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deprivedkat Oct 2016
Surviving the day is worthy of merit, but once you can make it to bed, it's a ******* victory!
© October 30, 2016 deprivedkat
Erin Suurkoivu Oct 2016
i.

Pink doesn’t play into it, that delicate
petal of perfume & flower stuff.
She abhors it.

Red suits her better.
Red for Fridays & red for Aries.
Red for the blood her dagger could draw.

Her seal of wax is no
rosebud adhered to
fine paper.

Warrior, she escaped its letter.
With Roman candles & Roman sandals,
sword, wand & chariot,

defender of her Eden.
Seashells are her votive gifts, the
stars of her Atlantic.

It is within her reign of Camelot.
At the edge of the Earth,
her kingdom dreams.




ii.

Blue maid
a curious ***** in her armour.
But she wouldn’t flinch

if an army of soldiers came crashing in.
They are hunting the witch.
A woman can never have such power.

It is reserved for the patriarchy
to wield at will.
Up it goes.

They can ***** steeples with it.
They are stoking the fires & sharpening
the axe with it.

But threats of torture
don’t make her beg, plead or recant.
She is guilty of nothing.

Even broken on the Catherine Wheel,
Athena still keeps her
bow & quiver intact.
A poem inspired by my friend, Hayley J. Available in my poetry collection, "Witch", available on Amazon and Lulu.
Ovi-Odiete Oct 2016
AN OVI/VICTORIA'S POEM
               COLLABORATION

What brings an undaunted Warrior down on his knees?"

It is a Woman,
A woman's tears can pierce into the most rigid of souls.
It is her charms and calls
that falls like splendors on morning leaves.
Her sway and bounce, that sends shivers into the hearts.

Such are the nights
she envelopes him in a tailwind,
both of them buoyed
in his regard
of her every thing.
Quenched and drunk
on the essence
of love in action
happen the mornings when he
is the rising sun itself
that draws her
like a mist from the ocean.


And as the moon transverses the lone sky, searching for a mystery to peruse the earth with brooding glow,
So she glows her man into a brighter him.
She encloses within her, moments of illumination, that even the darkest of souls cannot quench.
Such are the days of her unending rainfalls, where she wets up the shallowest of earth's depths....
Intertwining between seasons and spheres.
Her heart is like the endlessness of the ocean,
Constantly drawing him with her hips into a wave of boundless journey.

And so it is
as it always was
through the ages of transience,
their enigma constant,
unending prevailed
against the steely, storming skies
of angst en masse  
that would test loves mettle,
where true warriors, undaunted
rise above, arced
in kaleidoscopic triumph.


Ovi Odiete and Victoria©
All right reserved. 10/9/2016
1st verse. Ovi Odiete
2nd verse. Victoria

I.e, All verses in bold= mine
All verses in italic= Victoria

I particularly enjoyed this intense collaboration with victoria, the author of "QUAGMIRES AND QUANDARIES".... One of my best poem yet.
She writes and conjures enchantment and I thought of writing this poem with her.
The poem focuses on the strength of a woman over a man.
Her myriads of effects she has on a man's heart and how she can bring him down on his knees begging.
It is an intertwining poem.
How he perceives her.....
How he is drawn to her mesmerizing call and enchantment and how she sees him.... His yearnings and calls too.
Who better than VICTORIA to bring out the message in this poem.
It's a pleasure..... An immense pleasure writing with you Victoria....
Megan Hoagland Oct 2016
Numbing pain with remedies unwise
Trying to forget
the past of lies

Going through day to day life
Such a battle,
so much strife.

Climbing out of bed
whispering
"you can do it, you're not dead"

Wanting with super might
to yell and cry
managing to mumble and sigh.

Resigned to the way
life seems to be:
Struggling; a vessel of empty

But each step taken
even with the ache'n
Is another foot forward
In the direction of hope; toward.

Each day gets better
don't stumble now
lighter as a feather.
; Choose to keep going
Maddy Sep 2016
Don’t Fall In Love With A Warrior
15/01/2015 by jamiecatto
Don’t Fall In Love With A Warrior

As his love will cast such blazing illumination upon you

That the darkest edges of your resistance will be etched too vividly for you to ever ignore again.

You will be faced with yourself in his reflection, and fixed with his gaze.

His care will trigger weeping for all the unloved places that had ’til now been left unheld

And you will be faced with your grief and your rage

And there will be a melting.

But though he’ll never save you from your pain

He will sit beside you, matching your breath

Supporting you invisibly until dawn rises again

Until your ribs ache with the opening

Revealing new spaces for your heart to reinhabit.

He will call you back to yourself from the caves where you’ve hid

Hid your power from the world, and from your self,

He’ll plant a question in your soul

And demand an answer.

Are you ready to love yourself so deeply and be matched in that love?

He’ll burn all your maps of the past

Dissolving the paths that led us here

To fix upon the only moment where love resides

Will you surrender to his fingertips?

Even when you fear the echoes of your past urging you to escape?

For he’ll touch your cheek so lightly that your memories of violence will rise so they may fade.

Can you feel safe and powerful without being needed?

As he is complete unto himself and knows how to hold himself on his own lonely nights.

Can you be held without being grasped?

Can you be led without *******?

Can you be an equal?

When he points to the horizon can you see what he imagines just beyond sight?

Will you join him on a journey

Deep into your raw and aching hearts

To discover treasure and Union and surrender?

He will penetrate you to your core

Eyes locked

Nodding so slowly as he

Sees you

Held firm.

For he’s discovered your hiding places

And remains undaunted Patient.

He’s seen your crown that you pretended was a veil

He’s seen the wounds around your neck transforming into jewels

And will never let them take you again

To that fire.

He waits at the base of the tower

Open handed

Ready to ride.



www.jamiecatto.com
Sands slip through my fingers,
sun scorched with dried blood
staining the palm where I wiped the blade.

I did not bleed. I did not bat my eyes
when his severed limb flew past my face.
My eyes opened wider and tasted victory
more intently than my screams
vanquished his memory.

I thought it was but an apparition on the sands
miles past; a haunting, a demon, a scorned lover
back for revenge now that I made off with valuables:
the fastest steed, the cave within me
where he stored his treasure when he pleased.

Thus when he appeared, when he charged by foot
and outstretched his arms (much smaller from my new height)
feebly, weakly to end me first, so he could brag to the village,
"She is like the women who believe they can fly."

I do fly
to my sword,
my hand unsheathes the blazing boiling metal.
With one sharp ting I watch his arm and the tiny dagger
sail across the desert and settle atop the sand,
gently gracefully, unlike his living, boasting words
would have wanted.

To the man who brought destruction in the depths,
where coolness and faithful waters dripped down the walls;
where no one dared near for fear of the One who is near me.

They will say warrior was born of ruins.
If they ask me, I will say, "Warrior is born of defeat no more."
Tehreem Sep 2016
She was curled up asleep
In the world of his illusion
Wounded warrior of dreams
She bled her colours bright
He placed her amongst skeletons
Of fears and unrequited love
Nightmares he planted in her
Pain grew in her lovely bones
He stirred his evil poison cup
She consumed the intoxication
To the pretentious word magician.
Peter Kiggin Aug 2016
No belief in understanding

We are more afraid of things we do not understand than the sharp edge of a sword attatched to a mans hand
There's always a man in command but it is the soldier that takes the steps into no mans land
Is it therefore that all who command **** without prejudice or are the soldiers unable to see that their lives are in another mans time is written in the sand
Whether to comprehend and make his own choice is not a humane demand but a one mans struggle with his conscience either to die aimlessly or live as a killer in a heartless world already planned
lies **** not people
Tehreem Aug 2016
My love your words are knives
Broken arrows impaled in my side
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