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joanna dibble Mar 2012
loose-knit heartstrings' slow unraveling.
joanna dibble Mar 2012
she tiptoes amidst
a thousand pearls
as if walking in air
joanna dibble Mar 2012
two wolf spiders
face off on the bathmat
epic battle or sweet seduction


long dark cloud lines
brushstrokes at dawn
nature's i-ching


i'm not crazy - i'm crazed
this old *** has acquired
lovely patina
joanna dibble Mar 2012
burning sticks
a simple cycle,
back and forth i go
with the pitchfork
re-building the center

watching fire is timeless
the hours stretched as dali's clock
only the bright blaze
requires attention -
my comtemplation

in the shimmer
of heat's rising
i see a ghost
a figment of imagination
vanishing quickly
optical illusion of you
joanna dibble Mar 2012
the gentleman's a patient wolf
he trails his prey so quietly
and plans their quick demise.

his initial fascinations
are figments of imagination-
like melting rainbows, quickly forgot.

an earthy seducer ...
all the tragic ladies
immured in their addictions.

his sharp eye will quickly find
yet another quivering quail
in tallest grasses.

such eager craving -
born of hungry desires
the hunter's instinct
joanna dibble Mar 2012
do we know whose bold hand proffered the apple?
both languished in paradise, wander and eat,
making love their primary preoccupation...
do we know who named the animals,
the trees and birds and flowers?
when stewardship became dominion..

do we know what knowledge means?
recognizing your ****** seems a small price
to pay for the world of emotion -
lust's sharp intensity,
the fierceness of anger
or a kiss...

do we know the humble serpent
-God's creation- was to blame?
curiosity perhaps, or boredom more likely,
ensconced in a gorgeous garden
living know-nothings
their idle exploration of Eden.

who wrote this story? who made these myths?
what is now an ossified creed was then
a nascent religion; many claiming the one Truth.
beliefs in faith-based fact flourishing -
all the debates on divinity.

the Garden, The Woman, the Snake and the Tree
this account survived, recorded and writ for ages
a myth that may never have happened..
this ancient story lives on to
confirm the sin and
rattle the soul.
joanna dibble Mar 2012
small flock of doves in velvet sky
seven sisters in the crisp night air
these old girls are hot, blue, luminous
ancient constellation between the bull's horns
a parallax of stars.

the sisters are crones at last
huddled together for warmth
their pale aura a dime-store
blueing trick. their wise eyes
wrinkled as elephants, their
expanding memories ascending
the cosmic ladder
into oblivion
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