonder who or what is she. Her public image is glimpsed in kodachrome negatives; her movements a shadow under curling waves. She started writing herself into the world as a young girl and only her secret muse knows her life themes have played always against that central being.
The men in her life often reflect the same urges to combine perfect words and soulful belonging. Between lovers, her poetry aches with desire like cracking earth in a prairie drought. Among those cracks are tortured yet strong desert flowers that reveal her stark beauty when she abides with loneliness.
When the drought is over with expansive joy of flood and rebirth, she shares the pleasure of newfound spring, a rebirth of love and the world stops, just for a second and lifts her high as it's favored champion.
No longer does she need to question her purpose or allow desire to gestate in sanctuaries for pregnant thought. No longer must she await the birth of a new flower endowed with her thorns.
In the moment, her words lick and touch us, phrases flowing like lubricating oil from kisses to post coital bliss as we are carried by her intimate command of feminine superlative.
Does this mean she's a better poet in love? Not really, but this aspect of her is the summit we can see her from, most of us are too timid to follow her into dark valleys and barren deserts where she falls from love.
She writes poetry with intuitive understanding that her words never capture the total experience but so close as to leave a reader with mirrored ripples on the surface of his mind. She fills our need for belonging nearly as much as her own.
We read her poems like making love. Learn her rythyms through tactile fingers of words and the soothing sensual phrases she lingers over. Most of all, she leaves us deeply satisfied at the final stanza; but always wanting more. And, more she always has to offer as if all the women whoever lived are revealed in brief glimpses of every write.
She can take us back in time or forward in fantasy. Into the darkness of death or the depths of madness, for she is a poet and speaks the language of dreams.
You can 'know' her but never really know her, anymore then you can know the essence of dreams that Oracles cannot see. She does not see her own marvel, intuitively sensing that her original vision is impossible to capture, a smoke ring only she had the imagination to grasp. No more then a man knows a woman's heart without comprehending his own can most people fully understand her desire to capture the purpose of being a being.
But other poets feel it intuitively; knowing that as they lift her up, they will be compelled to climb the heights beside her.
All because she writes poetry and poetry is life connecting to life.
Her readers wonder who or what is she. Her public image is glimpsed in kodachrome negatives; her movements a shadow under curling waves. She started writing herself into the world as a young girl and only her secret muse knows her life themes have played always against that central being.
The men in her life often reflect the same urges to combine perfect words and soulful belonging. Between lovers, her poetry aches with desire like cracking earth in a prairie drought. Among those cracks are tortured yet strong desert flowers that reveal her stark beauty when she abides with loneliness.
When the drought is over with expansive joy of flood and rebirth, she shares the pleasure of newfound spring, a rebirth of love and the world stops, just for a second and lifts her high as it's favored champion.
No longer does she need to question her purpose or allow desire to gestate in sanctuaries for pregnant thought. No longer must she await the birth of a new flower endowed with her thorns.
In the moment, her words lick and touch us, phrases flowing like lubricating oil from kisses to post coital bliss as we are carried by her intimate command of feminine superlative.
Does this mean she's a better poet in love? Not really, but this aspect of her is the summit we can see her from, most of us are too timid to follow her into dark valleys and barren deserts where she falls from love.
She writes poetry with intuitive understanding that her words never capture the total experience but so close as to leave a reader with mirrored ripples on the surface of his mind. She fills our need for belonging nearly as much as her own.
We read her poems like making love. Learn her rythyms through tactile fingers of words and the soothing sensual phrases she lingers over. Most of all, she leaves us deeply satisfied at the final stanza; but always wanting more. And, more she always has to offer as if all the women whoever lived are revealed in brief glimpses of every write.
She can take us back in time or forward in fantasy. Into the darkness of death or the depths of madness, for she is a poet and speaks the language of dreams.
You can 'know' her but never really know her, anymore then you can know the essence of dreams that Oracles cannot see. She does not see her own marvel, intuitively sensing that her original vision is impossible to capture, a smoke ring only she had the imagination to grasp. No more then a man knows a woman's heart without comprehending his own can most people fully understand her desire to capture the purpose of being a being.
But other poets feel it intuitively; knowing that as they lift her up, they will be compelled to climb the heights beside her.
All because she writes poetry and poetry is life connecting to life.
Last edited by Eternum 1 on Tue Sep 30, 2014 1:21 am, edited 4 times in total.
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- Ven
- Forum Admin - and Closet Hippie
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"Forever is short thought when your skipping this close to the edge".
Ven's MYSPACE
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Google this number; 1905363966
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"Forever is short thought when your skipping this close to the edge".
Ven's MYSPACE
___________________
Google this number; 1905363966
.
- ninian
- Poet of Elliptical Grace
- Posts: 481
- Joined: Tue Jul 05, 2005 8:19 am
- Location: being both passionate and silly
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Eternum 1 wrote:Plaisir est un cadeau au votre soi ,d'une autre
touche.
ahh....oui ;)
mais les meilleurs plaisirs sont partagés
Last edited by ninian on Mon Oct 24, 2005 3:57 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Anyone can be passionate, but it takes real lovers to be silly.
- Eternum 1
- Black Ferret Poet
- Posts: 2112
- Joined: Fri Apr 22, 2005 12:59 am
- Location: British Columbia
- Contact:
Tres bon! Une petit question de vocabulaire, oui? Plaisir est un petit cadeau a moi quand je l'offre un autre.ninian wrote:Eternum 1 wrote:Plaisir est un cadeau au votre soi ,d'une autre
touche.
ahh....oui ;)
mais les meilleurs plaisirs sont partagés
Concerne la poesie bien sur.
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- Eternum 1
- Black Ferret Poet
- Posts: 2112
- Joined: Fri Apr 22, 2005 12:59 am
- Location: British Columbia
- Contact:
Re: ET
Thanks Deb, you do wonders for my ego. I shall need a large hat very soon. In truth, it is the community and especially the ladies who contribute their thoughts that deserve recognition. It is they who have inspired every poet since Ovid to capture the duality between men and women. I only say 'vive la difference' in another form.Debbie wrote:ET this is not only beautiful but very brilliant,,you have an awesome talent here I must say...
ET
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- ninian
- Poet of Elliptical Grace
- Posts: 481
- Joined: Tue Jul 05, 2005 8:19 am
- Location: being both passionate and silly
- Contact:
Eternum 1 wrote:Tres bon! Une petit question de vocabulaire, oui? Plaisir est un petit cadeau a moi quand je l'offre un autre.
Concerne la poesie bien sur.
naturellement, la poésie, toutefois mon Français n'est pas, comment vous dites, si bon, mais comme je dit, le plaisir partagé est plaisir doublé...
Anyone can be passionate, but it takes real lovers to be silly.
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