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"arabesques" poems
Mother, mother, what ill-bred aunt Or what disfigured and unsightly Cousin did you so unwisely keep Unasked to my christening, that she Sent these ladies in her stead With heads like darning-eggs to nod And nod and nod at foot and head And at the left side of my crib? Mother, who made to order stories Of Mixie Blackshort the heroic bear, Mother, whose witches always, always Got baked into gingerbread, I wonder Whether you saw them, whether you said Words to rid me of those three ladies Nodding by night around my bed, Mouthless, eyeless, with stitched bald head. In the hurricane, when father's twelve Study windows bellied in Like bubbles about to break, you fed My brother and me cookies and Ovaltine And helped the two of us to choir: 'Thor is angry; boom boom boom! Thor is angry: we don't care!' But those ladies broke the panes. When on tiptoe the schoolgirls danced, Blinking flashlights like fireflies And singing the glowworm song, I could Not lift a foot in the twinkle-dress But, heavy-footed, stood aside In the shadow cast by my dismal-headed Godmothers, and you cried and cried: And the shadow stretched, the lights went out. Mother, you sent me to piano lessons And praised my arabesques and trills Although each teacher found my touch Oddly wooden in spite of scales And the hours of practicing, my ear Tone-deaf and yes, unteachable. I learned, I learned, I learned elsewhere, From muses unhired by you, dear mother. I woke one day to see you, mother, Floating above me in bluest air On a green balloon bright with a million Flowers and bluebirds that never were Never, never, found anywhere. But the little planet bobbed away Like a soap-bubble as you called: Come here! And I faced my traveling companions. Day now, night now, at head, side, feet, They stand their vigil in gowns of stone, Faces blank as the day I was born. Their shadows long in the setting sun That never brightens or goes down. And this is the kingdom you bore me to, Mother, mother. But no frown of mine Will betray the company I keep.
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The Disquieting Muses
Mother, mother, what ill-bred aunt Or what disfigured and unsightly Cousin did you so unwisely keep Unasked to my christening, that she Sent these ladies in her stead With heads like darning-eggs to nod And nod and nod at foot and head And at the left side of my crib? Mother, who made to order stories Of Mixie Blackshort the heroic bear, Mother, whose witches always, always Got baked into gingerbread, I wonder Whether you saw them, whether you said Words to rid me of those three ladies Nodding by night around my bed, Mouthless, eyeless, with stitched bald head. In the hurricane, when father's twelve Study windows bellied in Like bubbles about to break, you fed My brother and me cookies and Ovaltine And helped the two of us to choir: 'Thor is angry; boom boom boom! Thor is angry: we don't care!' But those ladies broke the panes. When on tiptoe the schoolgirls danced, Blinking flashlights like fireflies And singing the glowworm song, I could Not lift a foot in the twinkle-dress But, heavy-footed, stood aside In the shadow cast by my dismal-headed Godmothers, and you cried and cried: And the shadow stretched, the lights went out. Mother, you sent me to piano lessons And praised my arabesques and trills Although each teacher found my touch Oddly wooden in spite of scales And the hours of practicing, my ear Tone-deaf and yes, unteachable. I learned, I learned, I learned elsewhere, From muses unhired by you, dear mother. I woke one day to see you, mother, Floating above me in bluest air On a green balloon bright with a million Flowers and bluebirds that never were Never, never, found anywhere. But the little planet bobbed away Like a soap-bubble as you called: Come here! And I faced my traveling companions. Day now, night now, at head, side, feet, They stand their vigil in gowns of stone, Faces blank as the day I was born. Their shadows long in the setting sun That never brightens or goes down. And this is the kingdom you bore me to, Mother, mother. But no frown of mine Will betray the company I keep.
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56
dance with daddy wear your tutu spin and twirl hold his hand arabesques pirouette into his arms and heart you’re his little prima ballerina
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Jul 26, 2021
Jul 26, 2021 at 10:41 PM UTC
little ballerina
We caught the tread of dancing feet, We loitered down the moonlit street, And stopped beneath the harlot’s house. Inside, above the din and fray, We heard the loud musicians play The ‘Treues Liebes Herz’ of Strauss. Like strange mechanical grotesques, Making fantastic arabesques, The shadows raced across the blind. We watched the ghostly dancers spin To sound of horn and violin, Like black leaves wheeling in the wind. Like wire-pulled automatons, Slim silhouetted skeletons Went sidling through the slow quadrille, Then took each other by the hand, And danced a stately saraband; Their laughter echoed thin and shrill. Sometimes a clockwork puppet pressed A phantom lover to her breast, Sometimes they seemed to try to sing. Sometimes a horrible marionette Came out, and smoked its cigarette Upon the steps like a live thing. Then, turning to my love, I said, ‘The dead are dancing with the dead, The dust is whirling with the dust.’ But she—she heard the violin, And left my side, and entered in: Love passed into the house of lust. Then suddenly the tune went false, The dancers wearied of the waltz, The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl. And down the long and silent street, The dawn, with silver-sandalled feet, Crept like a frightened girl.
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The Harlot’s House
you are the illuminated manuscript I, the reader the lover of you show me your illuminations your singing arabesques the music of you chant your canticle hidden in the golden calligraphy wrapped within you open your pages to me -- for I am the reader the lover of you c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater
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Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 9:54 PM UTC
illuminato
Stillness preceded the sonic storm. Then the baton plummeted, To summon low “D’s” from orchestral depths And a hundred voices roared, “O Fortuna!” The throbbing ritual had begun! Rhythms drove and lurched Through songs of Springtime, alcohol and lust. Brasses flared. Muted strings cast veils over the hall. The chorus hummed and shouted And tender solos wafted Over graceful flute arabesques. The thin white stick carved the air into segments And by some mystical synchronicity Instruments and voices reveled together - Medieval Latin decked out in modern attire. A baritone sang from a tavern With electrifying irresponsibility. The counter-tenor mournfully chanted The complaint of an entrée roasting on a spit. The love of my life skied her voice To a high “D” then descended - And we turned Fortune’s wheel back full circle Rounding out this earth song beyond all comparing. “O Fortuna!” O Fortuna, indeed! July, 2006
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Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
On Conducting Carmina Burana
Back to the grind I drive at the crack of dawn Dragging yesterday's heartbreak Lifting today's routine And pushing tomorrow's anxiety But steam rises from my sandwich Walking down a pale carpet of Spam Amid fluffy scrambled eggs and warm bread She shivers in the car's AC Her lithe form unfettered from all this worry On her little stage she arabesques and pirouettes Bathed in golden sunlight With diffuse legs and arms A routine written by thermodynamics A spectacle only she and I know This performance will last for the next thirty seconds Already time is impatiently tapping its foot But the steam cares not, for this is all she has And there, waiting for the traffic signal I am in the moment.
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Jul 25, 2022
Jul 25, 2022 at 7:31 PM UTC
Little Things
Cobwebs in corners. In the rooms of my yesterday I watch myself play with 'action men' 'Bill and Ben' on the black and white tea on the table and mum looks alright and then my brothers come in tuck in ******* the ham from my bones. I like being alone. My sister comes in and she's wearing a tu-tu she goes to a ballet school I take her sometimes and I sit like a fool watching arabesques quite Chaplinesque and I try not to giggle but I'm a boy growing up and it's hard not to wriggle or squirm. And I turn into tomorrow where it seems I have borrowed a few wrinkles and crinkles from Grandad who's not doing so bad for an old one but I hold on to the room it's my sanctuary my place of safety. In a world that's so feisty my room is so nice I see how it looks when I close my eyes tight. Your own room is waiting somewhere late at night at the place where the light shines through the windows of good times. I go back to the black and white in the place where it's all alright and where dreams just might come true.
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May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 4:29 AM UTC
Cobwebs in corners
Dans la rue. Il est un vieil air populaire Par tous les violons raclé, Aux abois des chiens en colère Par tous les orgues nasillé. Les tabatières à musique L'ont sur leur répertoire inscrit ; Pour les serins il est classique, Et ma grand'mère, enfant, l'apprit. Sur cet air, pistons, clarinettes, Dans les bals aux poudreux berceaux, Font sauter commis et grisettes, Et de leurs nids fuir les oiseaux. La guinguette, sous sa tonnelle De houblon et de chèvrefeuil, Fête, en braillant la ritournelle, Le *** dimanche et l'argenteuil. L'aveugle au basson qui pleurniche L'écorche en se trompant de doigts ; La sébile aux dents, son caniche Près de lui le grogne à mi-voix. Et les petites guitaristes, Maigres sous leurs minces tartans, Le glapissent de leurs voix tristes Aux tables des cafés chantants. Paganini, le fantastique, Un soir, comme avec un crochet, A ramassé le thème antique Du bout de son divin archet, Et, brodant la gaze fanée Que l'oripeau rougit encor, Fait sur la phrase dédaignée Courir ses arabesques d'or.
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Sur le Carnaval de Venise I
Low beneath heavily barked, overhanging branches, leaning peacefully against the trunk of a lichen covered oak tree, crooked limbs and emerald leaves give shape to a lively canopy that shelter Love himself from misted rain. Here, amid grassy knolls, jeweled arabesques, and hallowed soil giving birth to flourishing verdure, the miracle of creation, in it's intricate balance, gives resonance to his voice which manifest itself in a faintly resounding lull that dances through his garden. If you listen closely, you can hear its solemn sigh, "Edennn".
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Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 2:25 AM UTC
Garden called Eden
I would always be by your side, This is all l desire. Every day, in so many ways, I can say I am almost with you For you I will be this great oak tree The roots of my love grow deep in my soul I will be your strength, sure and steady Certainty in the face of each changing season. I am the cool water that clears your mind in the heat of the day My hand is the gentle breeze stirring your hair The raindrops, my wet little kisses on the earth at your feet so flowers might spring ahead of your every footfall. Open this book of poetry, listen close... My voice echoes softly in each lovers’ verse My desire moves here in these inky arabesques and curlicues Entwining words that seek only to touch you To comfort you, to soothe away any storm. Feel the texture of these pages, the soft and the smooth This is me beneath your fingertips Ivory skin, dark of my hair, velvet and silk Breathe deep, here is the scent of every Rose in my garden, Each one a promise, a wish for the future. When day is done, close your dark eyes, Open yourself to the beating pulse of night... To hidden songs in the breeze that drifts through your window There is my voice, calling your name. I am weaving my yearning and trust around you... Crying in your loneliness, know l am there Taste the salt of my tears on your lips I am waiting in the landscape of your dreams. Distance and time may conspire to keep us apart We will yet be together In each day, in the secret of ways of lovers, I will be Almost...with you.
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Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 11:55 PM UTC
Almost With You
I would always be by your side, This is all l desire. Every day, in so many ways, I can say I am almost with you For you I will be this great oak tree The roots of my love grow deep in my soul I will be your strength, sure and steady Certainty in the face of each changing season. I am the cool water that clears your mind in the heat of the day My hand is the gentle breeze stirring your hair The raindrops, my wet little kisses on the earth at your feet so flowers might spring ahead of your every footfall. Open this book of poetry, listen close... My voice echoes softly in each lovers’ verse My desire moves here in these inky arabesques and curlicues Entwining words that seek only to touch you To comfort you, to soothe away any storm. Feel the texture of these pages, the soft and the smooth This is me beneath your fingertips Ivory skin, dark of my hair, velvet and silk Breathe deep, here is the scent of every Rose in my garden, Each one a promise, a wish for the future. When day is done, close your dark eyes, Open yourself to the beating pulse of night... To hidden songs in the breeze that drifts through your window There is my voice, calling your name. I am weaving my yearning and trust around you... Crying in your loneliness, know l am there Taste the salt of my tears on your lips I am waiting in the landscape of your dreams. Distance and time may conspire to keep us apart We will yet be together In each day, in the secret of ways of lovers, I will be Almost...with you.
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35
I don’t like when Jane leaves the baby’s door open, But we’re away now. This house is heavy with strangers' history, It's peeking out of the shaded paths and gardens swollen With verdure; hinting at the tantalizing possibility of mystery And restorative power of air, after all, that’s why we’re here John doesn't believe in fantastic daydreams (Imagination is a delusion perpetuated by fools) John says we are sleeping in the nursery for its sunbeams But there are bars on the windows like metal rules And it is papered in a grotesque sin of undulating chaos It inhabits me, twirling dreadful arabesques behind my eyes Momentarily. Many yellowed Almost, not quite, dead It grows within me Dis- -tending my belly No no no This air will do me good. I move as a somnambulist through the morning Succumbing to sleep in the afternoon (Moonlight brings the amber insomnia of the walls Bends my eyes from sleep) But it is nothing. Merely my own laziness. A hysterical tendency. Really. shhh.. SULFUR Color SULFUR Scent In my (inhale) lungs and (Shoulder to the wall, follow) on my clothes Proptotic eyes leering from crooked necks Carious fingers reaching into- Fireworks on the forth of July and me, with the docile vengeance of a failed mother Writing with the frantic purpose of a bumblebee, …If a bumblebee was splitting in two two layers of the wall One mutating concentric fungal prison One captive-her? (Her that creeps, her that inhabits [me] the wall) I am tired. But I must find the origin. Pattern. Meaning. I know it holds someone.some memory Hidden My shoulder is covered in yellow pigment My knees hurt (faded band following the baseboard pressure of a shoulder in orbit) She hides, but she is mine She who-I who shake the wallpaper- SHE shakes the wallpaper in moonlight I who shake the wallpaper I who T E A R with teeth and claws my prison from the wall I who creep beneath the paper (crept behind the paper) FREE OF- John oh, J O H N You're in my way.
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Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 2:39 AM UTC
The Yellow Wallpaper
I don’t like when Jane leaves the baby’s door open, But we’re away now. This house is heavy with strangers' history, It's peeking out of the shaded paths and gardens swollen With verdure; hinting at the tantalizing possibility of mystery And restorative power of air, after all, that’s why we’re here John doesn't believe in fantastic daydreams (Imagination is a delusion perpetuated by fools) John says we are sleeping in the nursery for its sunbeams But there are bars on the windows like metal rules And it is papered in a grotesque sin of undulating chaos It inhabits me, twirling dreadful arabesques behind my eyes Momentarily. Many yellowed Almost, not quite, dead It grows within me Dis- -tending my belly No no no This air will do me good. I move as a somnambulist through the morning Succumbing to sleep in the afternoon (Moonlight brings the amber insomnia of the walls Bends my eyes from sleep) But it is nothing. Merely my own laziness. A hysterical tendency. Really. shhh.. SULFUR Color SULFUR Scent In my (inhale) lungs and (Shoulder to the wall, follow) on my clothes Proptotic eyes leering from crooked necks Carious fingers reaching into- Fireworks on the forth of July and me, with the docile vengeance of a failed mother Writing with the frantic purpose of a bumblebee, …If a bumblebee was splitting in two two layers of the wall One mutating concentric fungal prison One captive-her? (Her that creeps, her that inhabits [me] the wall) I am tired. But I must find the origin. Pattern. Meaning. I know it holds someone.some memory Hidden My shoulder is covered in yellow pigment My knees hurt (faded band following the baseboard pressure of a shoulder in orbit) She hides, but she is mine She who-I who shake the wallpaper- SHE shakes the wallpaper in moonlight I who shake the wallpaper I who T E A R with teeth and claws my prison from the wall I who creep beneath the paper (crept behind the paper) FREE OF- John oh, J O H N You're in my way.
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72
A well-known star who performed on stage Was soon out-shined by the rest But she couldn't become one of the common folk She had to be the best And in the day, she danced with them And danced until the night She would wait until everyone left the theatre Then dance in her own spotlight And as she danced from day to night She wasn't the most elite So she knew she had to do something bigger So she wouldn't end in defeat Even though the dancers did perfect arabesques And chased after an impossible dream When the night fell and the curtains closed She lined the stage in gasoline So when the sun rose, the dancers walked in They screamed and knew they could never aspire To the star on the blazing stage Beautifully burning to death, surrounded by fire
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Sep 30, 2024
Sep 30, 2024 at 6:28 PM UTC
Blazing Star
Floating in the day today it is today the first day of the year in blue so blue so blue so blue the sky is full of cloud a roof of dew of dew of dew the trees like silhouettes of black although a darker green of green the houses hiding in the mist they almost can't be seen be seen the weeds that stick up here and there make arabesques up in the air the air and all seems in a dream a dream a dream
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Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 3:21 AM UTC
The first of January 2016
You are a beautiful pianist, she touches my hand and says Seventeen and horrified, maybe Terribly sympathetic, playing blue arabesques and yearning for summer -cj
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Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC
"Debussy would've been proud"
My Lady Ophelia of the Golden Fleece. With hair spun by the Sahara Sun and alabaster skin. Eyes of indigo flames and lips that have the pop of the poppy. Her lush body fitted in emerald enchantments and threaded silver thistles. See her sailing by the moonlight on an ethereal sea, upon her ship, the Tears of Joy. The Emperor's Butterfly in her hair with shining wings of gossamer threads. Oh! I marvel the twilight afterglow kiss her skin, making her a peach rose. From her carnelian cup, she sips the nectar - moscato sweet. Her first sip was of gumdrops, then roses, and after that, the more. Salty tears from a mermaid's cheek, the whispers of wisteria, the laughter of springberries, the kisses of sweet neroli and the tartness of plum toffee. She passes by Aegean Ruins, her secret retreat upon the White Cliffs that is west of the moon. The beauty of this lost history is as soft and deep as an angel's sigh, with its enchanting mist like graceful tendrils. The shadows of the Black Hills bloom. She coats herself in a cloak of midnight and she descends down, setting foot ashore. She walked down the winding road of burnt orchids and lavender sands. She had heard whisperings of an unfound door and the Dream- weavers of the Sable Heart. And so she wanders... passed the midnight trees and their sad serenades. The chill of sea ice and the sharpness of pewter buds. The mist dances. It twirls. Pirouettes. Arabesques. It circles and hisses. Circles and hisses. Circles and hisses! And there it was, the unfound door made of crystal shadows. Lady Ophelia of the Golden Fleece, extends her hand and holds the **** She twists and enters...
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Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 6:09 PM UTC
Nevermore
My Lady Ophelia of the Golden Fleece. With hair spun by the Sahara Sun and alabaster skin. Eyes of indigo flames and lips that have the pop of the poppy. Her lush body fitted in emerald enchantments and threaded silver thistles. See her sailing by the moonlight on an ethereal sea, upon her ship, the Tears of Joy. The Emperor's Butterfly in her hair with shining wings of gossamer threads. Oh! I marvel the twilight afterglow kiss her skin, making her a peach rose. From her carnelian cup, she sips the nectar - moscato sweet. Her first sip was of gumdrops, then roses, and after that, the more. Salty tears from a mermaid's cheek, the whispers of wisteria, the laughter of springberries, the kisses of sweet neroli and the tartness of plum toffee. She passes by Aegean Ruins, her secret retreat upon the White Cliffs that is west of the moon. The beauty of this lost history is as soft and deep as an angel's sigh, with its enchanting mist like graceful tendrils. The shadows of the Black Hills bloom. She coats herself in a cloak of midnight and she descends down, setting foot ashore. She walked down the winding road of burnt orchids and lavender sands. She had heard whisperings of an unfound door and the Dream- weavers of the Sable Heart. And so she wanders... passed the midnight trees and their sad serenades. The chill of sea ice and the sharpness of pewter buds. The mist dances. It twirls. Pirouettes. Arabesques. It circles and hisses. Circles and hisses. Circles and hisses! And there it was, the unfound door made of crystal shadows. Lady Ophelia of the Golden Fleece, extends her hand and holds the **** She twists and enters...
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56
now we're in an image of the eyeball shifting sheltered under rainbow crow's feet iridescent what is different? my roommate asks me under humming bulb & breezes in my father's kitchen we will wash the plastic rat black & lathered as my brother masturbates his whiskers individually with shampoo this is the lord's day forms are found and then forgotten on the axis of my navel I feel very isolated in slow end-game pictures animated just for me they shudder/blossom in my bathtub arabesques with eyes closed watching ladies jesting self-lust obsessing winking saying they are only watching aloud alone anon outside there is a frozen rabbit twisted in the grass embroidered w/ one million happy diamonds blazing primordial frosted like flagellum in a dreamscape all aligning to the haunted second where I'm seeing movies of hypostyle halls sound of cacti calling diet soda sounds of thorny carbonation born from liquid crystal wisdom
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Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 1:16 AM UTC
On Taking LSD With My Brother in January
À travers la forêt de folles arabesques Que le doigt du sommeil trace au mur de mes nuits, Je vis, comme l'on voit les Fortunes des fresques, Un jeune homme penché sur la bouche d'un puits. Il jetait, par grands tas, dans cette gueule noire Perles et diamants, rubis et sequins d'or, Pour faire arriver l'eau jusqu'à sa lèvre, et boire ; Mais le flot flagellé ne montait pas encore. Hélas ! Que d'imprudents s'en vont aux puits, sans corde, Sans urne pour puiser le cristal souterrain, Enfouir leur trésor afin que l'eau déborde, Comme fit le corbeau dans le vase d'airain ! Hélas ! Et qui n'a pas, épris de quelque femme, Pour faire monter l'eau du divin sentiment, Jeté l'or de son cœur au puits sans fond d'une âme, Sur l'abîme muet penché stupidement !
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Le puits mystérieux
Fermer ses yeux si fort, Que je peux discerner des couleurs, Des arabesques, des tâches, puis l'incolore. Ce soir, ce mythe se fait peu prometteur... Rouverts comme deux portes maudites, Mes pupilles ne regardent que la lumière De l'étoile levante et hypocrite: "Ah ! Quel caractère !" Pas un rêve ne m'a émancipé. La lune n'est d'aucun réconfort, Mais le soleil a bien plus de torts. Nuls cauchemars Ne réparent Ma lucidité...
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Apr 3, 2025
Apr 3, 2025 at 3:18 AM UTC
Morphée L'éveillé
A Liebestraum and two Arabesques stood there holding me between the ears one mundane evening… The indoor storm who knew could deject one so boldly cleaned its final tears and left me be… A new wave calm eschewed ‘til present flooded in me serene and aptly dear calmness… For a moment I felt a sense of clarity that had neglected me for ages. My sullen blues and anxious reds faded to black, and all manner of emotion had been evicted from my mind. I could think about things in straight lines and deep focus for an entire ******* moment. Then Spotify had to ruin the moment with an indie rock montage in my queue. I cried.
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Jun 24, 2023
Jun 24, 2023 at 4:25 AM UTC
clarity amidst classical pieces
Plus je t'observe Plus je te contourne Plus je te cisèle à distance Dans le marbre de Carrara Plus il m'apparaît Sans équivoque Que debout ou assise Allongée ou dans un étrange lotus De dos ou de profil Nue ou endormie Cartomancienne ou bohémienne Tu es mon rêve fait femme Le portrait craché de ma Muse. Partout où le vent me porte Je te vois flâner dans l'ombre de mes pas Un jour tu es Madone et tu me souris De ton piédestal de croix et de chapelets De bougies et d'encens qui brûlent L'instant d'après, cantatrice tu entonnes En soprano lyrique les grands airs de l'opéra Tu es fille de roi, tu es esclave Tu es servante mais toujours amoureuse. J'essaie de façonner dans la glaise Une à une les courbes parfaites Dont t'as doté la nature Et je ne vois que chair généreuse et souple Cuisses ouvertes et offertes Nonchalantes et sensuelles Je te vois forte et légère Bien ancrée à la terre comme au ciel Et même si je t'habille c'est nue que je te vois Que je te détaille sous ton masque Et que j'essaie de reproduire la lumière Qui nimbe ton corps. Et surtout je vois ton âme Inlassablement charnelle : Tes seins qui éclatent dans leur corset de soie Tes yeux qui sourient des larmes de joie Tes bras qui font des arabesques Tes fesses pulpeuses et fraîches Qui chevauchent les chevaux en transe Ta bouche qui mordille la peau des nuages Tes pieds de Gradiva qui s'enfoncent dans les sables mouvants Et tes mains qui me font signe au **** De chanter ta gloire éternelle. Le creux de ta nuque qui m'encourage Et m'invite à l'envol vers toi Et cette vulve souveraine au delà des monts et des mers Qui m'attire comme un aimant invisible Vers ton royaume et me charrie dans le flot De tes désirs les plus innommables. Finalement jour après nuit je m'accroche Aux fils de tes cheveux tressés En une longue natte de poissons gigotants Et de fruits odorants Pour m'accueillir à ton balcon Et je grimpe comme un funambule Pour te rejoindre Tu m'encourages de la parole de ton coeur Et le vent souffle et il ne reste que peu d'espace A parcourir pour vaincre la distance Qui nous sépare et nous lie Indissociablement l'un dans l'autre.
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Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 6:41 AM UTC
Tu es mon rêve fait femme
Plus je t'observe Plus je te contourne Plus je te cisèle à distance Dans le marbre de Carrara Plus il m'apparaît Sans équivoque Que debout ou assise Allongée ou dans un étrange lotus De dos ou de profil Nue ou endormie Cartomancienne ou bohémienne Tu es mon rêve fait femme Le portrait craché de ma Muse. Partout où le vent me porte Je te vois flâner dans l'ombre de mes pas Un jour tu es Madone et tu me souris De ton piédestal de croix et de chapelets De bougies et d'encens qui brûlent L'instant d'après, cantatrice tu entonnes En soprano lyrique les grands airs de l'opéra Tu es fille de roi, tu es esclave Tu es servante mais toujours amoureuse. J'essaie de façonner dans la glaise Une à une les courbes parfaites Dont t'as doté la nature Et je ne vois que chair généreuse et souple Cuisses ouvertes et offertes Nonchalantes et sensuelles Je te vois forte et légère Bien ancrée à la terre comme au ciel Et même si je t'habille c'est nue que je te vois Que je te détaille sous ton masque Et que j'essaie de reproduire la lumière Qui nimbe ton corps. Et surtout je vois ton âme Inlassablement charnelle : Tes seins qui éclatent dans leur corset de soie Tes yeux qui sourient des larmes de joie Tes bras qui font des arabesques Tes fesses pulpeuses et fraîches Qui chevauchent les chevaux en transe Ta bouche qui mordille la peau des nuages Tes pieds de Gradiva qui s'enfoncent dans les sables mouvants Et tes mains qui me font signe au **** De chanter ta gloire éternelle. Le creux de ta nuque qui m'encourage Et m'invite à l'envol vers toi Et cette vulve souveraine au delà des monts et des mers Qui m'attire comme un aimant invisible Vers ton royaume et me charrie dans le flot De tes désirs les plus innommables. Finalement jour après nuit je m'accroche Aux fils de tes cheveux tressés En une longue natte de poissons gigotants Et de fruits odorants Pour m'accueillir à ton balcon Et je grimpe comme un funambule Pour te rejoindre Tu m'encourages de la parole de ton coeur Et le vent souffle et il ne reste que peu d'espace A parcourir pour vaincre la distance Qui nous sépare et nous lie Indissociablement l'un dans l'autre.
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63
Little Boy You play with my heart like a Paper Ballerina Making it dance for you Sending it into    Perfect Arabesques   Flawless Pirouettes Exact Battements And then, When you're done, Bored You crumple it up and throw it away, Along with all the other hearts you treated like toys And then, you beg for a new toy, just to break it And then, demand another Just like a Little Boy
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Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 2:34 AM UTC
Playtime
I want to be alone with you tonight, I will switch off the moon asking her for just one moonbeam to illuminate your body, I will beg the stars to go playing with each other further away from me and my eyes to never leave you. I want to be alone with you tonight to stroll on you with my hands and to almost touch you whispering to you with my lips arabesques of passion and when tomorrow I'm left with only the memory of you, I will ask the stars to come back to go on playing and the moon to leave that moonbeam in my heart. 15.12.'15
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Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 1:56 PM UTC
Alone with you