Three Poems - The Power And Aura of A Fiery Spirit

Poetry is a solitary craft, a deeply personal experience that the poet shares with the world within the shelter and intimacy of the written page.

Poets sing for those who cannot--registering our awe, making sense of our anguish, harnessing the inchoate longing of countless souls.

Poetry can serve as our conscience, be the angels of our better nature.

The poet is artist as mystic.

© Lanky Giant

Blanket-fort architect

Star wisher

Great-Lakes swimmer

Fresh-air drunk

Alive in sunshine

Taking experience’s slow route

Passing by waiting rooms

Elocution’s student

Body-atlas artist

Life’s mysteries performer

Life’s lessons contemplator

Alien-planet survivor

Narrative designer

Author

Painter

Thinker

Contemplator

Wisdom’s aging pillar

Mimi Wolske

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© There’s Life After A Forest Fire

Mona Arizona

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Contemplating the end of love’s drought—

consumed by dreams of the wicked lover awakening me into

delicate, intricate weavings of extinguished candles’ endless smoke—

a lazy hand reaches for jeans robbed of blue and tugs his

scent to mine in the early morning shadows.

Love’s vulture cuts deep in night’s violet sky and

scattered stars as lust wars with the fickle moon,

and his armor, threads of a woolen sweater, entangle me in arms

of desperate desire unequaled by any of Cupid’s arrows,

quelling Rhiannon’s crazy, unwanted gift.

Burning as if we are a madman’s secret,

we were swallowed by a common compliance of circumstance, by

whispered words burning with the same intensity as syllables and pleas

stomped together in a fermented vat to feed an immense love,

sweat-chilled bodies erupt and fall entwined, sated.

© What If Words Were Liquor? 

Words climbed out of abandoned buildings

and homeless poets drank and shared what was in their souls;

they skipped fame and became the lore of folk

where warehouses full of their thoughts were swallowed whole.

Demons of charismatic lap dances

spun in my mind like spiders playing in unsuccessful webs;

the provocation of these poets' art

became the fuel of my works that their gaunt faces would judge.

Mimi Wolske

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© Pristine to Red Stockings and Heels

For a woman, any emotion, even sadness or anger, can be the catalyst for passion when she connects with its underlying power in an erotic way. We don't need flowers, candlelight, or bubble baths to get in the mood for love and sex. We take whatever mood we're in and turn it to our sexual advantage. The result: not just better sex, but a more passionate relationship.

Pristine to Red Stockings and Heels

When did the rain wash away the vision

That once was so clear she believed

She could see the end of the world;

A thin line of a distant horizon

Blending heaven and earth, perceived

As one, floating through time--it purled

Mayhap when he circumnavigated

The sea to find her happy, fixed universe

And informed her that cyberworld is round,

Not flat, or when he showed her a world uncharted;

Their stars aligned across the transverse

Hall of time and he captured her spellbound

Happenstance entwined with unusual desire

For a life as yet unknown and a curiosity

To learn and perchance to see and to know,

Surely edification would transpire;

Could there be reciprocity

And would he appreciate her sough

How long could she maintain his interest

Once she made the unspoken yet expected change;

In true Scarlet O’Hara fashion, she’d think of it tomorrow;

Thus, she gave her lessons her fullest

Attention, afraid that he she might estrange,

Yes she gave herself in his cyber-Bordeaux

Copyright © 2011

Mona Arizona

All rights reserved

You Left Me Your Spartacus Kiss

Arguments about erotic love poetry can often be distorted to serve the moral or psychological ends of the readers and the authors of such poetry can be lampooned. But, not all authors of erotic and erotic love poetry write accounts of human sexual relationships in explicit language or write with the intention to arouse the reader sexually. Such poetry used to be called pornographic. This is not a pornographic poem; it is erotic. While straightforward, images from the words are to be interpreted by the reader and each reader's interpretation is personal.

©You Left Me Your Spartacus Kiss

So, isn’t it funny? I found them

at this late date... you left your words

all over me. I’d grown accustom

to them sinking letter by absurd

letter into my skin like some tattoo

I would never be able to erase.

Not as if each word whispered by you

belonged there. That wasn’t the case.

Truth is that pieces of you found

their place in my open, waiting veins;

they flowed to my heart, and were bound

until nothing real about you remains.

Mona Arizona

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(painting by Malcolm Liepke)