A Thousand Kisses Deep In My Secret Life

... And sometimes when the night is slow,
The wretched and the meek,
We gather up our hearts and go,
A Thousand Kisses Deep ...

... I’m always alone.
And my heart is like ice.
And it’s crowded and cold
In My Secret Life ...

~ Leonard Cohen

Most of my friends live inside my head

"The Internet is a big bathroom wall with people writing on it all the time." -Tim

“All that is gold does not glitter,
not all those who wander are lost;
the old that is strong does not wither,
deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
a light from the shadows shall spring;
renewed shall be blade that was broken,
the crownless again shall be king.”

-J.R.R. Tolkien

Poetry of Wolves

I long for the rapture of my body touching yours, skin against skin ~ spirit to spirit. For now I conjure secret, hidden raptures, when I hear your voice on the phone or when I gaze at your picture, which sits at my bedside.

I long to bloom in your ecstacy, and feel its imprint upon my lips.

When, when, can we harvest our healing? Shall we harvest spoonful by spoonful? I must accept whatever you give me, of your healed self, however small, however large. How shall I wear my healing, as I await? Perhaps I must cast my net in your shadow, or perhaps, I should try to wait for you without seeking any more pieces of your heart and its substance.

For now, though, I wait, floating in the cosmic limbo of my heart, ever striving to touch heaven and glimpse God's heart.

images by: (1) andrew gonzalez (2) rodrigoluff
(3) azriel 911

In the Hands of Love

image credit: life coaching



God is working everywhere his massive Resurrection;
How can we pretend to act on our own?
In the hand of Love I am like a cat in a sack;
Sometimes Love hoists me into the air
Sometimes Love flings me to the ground.
Love swings me round and round His head;
I have no peace, in this world or any other.
The Lovers of God have fallen in a furious river;
They have surrendered themselves to love's commands.
Like millwheels they turn, day and night, day and night,
Constantly turning and turning, and crying out.
 
~Rumi

Gods Desire ~ Rumi

King, saint, thief, madman –
Love has grabbed everyone by the neck
And drags us to God by secret ways...
How could I ever have guessed
That God, too, desired us?

~Rumi 

And now for some comic relief ...

Emptiness ~ A Blog Carnival Post

I've just discovered the one-word-at-a-time blog carnival. Each fortnight Bridget provides a writing prompt, and links to all bloggers who've particpated. This week ~ emptiness.



Emptiness is ...

Absence of matter
Absence of contents
Absence of members, inhabitants, and elements
A vacuum
(A) void
Darkness
Light
A longing
Sacred
Necessary
A state of grace
Detachment from i
Detachment from consumption ~ of stuff, of experiences, of people
The colour black, which contains no colour
The colour white, which contains the entire colour spectrum
A type of fullness
Everything
Nothing
Without
Within
Solitude
Bliss
Awareness
Transformative
Discovery

No Such Thing ...

In the cherry blossom's shade
there's no such thing
as a stranger.

~ Kobayashi Issa

Free Association /2

This week's prompt: Junction

(free association /2)

At the junction of raging beauty

and remote lunacy,

I shall wait for you.

A Hidden Room

 

Peacock blue ~

a door,

a little odd 

and weary, too.

Many passed you by

without a second thought

or glance. 

But I, 

I found myself planted there,

gazing into such a

mysterious curiousity.

With stealth and silence

I drew near, afixed

my eye to the keyhole.

And saw your heart there,

uttering a peaceful sigh.

I've found you ~

my cherished, hidden room.

Photo: Christine Valters Paintner

Poetry: Roxanne Galpin

The Beauty of Broken Things

 

Broken lines, 

couched in jagged curves;

a jetstream of white light,

a splash of grey shadow ~ 

all reflections of 

my monotonous heart.

She thirsts for you, 

feels parched in your absence.

Missing the fluid velvet

of your touch,

of your taste ~

reflecting, 

upon the beauty of broken things.

Photo Credit: DeviantArt

Poetry: Roxanne Galpin

Winged Night Hope

Winged night flight,

breath-taking and bold.

I shiver, in the darkness,

witness 

to a preternatural sight,

shimmering, 

in the light of 

a gilded harvest moon. 

A golden gossamer dream

sweeps swiftly

across an indigo sky;

Gripping hope

in her tightly curled talons.

Guardian of The Threshold ~ Invitation to Poetry # 35

Every so often, Abbey of the Arts hosts a poetry invitation. She posts a picture and a theme and invites anyone to respond with poems, reflections, prose. Check the icon for more info. Read my submission below.

~ Note: I've chosen another picture, rather than use the picture Christine provided in her 35th poetry invitation. ~

Broken dreams of my ego

lay strewn at her feet ~

heaps of salt in the desert.

Requiem for a Sunflower

Withered, weary

leaves begin melting

into autumn's embrace;

shoulders drooped,

heavy head now stooped,

she releases her petals,

they descend ~ floating 

 above an icy morning mist.

Her seeds extricate themselves

from their cloister.

Her crumpled and golden chalice,

now fully emptied.

Oh, poverty, what bliss!

photo: Christine Valter Paintner

poetry: Roxanne Galpin

Rumpled Sheets

On the wings of veiled dreams 

I glide into a new day.

Sunlight, streams through

pregnant apple blossoms,

dancing.

Golden shafts of light
flutter upon

these rumpled sheets

that held us, 

together

through a stormy and ebony night ~

our amniotic sac,

the colour of golden wheat,

and scented with the sweet, earthiness

of life forged in eksatis.

Photo Credit: Christine Valters Paintner

Poetry Credit: Roxanne Galpin

Poetry Invitation # 34 :: Honouring the Gift of Earth

Every so often, Abbey of the Arts hosts a poetry invitation. She posts a picture and a theme and invites anyone to respond with poems, reflections, prose. Check the icon for more info. Read my submission below.

~ Note: I've chosen a picture of my own, rather than use the picture Christine provided in her 34th poetry invitation. ~

Fingerprints

Magnolia ~

She whispers in her silence,

beckons me, closer.

And I, in my darkness,

feel her light

wrap its arms around me.

Looking deep into her heart

I see a reflection

of deep wisdom.

Magnolia ~

She whispers in her silence,

I am but a fingerprint of God.

As are you.

The Veil

darling Pilot,
we two -
distant, brooding spires
as we lower the delicate
veil of sulking silence.
darling --
do you read these words?

thoughts of you
tumble in my heart:
languid, dainty - cherry
blossom petals
that cast a fragrant hue
across my lonely depths.

carnal passion flares and
gaping pyschic crevices glow
like smoldering embers
in my inky, murky depths.
will this silence, like a fortress,
protect us?
or will it imprison us?

golden apple

his soul sings silently,
threaded
in gauzy and golden light
my heart impales itself
on this melody
my soul cleaves
to his lyrical luminescence

his great, flowing essence
quenches my thirst ~
this scorching yen
that scars
of successive past lives
have woven
into my very essence

he washes me
away from myself
leaving me bare,
somewhat macerated and bare
exposed ~
for all my frailties and wounds
... he sees ... he knows ...
he hears the whispers of the universe, too

that sacred light
of his core
flickers softly,
and with each flash,
he carves
another spark
into my weak, low-burning ember

in the glow of his mantle
his innocent generosity cascades
endlessly,
scented with divine wisdom
the beauty of him
touches that raw, pulsing
and forbidden corner of my heart
which eats fire

cherished ~
the grace of his movements ~
cherished ~
the gentle contemplation
of his speech
cherished ~
my golden apple

17 and 39

"hello, my pet," he called from the far room.
her heart jumped to her throat.
he always surprised her like this.
she never knew when
he would show up at her door.

in his absence -- the long periods of time
he would just drop out of her existence --
days. weeks. months at a time ...
she grew languid. limp.
lifeless and cut-off. passive.
a tormented, hungry soul ...
aching ... aching.
and -- paralyzed of will
to extract herself nonetheless.

and so it went.
undulating -- passion, sorrow, shame.
oppressive: her longing for him.
it caught her --
the energy of their union.
forbidden union.
it caught her and ravaged her ...
the same way a leg hold trap
ravages a wolf's unsuspecting leg.
her young, tender soul
could not escape its grip.

at times, she felt as though
a faerie for his amusement --
he: a middle-aged, worn man,
suspending her in front of his gaze,
holding her daintily by the wings,
watching her writh, struggle
and then surrender sweetly - wilting
under the weight of his
desperate, empty lust ...
he loved to slowly crush her spirit ...
feel it disintegrate into his own.

she -- an enchanting, beguiling creature
a young, virginal female spirit
perched on a cusp that sits
like a delicate, stilettoed spire
between girlhood and womanhood

shame. and unrelenting sorrow
lurked there, like slivers, embedded
into the deepest corners of her heart
her shame - secret and dark -
melted into the soothing warmth
of his voice, and
the gentle strength
she felt in his fingertips

she-an innocent, unripened green shoot
with angular boyish curves
and a child's flat and meager bosom -
she loved him ...
loved him to the point
of pain

reality -- it showered her heart
like acid poured onto living flesh --
a reality that she and he
would have NO future
still ... her heart loved his
with a florid devotion
naive ... sublime ... divine
17 and 39

i plucked you away

originally uploaded by daniel morris

searing …soul crushing …relentless pain
smothering me
the fruit of my mothering …
plucked away from me …
by me ... by us
and reduced to a large plastic bag

he came to collect your belongings today
the man walked out with everything … you …
casually, like a bag of garbage

the door closes behind the man with the bag
leaving me imprisoned in my sorrow
an image of you, etched in my heart
elfin child - soft ivory skin, long chestnut lashes
intoxicating squeals of laughter

each day that passes
without you
the deeper and more palpable my loss becomes
my respirates
i do not feel alive