"huntress" poems
Lovers entered a forbidden forest bower,
And as they stalked that range, with eyes glazed,
She offered up her hind. Now, with doe eyes,
Deep as his, deep in arousal's sleep, heels fell,
As he knocked and pulled her dark honey hair
And whispered, surrender, into wanting ears,
Softly he drove his hunting command, homing
To his huntress.
Her body braced, yet bade, with heat and vibrance.
Ruthlessly, he ****** his arrow deeper and then
Once more and then again. She bucked fiercely
And defiant, goading his prodding lance ever more
Ever longer, and parting the pink lines of her white
Rose, he was, and once again, Prince to the dark
Dominion of her quarters.
In the middle of this carnal match they paused.
And looking into the forest beyond they saw
A yearling fawn, a feral Goddess, grazing still,
Bathing in a vale, virginal, wholly unmoved
By their act of venery, lustfully playing, in the innocent
Leaves. It was as if they were among her kin, a gentle
Doe and a noble stag. From that moment on
The human hunters did not speak.
Falling, again, rolling eyes were deep in arousal's sleep.
Her back was a crescent moon pocked and wet with dew.
He could feel her heart beating in time with his piercing
Prong, her arching back glistened in the suns spittle
As it broke through the dark and vernal ceiling wood.
In the final shot her quivering buck lowered and broke
And a sound not heard, made a scene, a sweet murmuring
Shuddered and sank onto the floor of the forest leaves
With her tale, taken and told, her breathless breath,
Her nostrils cold and her heated and lanced openings
Dripping, draining; here was a New World’s beginning.
Sated, solemn and softly quaking, his woman sweetly laid,
And now, doomed with her doe eyes, two lovers, fated, made;
She glowed, divine, like the rolling brook that mellowed
Slow, in the vine-dark and golden forest stable,
In Artemis’s wood.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 1:33 PM UTC
XXVII. TO ARTEMIS (22 lines)
(ll. 1-20) I sing of Artemis, whose shafts are of gold, who
cheers on the hounds, the pure maiden, shooter of stags, who
delights in archery, own sister to Apollo with the golden sword.
Over the shadowy hills and windy peaks she draws her golden bow,
rejoicing in the chase, and sends out grievous shafts. The tops
of the high mountains tremble and the tangled wood echoes
awesomely with the outcry of beasts: earthquakes and the sea also
where fishes shoal. But the goddess with a bold heart turns
every way destroying the race of wild beasts: and when she is
satisfied and has cheered her heart, this huntress who delights
in arrows slackens her supple bow and goes to the great house of
her dear brother Phoebus Apollo, to the rich land of Delphi,
there to order the lovely dance of the Muses and Graces. There
she hangs up her curved bow and her arrows, and heads and leads
the dances, gracefully arrayed, while all they utter their
heavenly voice, singing how neat-ankled Leto bare children
supreme among the immortals both in thought and in deed.
(ll. 21-22) Hail to you, children of Zeus and rich-haired Leto!
And now I will remember you and another song also.
21.3k
I need only to smirk and you’re mine
Anytime
If it’s god that you want
I have dozens in mind
Devilishly divine
Bending time like a grandeur delusional
Spine
In a mad hatter ectoplas-mystical slime
A prismatic drug addict’s first nursery rhyme
Of accursed hearse verses of graphic design
Now to lay to rest intellect spectacles musing
Of selves glorified more than those of my choosing
To deify Destiny’s
Deathly serenity
Plentifully sending me vibrant surprises
And penning my ending in violent demises
Disguises surmised by the climate arises
Girl always there riding my similar waves
As I try to save face digging mechanized graves
But the cloud tentacles
To the depths
Drag me down
To demented ascension
Black holes in the ground
Where disciples of light
And my huntress in white
Vivify me by day
Resurrect me at night
To instruct and deduct
Reasoning in a state
Of a being supreme
Contemplating its fate
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 4:52 PM UTC
Born to the night in the cry of wolves,
We are….inked lovers spilling secrets, under velvet skies,
Shrouding the night in silver spools;
The season of silver silence, hangs upon shades of silken soul,
This midnight offering, a white entice;
My hair shimmers brightly, a wet fleece of gold, of shadow and starlight,
And shimmering hues, emerald and sapphire breathe kindred embers into the bellows of passion;
Challenging the flame that burns; entwined....
Whispered intrigue lays in the crescent of moon,
In an eminent blaze of sweetest surrender
Unborn whispers lie entwined with heated petals, silken;
We shiver....I shiver,
I am warm arms embraced;
Your lips hard yet soft against my side,
The feel of flesh warmed to a rising flame...
The long moon steps into midnight;
My ******* full of your hands as candles, pour hard against the ebon fall,
Luscious to the hush of soft smiles
Steeled eloquence flows in ribbon ripples;
Winter sown, blood quilled, in midnights cast;
Cloaked in beautiful, shadow's bed a bouquet of lacy foxglove...
Eyes closed and deep of breath,
Moistness seeps the sugared flower, and longing surges deep;
Shudder me wicked, drench me quick;
The wildness swirls inside as he moves like a shadow over my heart
His tongue eager to swim the gushing urge;
Touching, slick-slide, the soothe of smooth fingers slip past softness;
Lips cross, moist to moan me quick, sliding to quivers.
Thigh's whispering and heart pounding ,
Soft, the wind blows, tapping walls, fingers dancing
And shadow sways to moonlight...
Velvet-soft, the sweet of tongue's mesh,
Fire burning,
The tips of breast's aroused by the touch of a slow hand lover;
Your tongue gently rolls, wet and burning hot,
Hungrily, it feeds diving deep, and sandalwood spires upon the malachite air,
And burning murmurs the silent song, pleasures
Your flame to touch me hot, softly hard,
Against the darting quivering rose, stokes sweet, the flame of conjure....
I weep as you strain to slay this huntress of indolent submission;
Descending into darkness, I squirm upon your touch, lifting my altar upon your hunger,
Eyes lost to ecstasy, the flow quickens from abyssal moans;
Overflowing with need, release bound by gold shattered stars
Suckling whispered thoughts;
With us, for us, in us, in dreams, in thoughts, in love
....And in....time my love..................
Aug 8, 2012
Aug 8, 2012 at 5:31 PM UTC
The skin of your shoulders,
the skin of my teeth,
tripping tips of fingers,
eyes retreat and re-meet.
We made a mess
of your hair, sweet Lioness,
you grappled and tore,
bit, I kept it to a dull roar.
You, you did coo,
as I saw nothing through,
coos for crooning,
surreal, surreal, surreal.
Excite the hunter,
excite the huntress,
as we take turns playing the prey.
Levitate the weight,
paw at my soul,
I lick your sores,
and beautify the remains.
We made a mess
of your hair, sweet Lioness,
returned and renewed
a sense of pulse, a sense of the thrill.
You claim me again and again,
claw into me, spilling my demons,
whispers smoke, chaotic melody.
An overgrown field of sheets
laid flat,
no question, no success or distraction,
panting, panting, panting.
Sep 6, 2010
Sep 6, 2010 at 9:06 PM UTC
Entangled, inseparable, the dark and the light; the sun and the night.
Sandy blond hair and a musical laugh; jet black locks and swiftest flight.
Heights they encompass and the depths they rule.
One, united forever, from balance to fall.
He, the prophet, musician and scholar; She, the maiden, huntress and guardian.
Spheres opposing, mixed and mighty.
Fire and water, the shadows in the forest and the piercing rays of dawn.
Starstruck, moonstruck and tied together in lunar madness.
The Lord, the Lady, marked by fate bound by destiny, yet the fall begins.
Intoxicating, this bond is; the burden of power, responsibility and statute.
Deep they fell, into abysmal glorious ecstasy, and crossed the forbidden boundary.
Their spheres merge, tempted they are and temptation the succumb to.
Blood, the blood they share, reddens the moon and darkens the sun.
The Earth descends into eternal twilight.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
Little Red Riding Hood walked through the woods
Singing and swinging her bag of baked goods
When out of the brush leapt a wolf with a smile
And some florist’s advice for the innocent child.
So off went the girl, picking bunches of daisies
While Wolf raced ahead with a step none too lazy.
Then at Grandmother’s door he knocked and said
“Let me in dear Grandmother, it’s your little Red."
So with grandmother’s blessing he let himself in
And ate up the oldest of little Red’s kin.
Then Little Red Riding Hood came through the door
With nary a clue of what was in store.
After noting her “grandmother’s” ears, nose, and teeth
Into Wolf’s gullet she went with a shriek.
As the transvestite wolf began snoring like thunder,
Along came a huntsman, who cut his belly asunder.
Out came Red Riding Hood, Grandmother too
While Wolf, so oblivious, kept sleeping right through.
With a few heavy stones, a needle and thread
Wolf, far too full, finally woke then dropped dead.
After a party of baked goods and wine,
The huntsman gave Red a great wolf pelt so fine.
“Thank you, dear huntsman,” said our little Red,
“But I’d rather skin wolves on my lonesome instead.
I know things now, of these beasts and their wiles
I’ll give them a lesson, with blood and with style.
Teach me to stalk, to chase and to shoot
The best huntress I’ll be - and the cutest, to boot."
The huntsman, he roared with his big booming laughter.
In a voice that rose straight up to the rafters:
“Why little girl, have you a taste for the hunt?
You’re better off sewing, though I hate to be blunt.”
But little Red pouted, and threatened to cry
So the huntsman gave in, with a shrug and a sigh.
The huntsman- he was a formidable teacher.
Now Red lives in fear of no living creature.
Today, when Red Riding Hood walks through the woods
She carries bags of new, furry goods.
And when out of the brush leaps a wolf with a smile,
She smiles right back: “You’ve picked the wrong child."
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
Ageing so beautifully.
Classically as diamonds do, never ageing gracefully
Her eyes fire her up, fire you up too,
This Goddess,brings forth the huntress, out on the **** for a thrill.
Never cheap.
This individual will never ever weep.
Just a kindly miss, not lonely,
So don't take the Michael.
Nourishment needed.
Overtly she's principled.
Quintessential English,
Rapturous as summer days and Sundays.
This trusting Utopian dreamer.
Vehement pen.
Wicked humour full of woman.
X rated at times,youthful and zany.
(C)Livvi
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
_Pardon me, for taking the time
to only express my frequent thoughts in mind.
You
Deserve all the tranquility your
beautiful soul has to provide
You shift minds, with the flick of a switch! Creativity explosion, amusing in aspects! Kudos, to your classy style in writing, combined with sarcasm and unfolds passion! I believe, it aid the lives, whom seeking answers to themselves, when it comes to your art.
Your heart is what we feel reading your work.
Do not let the battle make you weary.
These are the words not only from a dark magician. A friend. A supporter.
Whom would not have access to power, to maintain balance on my abilities, if I did not learn from the ways of the Huntress! Fighting with magic, and weapons are different styles! Still they both use energy! Needless, to say our overall goal for liberty, are highly similar! I believe you were meant to empower people. Do not be afraid, to take my strength. I will do anything for a friend!"
Your growing strength will spark a powerful resolution.
Get ready!_
Feb 1, 2022
Feb 1, 2022 at 10:05 PM UTC
I adore women
I refuse to apologize for it
I like the way their voices squeak in the upper registers
I like the fashions
I like the makeup
I like the aromas
Not the silly runway catwalk Biz that relegates them as awkward mannequins
adorns them in the impractical
and cloaks them in the absurd overreaching of the tired clamoring for something
new and unique
that which exploits their lithesome anorexic perplexing job requirement
I like the way they can shape shift, alter and assume new identities
I like the fact that some have mood swings and ***
I marvel that they can give birth
I like being aware that their 'water-weight' make's them grumpy
I'm astonished that they innately ovulate with the cycles of the moon
and that the Huntress Diana inherently acquired her namesake
Doesn't bother me a bit that "it's a lady's prerogative to be late"
or that opening a door for them is considered 'sexist'
I was raised with a sister and a mother
with lace and dainty frilly things
I caused them a lot of aggravation and consternation
I think they enjoyed it - nonetheless
somewhat
I refuse to apologize for it
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 12:00 AM UTC
~
*solstice = sun stopped; in the case of winter solstice,
the moment when the sun ceases its journey northward
from the earth’s equator and turns southward toward
longer days; much like the journey our sun takes,
love solstice then is that moment of
arrest and redirect for one’s direction of travel
in life... and in this, the moment
a Sagittarian and Capricornian
separated on two sides of the solstice,
turn, collide and coalesce.*
~
hers,
the waning side,
winter's reprise,
calls to the night,
at height of eventide.
his,
on ebbing turn,
the sun's reverse,
together rise to step
as one at winter's ball.
their dance across the sky
'neath moonlit nights.
two in love,
in lockstep of
the stars above,
collide and coalesce,
their waltz amidst
the delicate pearls of
a Milky Way stage!
no more his lonely
path among the stars;
his heart she's swept,
to never dance alone;
her arrow sent with bow,
piercing to the marrow,
holds his life,
his very soul.
bold and daring,
her voice of caring,
soothes his troubled heart.
he, her promise, calls
to her adven’trous heart,
two stepping toward
a rising warming sun,
in birth that spans
the space and time between,
forever now as one;
this their solstice of love!
~
post script.
*she (late Sagittarian) is the setting-sun-kissed, rain-misted huntress,
he (early Capricornian) is the rising sun's icicled traveler.
mere days separating their arrival, though theirs could not be
more varied. their births under different signs; his in the wintry
heartland, hers in the sun-kissed southwest; individually they are fire
and ice, huntress and wanderer who together have captured,
captivated each the other’s heart. you’re not likely to see them
separately, but when you do, it’s only briefly when resupplying
their home, their hearth, their hearts. two making a most unlikely one,
but oh so surprisingly, so beautifully passionate!*
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 2:19 AM UTC
Our mother, Gaia, shall never die
Though for us I cannot speak
When Terra does turn her back to our kind
Our might shall seem so meek
Roaring flames do lick her skin
While Chaos’ storms do rage
But Mother Earth will retreat within
And turn to a blank new page.
Zeus will fall when the skies go black
His wife, Hera, to follow when families dissolve
Once the gods fall there’ll be no way back
And hubris will be our final resolve.
Chronus may falter when there’s nobody alive
To observe the passage of hours
When the clocks have all stopped,
Gears unturning under toppled clock towers
No grandfathers left to chime.
But Gaia will live on in sleep so bereft
Long after we’re lost to time.
With no men to wage wars, Ares will fade
Athena too as innovation runs dry
Aphrodite may weep when there’s no love to be made
Hermes, when there’s nowhere to fly
And though our sun will live past our end,
There’ll be no chariot of gold
No homes, no hearths for Hestia to tend
And no music for Apollo to behold
We have long lost one of the faces
Of Artemis, the huntress under moonlight’s reign
And civilization (so-called) now erases
Pan, the wild god, and his sacred domain
What next, I now ask, shall we bid our farewell?
What aspect of humanity lost?
As we stumble along nearer to Hell
Whom shall be the next forgot?
But fear thee not, for life’s most precious gift
is the transience, the temporal nature of Earth
All will change, all will shift
and perhaps a different Cosmos may birth.
Once the stardust settles, a new something to arrive
And we shall perhaps there meet once again
Tied by fresh cords of fate to share new lives.
And all the while, she’s waited for us
Watching and loving those souls immortal
Taking new forms now from different dust
She’ll rejoice and rebirth the primordial
They will rise and then fall and eventually make way
For the pantheon of a new universe to arise
Perhaps not all will look the same--
But close enough for essence to find.
Sep 5, 2023
Sep 5, 2023 at 3:54 PM UTC
.
Lovers entered a forbidden forest bower,
And as they stalked that range, with eyes glazed,
She offered up her hind. Now, with doe eyes,
Deep as his, deep in arousal's sleep, heels fell,
As he knocked and pulled her dark honey hair
And whispered, surrender, into wanting ears,
Softly he drove his hunting command, homing
To his huntress.
Her body braced, yet bade, with heat and vibrance.
Ruthlessly, he ****** his arrow deeper and then
Once more and then again. She bucked fiercely
And defiant, goading his prodding lance ever more
Ever longer, and parting the pink lines of her white
Rose, he was, and once again, Prince to the dark
Dominion of her quarters.
In the middle of this carnal match they paused.
And looking into the forest beyond they saw
A yearling fawn, a feral Goddess, grazing still,
Bathing in a vale, virginal, wholly unmoved
By their act of venery, lustfully playing, in the innocent
Leaves. It was as if they were among her kin, a gentle
Doe and a noble stag. From that moment on
The human hunters did not speak.
Falling, again, rolling eyes were deep in arousal's sleep.
Her back was a crescent moon pocked and wet with dew.
He could feel her heart beating in time with his piercing
Prong, her arching back glistened in the suns spittle
As it broke through the dark and vernal ceiling wood.
In the final shot her quivering buck lowered and broke
And a sound not heard, made a scene, a sweet murmuring
Shuddered and sank onto the floor of the forest leaves
With her tale, taken and told, her breathless breath,
Her nostrils cold and her heated and lanced openings
Dripping, draining; here was a New World’s beginning.
Sated, solemn and softly quaking, his woman sweetly laid,
And now, doomed with her doe eyes, two lovers, fated, made;
She glowed, divine, like the rolling brook that mellowed
Slow, in the vine-dark and golden forest stable,
In Artemis’s wood.
.
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 2:50 PM UTC
The pretty lass
moved fawn-like
behind the counter,
her thin flowered sun dress
grasped her sleek-form
so delicately,
grinning behind glasses,
she mesmerized me
completely.
A bit sassy,
with an
air of confidence,
her craft spoke volumes.
She had
a keen eye for detail,
her quality
was impeccable,
burnished ancient coins,
Apollo & Diana the huntress
hung near iridescent colors,
Macaws & Amazons
blazed their vibrant hues.
She sold me Roman glass
wrapped in Sterling,
handcrafted by
her beautiful hands.
If she only knew
how much
it truly touched me.
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
1
Her thick dark eyebrows did cast a spell first,
they are stuck there like vampire bats,
they both symbolize a sinister plot, kept secret,
with a 'come hither' prompt, none can resist.
She attracted artists in hordes, crazy moths,
never did they look above her face,the serpents,
lay tangled and acted as if it's smooth coiffure.
Wicked lust,aroused by bitter past,
made her move with keen intent
an invisible net she carried behind her back.
She attacked at opportune moments, pretending
she is a lover, with insatiable lust in boil.
2
All crafted lies, simultaneously,she artfully solicited,
colored moths, in her slow fire, they burned, one by one,
but one remained stuck there for life, fearing rejection every moment.
A crop of heads she reaped , wherever she went,
a kite was ever ready to fly her victim-hood colors higher and higher,
that made admirers **** in their breath and stoop,
before her to her advantage, she had no dearth for volunteers any time.
Burning words made her chants fly like fire works,
her collection of heads turned stones by admiring her
increased, as a huntress she was an ace
stuffed in her cubbyhole of a heart, heads of stone languished.
3
Medusa,you don't have sisters,
I count it the luck of those unborn
how beautiful, you once were I still remember,
though no sun visited the north you spent your childhood.
Run, run my feared beauty, to the sun, before your heart
get charred by the heat of hatred, you bear in the Gothic interiors.
4
I hate Perseus, don't you fear your Nemesis?
Every Athena you wrongly think your foe and fight,
all your hair turned serpents, still I thought, love would work,
without coming upfront, I kept my flame burning,
but all in vein, you could never love anyone, legitimately or otherwise.
Your blood, all of it, has turned venom, you spit it, slowly
its beauty amazes, even the victims on the line next...
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 2:33 PM UTC
---
A nymph of the woodlands Echo ran
With huntress Dianna
With strength of man
Beautiful creatures
The nymphs were
Attracting Zeus, his heart stirred
Echo had a downfall
In her earthly walk
She had the last word
When she talked
Haughty Hera was Zeus's wife
Jealous women will cause strife
She went looking for her man
But clever Echo had a plan...
She drew the goddess to
Her verbal web
Had the last word to whatever said!
A vengeful god her anger licked
When she found that she was tricked
"You always wanted the last word?
Well, my dear, you
WILL BE HEARD.
*But evermore you'll have a lack
You'll not start conversing...
YOU'LL ANSWER BACK !!!"*
Poor Echo wandered
woodlands fair
In depression and despair
She was deep in love you see
With Narcissus, his great beauty
But she could never talk to him
So she was treated like the wind
Echo with her broken heart
In hills and caves began to haunt
'Til she simply faded away
These places she still haunts today.
As rock and stone she became
Call her, SHE WILL SAY HER NAME.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 7/28/2015
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 11:00 PM UTC
.
Hair the colour of Ravens,
skin the colour of Crows,
eyes the colour of Rooks,
somehow it just flows,
as she walks
down the path
like a bride,
with the sway
of the sultry,
and the smile
of the Huntress.
Her way lined
by the bowed heads
of willows,
meandering,
with the feint ******
of water bubbling
over pebbles,
from the mountain stream
that wends in consort
and chimes
with the bells on her toes.
Her breath, mist
in the morning air,
as she seeks her prey,
a victim of lust,
with no pardon,
mossy rocks glide by
as her pace slows,
dew soaking her feet,
dawn glade,
the jaws of her trap.
© Pagan Paul (17/08/18)
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 11:16 AM UTC
Godspeed, Gunslinger
May your gunshots ring
in distant thunder
while the angels sing
Godspeed, Night-Walker
May your axe bury
in Hell's vile stalker
with a great fury
Godspeed, huntress
May you bring vengeance
in the great Aggress
bringing forth penance
Godspeed, Death's Aeon
May you smite your foe
in midst Hell's Legion
bringing forth the woe
Godspeed, Lord Ever-Dark
May your shadows find
ways to make their mark
etched within the mind
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 8:18 PM UTC
You were born like a bullet from a gun with that much tenacity and silver in your blood/ a baby girl given to a world and a family too eager to end/ fated to live a life filled with fear/ you had courage and a set of arrows in your arsenal/ in a small town you found friendship in girl hidden within herself/ and loved a boy with golden eyes and good intentions/ you were scared but you were happy and fell into his arms along with harms way/ little did you know your stay would soon soil in tragedy and grief/ before you even had the chance to graduate/"Can't I be strong and go to prom?"/ an angel among demons/ you fought like Hell against the darkness that claimed the hearts of your mother/ your aunt/ your grandfather/ where was the loyalty when your loved ones left you for dead?/ a young huntress grasping for her chance to maintain the matriarchy and still keep peace/ everything you were taught had to be abandoned in order to protect your friends/ your friends, the only family that ever felt like home/ and they looked to you for strength/ they came to you in strife/ they clung to you in danger/ you heard the screams of your best friend pierce the night more than you heard her laughter/ you remember how she told you to smile/ you remember how she taught you to hold on to better parts of yourself/ you hear your father tell you he is proud/ he is so proud of you and all that you have sacrificed/ but you had no choice/ there was never an option or an exit sign glowing in the distance/ you stuck to your morals with persistence/ "we protect those who cannot protect themselves"/ but tell me who exactly was protecting you?/ the heroine of the hysteria/ the knight in all her honor/ who died in the arms of a man/ at the hands of another man/ i will never forget you and i will never understand/ you were everything that we needed/ i will not see your image ******
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC
Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the sun is laid to sleep,
Seated in thy silver chair,
State in wonted manner keep:
Hesperus entreats thy light,
Goddess excellently bright.
Earth, let not thy envious shade
Dare itself to interpose;
Cynthia's shining orb was made
Heaven to clear when day did close:
Bless us then with wishèd sight,
Goddess excellently bright.
Lay thy bow of pearl apart,
And thy crystal-shining quiver;
Give unto the flying hart
Space to breathe, how short soever;
Thou that mak'st a day of night,
Goddess excellently bright.
2.3k
Like a modern Diana the Huntress
Emma exuded appeal
She wore liquid black leather outfits
designed to reveal not conceal.
As a member of TV’s Avengers
She was her partner, John Steed’s, ideal.
Emma Peel in a Mini was fetching
Her clothing set fashion and style.
Leaving little to imagination
it made many a teenager smile.
In time she would leave for theater
and do a film as Mrs James Bond
Linda Thorson paled in comparison
but at least she was not a dumb blond
Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 8:47 PM UTC
Bet I’m in the belly of the Beast
With this enemy ofMe
Do I fight or flight or Freeze?
Cause either way
this mother *******
coming straight At me
I was only a dark forest away
From where I needed to be
I never metaphor for anxiety
Like this one
*** Imposter syndrome
Mara’s army fires arrows
Of self-deprication
And self-doubt
And i hit the ground running exhausted
Hot and heavy heaving
To the four-on-the-floor
At the heart of the war…
She was doing yoga in the distance
And as she rose to mountain pose
I let my mind slip back into the prose
Where I fetishized her
Like some sacred ******* object
Caught in the act like Actaeon
Watching The Huntress bathing
Basilisk staring me down
Like Artemis cloaked
In her wild fury
And as she rose to mountain pose...
She held a crescent blade
To the throat of the horizon
Locking her eyes in
As she stood over Gaia’s mouth
Spinning up **** Magick
Earth the power back from the word
She channels power back from the void
From womb to tomb
To womb of the tomb
She creates
She destroys
Her body, Her weapon
Her own ******* choice
Dec 30, 2023
Dec 30, 2023 at 8:05 PM UTC
You had to
Shoot me down
As I was a bird
Flying to soar
And you did not want
Others learning how
To fly away anymore.
Just like the barn owl
Ever the ethereal nun
Kneeling in the branches
Closer to the warmth of the sun
Spreading butterflies
Far away from your aim
With heavy huntress chastise
Away from your cold plain.
May 27, 2019
May 27, 2019 at 12:14 AM UTC
You couldn't possibly
accept
my intuition of
you.
Intricately weaved into my
benevolence.
To me you seemed sincere and
candy-coated.
Your eyes gleamed too prominently of an untouched type of
innocence.
As a huntress, with one agile
manipulation
of the gale beneath my
wings
I could have forever reformed your
fate
I respect who you are too
much
too much to value your
attractive
but-not-so-much intriguing chemical
attributes
Your underlying hopes and
dreams
through feats of meaningless
lust
and future out-of-spite
clashing
I saved you the soul mind and body
ache
of being broken and tossed
beyond
my most selfless
act
is something
you
couldn't possibly
accept.
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 12:27 PM UTC
*Every day at noon,
I sleepwalk to you,
Who stands there in the middle
Of the Grande Galerie
Denon Wing, upper floor,
Inaccessible in your polished copper,
Walking into eternity,
Your bow ready for use,
Your arrows
Piercing my heart,
Again ang again.*
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 2:46 AM UTC