END OF ILLUSION
(For Barry)
by Sara L. Russell (Pinky Andrexa)


How lovely was illusion
when it used to wear his face;
like some magical collusion
between mystery and grace.
Spun from lightning, stars and thunder,
luminescent as moonlight,
with dark eyes wide with wonder
and hair as black as night.


How lovely was desire
when it used to sigh his name;
forged out of passion's fire,
too mischievous for shame.
He's a hero for our dreams
to entice us out to play;
how untouchable he seems
till they pull the ground away!


Shave the lion, chop the willow
strip the peacock of its plumes,
burn his image from the pillow,
leave us dying from the fumes;
lost in darkness and confusion,
torn from all we used to know -
please don't take away our illusion,
we love him so.

He Whom The Light Loves
by Sara L. Russell aka Pinky Andrexa


Where is he today, he whom the light loves,
his face all kissed by sunlight, caressed by shadow,
he who moves through the world like a sleek caracal,
lissom and lithe as a dancer spellbound by a song?


I thought I saw him in a waking dream,
all haloed in rays of a sunrise; hot amber and gold;
drawing admirers around him with burning allure,
luring us into the warming embrace of his arms.


Where is he who shines with an inner light,
with shades of magenta-rose on his petalled lips?
does he wander through distant daydreams of far away
unaware of all observers who wish to be loves?


Where is he today, he whom the light loves,
all vibrant energy of highlight and shade?
I'm blowing wistful kisses to air again
wishing him love and the happiness I've still to find.


---------------------------------------------------------­------
(Dedicated to my favourite actor, talking about the way he lights up the screen).

In 4 sonnets, by Sara L. Russell
(aka Pinky Andrexa) 2/6/03

I

A vampire's spun of dust and frailty,
Condemned to shun the healing light of day;
No innocent first kiss for such as he,
No cross to keep his own demons away.

He's poised in shadow, by the lady's bed,
Fixated by her flawless, youthful skin,
Her fragile throat beneath her dreaming head,
Translucent, showing pale blue veins within.

"And will I lift the curtain of thy hair,
And on thy pale white *****, stoop to feed?
If thou wakest to find me sleeping there
Would there be retribution for my greed?"

She does not hear his whispered litany.
He stoops to feed, in silent ecstasy.


II

Her blood intoxicates him right away.
His head is reeling; he is feeling strange.
She's tasted claret earlier that day,
Surfiet of wine has caused her blood to change.

Inebriated now, he starts to yawn,
As gently, like a cradle, the room sways.
He's mindful he must not linger till dawn,
Yet down he lies and, dozing, there he stays.

Wild dreams of parties fill his sozzled mind:
Of sanguinary crimes, of flying free,
Of hanging upside down with his own kind,
In places that the sun will never see.

As if thrown from a lofty height, he lies.
Beside him, she has opened her blue eyes.


III

The lady does not turn her drowsy head
At first, but when she does, stifles a cry.
The ashen youth beside her appears dead,
With bloodied lips; until he seems to sigh,

Whereon his mouth curves into a half-smile,
His wanton eyebrows flicker as he dreams.
She settles down to watch him for a while,
How very dark and dangerous he seems!

"And will I lift the curtain of thy hair
And on thy handsome throat, alight to feed?
If thou wakest to find me lying there,
Wouldst thou be angry, or rejoice to bleed?"

Did I say that? She wonders, feeling odd,
She gives her new sharp canine teeth a ****.


IV

He wakes, looks up - and she is looking down.
Her wide blue eyes betray none of her fears.
He stares at her, his hand raised to his crown
(He's not had such a hangover for years).

Gaze locks to gaze; they cannot turn away,
He falls into her eyes, she into his,
Then there is nothing left to do or say
Until they have exchanged a tender kiss.

Now comes her father, thumping up the stairs,
The vampire turns, in dreamy half-surprise,
Lifting her up, and, overturning chairs,
Leaps to the window sill; fire in his eyes.

"You're mine now, little one"  She hears him say.
One more leap - and she's spirited away.

by Sara L. Russell (aka Pinky Andrexa)


I'll paint you in the colours of a day
Rose -madder sunrise, amber, burnished gold;
For nature has no solid black or grey
And colour lets her miracles unfold.

Adored by light, touched by ecstatic air
And on the canvas lend your warming grace;
All subtle shades of skin and tousled hair,
So beautiful in body, soul and face.

I'll paint you in the velvet tones of night,
Emerging from the shadows of a dream;
Temptation's muse, whose eyes softly invite,
Whose skin is moonlight and vanilla cream.

I'll paint you faithfully, and when it's done,
All others pale beside the Golden One.


----------------------------------------------------------­---
NOTES:

I wrote this after I finished my painting of the brilliant young actor Nico Mirallegro, from a calendar photo of him. The photo is a very iconic image that has been much-commented on his MySpace page, so it was a good choice to paint.

01:12 25/09/2008

Come gentle lover, let me share your air
and taste the kisses only your lips bring,
Speaking in tongues, my hands lost in your hair,
with every nerve alive and shivering.

Manna of angels, honeyed on the lips
rains down on me, leaving me mesmerised;
bestowed only in tantalyzing sips,
till every fantasy is realized.

The sullen low, the upper Cupid's bow,
the pout so often teased into a smile;
By far the sweetest mouth I'll ever know -
indulge me if I borrow it awhile.

Come gentle lover, cover me with bliss,
Nothing is so delicious as your kiss.

(Written 12/09/09)


Sometimes the sun sets early
On times that passed too soon;
When reality's not worthy
And our dreams carelessly strewn;
Sometimes hope appears as worthless
As the secret tears we cry;
Some people die on purpose
With no thought to say goodbye.


Perceived selfishness, derided
Over all they left unsaid;
All their years of trying to hide it
- All for nothing, once they're dead;
Though they never meant to hurt us
Agony is always there;
Some people die on purpose,
Driven by profound despair.


Misery is bleak and mindless,
It devours from inside out;
And we only seek the kindness
That so many go without.
Feeling purposeless and worthless,
Trapped by drudgery and fear;
Some people die on purpose,
Some wish, but are still here.

(A poem in 4 parts, including two sonnets, about some of the catastrophic incidents and
accidents life can throw at us)

Date written: 04/07/2008

I

Half-close my eyes, perhaps
I'll dream it never happened;
allow it to blur or fade away
nothing is certain anyway
Let recollections fold into themselves
in cold suspension,
between the ceiling and the floor
enter the entities the dreamer can't avoid.

Black splinters rain down shards
of pain in jagged patterns;
turning the spectrum into grey
stirring the id to go astray
wakening demons of the nether realms
and dark dimensions.
Nothing is certain any more;
save for the spectre of a gaping, empty void.


II

In days before the sundering of dreams
Such power was encompassed by these hands
Laughter of water sounded through the streams
Forces of nature answered my commands.

In days before order was stripped away
Lightning could issue from these fingertips
Turning the blackest night to brightest day
Burning the tallest tree to smoking strips.

Bright stars beheld within the oval ring
Like tiny faces in a deep black pool
Became my oracles for everything
Each constellation held an ancient rule.

Now, in the aching wondering of why,
A million pieces craze my tortured sky.


III

So far away, so long ago foregone,
Such restless days, while otherwise content.
Nothing was ever finite, time went on;
Infinities of summers came and went.

A million pieces of eternity
Go spinning to the outer stratasphere,
One wormhole into bleak catastrophe -
I'm watching my reflection disappear.

I asked the night "Where did the magic go?"
But nothing more than silence was returned.
With only three dimensions, who would know
Whether the other five slumbered or burned?

For time will swallow all the universe
And change will ever be the future's curse.



IV

What was the colour of
the last of all the missing pieces?
The one that fell between the space
between some present and past place
out of a glass where I had darkly gazed
for divination?
I thought I held it in my hand
but it eluded me, like some forgotten dream.

Where is the portal of
the world where my forsaken peace is?
Like someone's name I cannot place
or like a half-remembered face,
where is the key that once my fingers traced
in adulation?
Now it recedes away like sand,
like my mortality, into a black hole's seam.

~*~