I need to be inside.

To bend your bones around me,
To fill your throat with rabid flesh
to claw your shiny hide..

I hurt to break your prim veneer,
Your fingers pulled in knots of hair
Your lupine drool upon my hand
Your spike of stammered sigh..

I need to be inside

Fall to me, all you streets of Rome,
With your embrowned oils from torched walls and breccia of shadows,
The pizzicato of stairways and afternoon slowly closed
Like the thick, leathery-echo from this book of all roads.

Fallen, smoldering empire of storefronts and back-shop heirlooms,
Your lupine hills unbound with milk of cur in the wind and woods,
To your fallow fields rowed deep by a conquest of oars,
To the deepest silence and soot-muted oneness of Pompeii,
And a sky that is an ancient coin, without worth,
But still rubbed smooth at the edges by overfond lovers.

A flitting, spotted butterfly was spotted by a netter
Who grabbed his trusty, fine-meshed net and set about to get her.
She lit upon a lupine new and opened her wings slowly,
He stole up very stealthily, focused upon her solely.
When he came within her reach, he swished out with his net,
But she took off to the sky and filled him with regret.
She flew behind the lilac bush, where he could not see,
And when he spotted her again, she headed for a tree.
She fluttered high above the lawn with him in hot pursuit,
Waving his net wildly, efforts not bearing fruit.
He kept his eyes fixed on her flight as he chased his quarry.
Then something happened suddenly that left him rather sorry:
For on the grass early that morn, the dog had left a pile,
And when I think what happened next, well, I just have to smile.

a lupine prayer
to bear and bull
cry wolf
cry wolf
cry wolf

Little sprites— giants,
Bumble bee and lupine spree,
  .  .  .  Colourful tall tales.

a lupine prayer
to bear and bull
cry wolf
cry wolf
cry wolf
now look into his eyes
until you think like I do
and then take a desperate man
for his last penny
(finance options available)
go long on a cheeky Nando's
followed by
no
inflation
constant
expansion
short the small print
and profit from the fight
against pollution by
investing in the future
but as returns don't come cheap
diversify and purify the self
the Ganges is so polluted
it has gall bladder cancer
the main economic indicators
are telling us that
inflation is set to jump, while
British statisticians are optimistic
that the housing ladder
will continue to defy gravity
as it is an export barometer
with a blue eyed quant inside
crying wolf
crying wolf
cry wolf

Blah Blah Blah!

In a blaze of anger I exploded.
His personal torment,
He created for himself.

I told the world a pack of truth.
About the sheep in lupine garb.
Dressed not in a sauce of mint.

Inedible,
Toxic to the end.

Darling, your good friends left.
Go curl up and die.

My friendship expelled at last.
My heart is fixed.

Go have a blast,
Poetic fantasist.

Straight from the heart of ex romantic.
For I am not to be destroyed.

Annoyed once by his drunken rants.
His narcissism.

The fairy tale he decried.
The one so truly self absorbed.

Stuck in syndrome,
Peter Pan.

Expelled his faeces.
Only way that I know how.

Wrote my heart out.
Demon exorcised.

Care not,
should I be cursed.

Now i'm gone.
Guess what,
I'm fine!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

A man rips
   apart my house
bite by bite

with teeth holding
   rotted wood chips
like toothpicks
after a meal of
   summer corn
roasted in spring green husks
and
strands of butter silk

A man rips
   apart my house
bite by bite

with brilliant teeth
   in a mouth that
speaks in tongues
that my heart knows even
   as it slips through my mind
slick as coconut oil
to pool in my wordless
mouth

A man rips
   apart my house
bite by bite

A man rips
   apart my house
lupine jowls slathering
as his chain saw teeth make
   dust of where I live
dust of what I've done and been
ashes of my name

A man rips
   apart my house

Yours the hand that found the wolf
Hid deep and quiet
In a cave that none could find,
Yours the hand that coaxed
Him forth to the light of day,

Yours the hand that provoked a howl,
That echoed through my soul
In shades of history long forgot,
Yours the hand that soothed
The hackles raised in vulnerability

Yours the scent that woke the man,
That made life a thing
To grasp and relish,
To make of me the best I can
To be the best for you,

Yours the hand and heart and soul
On which I am imprinted - and
From which I doubt I'll e'er be free,
You my lady and you my love,
Anna you, Anna you, Anna you

You enchanted the moon, didn't you?
Maybe you promised her a star or two?
She hunts me with Orion's bow, pacing behind shadowed cloud,
My celestial stalker ridin' low, wanly wrapped in misty shroud.


She whispers stark, yet soft as a breeze-blown tune,
Press on, my pet. You've done so well, we'll sleep again soon.
But we've a fortnight to go if we're to come full circle by month's end.
So many dreams still to sow...To reap those lupine howls once again.


Serenity to insanity, delirious depravity to moon-magicked majesty,
A cosmic clockwork cycle muddling my mind with lunar gravity.
She pushes me to frenetic furies then pulls me to solstice solace,
She masters tides in her caprice, what hope has a malcontent apprentice?

Mysterious Etrusca!
Strange Etrusca!

Ten lupine stars rush from behind,
Supine pellucid moon,

Prowling Etrusca!
Growling Etrusca!

Brauroi women, anguished screams,
Pinned by Tyrrenia’s swoon,

Cry out, Etrusca!
Die out Etrusca!

And ships set sail for journey’s end,
Tales of victory, they croon…

Oh my Etrusca!
Cruel sigh, Etrusca!

I come face-to-face with my Shadow
hungry
devouring
depraved.

The lupine
before a full hunter moon
bristles.
Hot saliva
falls
from hurtful pointed rows
in pearls.

This
in Goodge Street Station's
Underground
where a poster
promotes
The Hunger
a page-turner

The Clown in Soho:

3 Chocolate Martinis
4 lagers
1 gram of *******
300 press-ups
7 mile run and
1 sachet of Kamagra

… the night begins …

I howl with delight
- that’s me -
cracks open
a smile
yellow eddies swirl
in thrawl
to that shadow beast o’ mine.

This monstrous
I
can never satiated be --
a beast to straight jacket under the influence of the waning and waxing moon
and on the night of the carmine moon
release

My phone rings
(Excuse me, while I take this).
‘Hello, am I speaking to Ashley?’
‘Depends on who’s asking,’
I respond
licking my lips.
‘You Ashley Chapman?’
I like this kind o’ game.
‘Like I said,
who’s asking?’
Frustrated he repeats, ‘Confirm your name.’
I yawn and tell him as savagely as I can:
'No!'
Wolves
know 'no'
to the pack.

But as in Beauty and the Beast
(the Cocteau 1946 version, of course)
beneath that thick molting hair pelt
beasts have culture
and feelings, too
(a lion's heart?)
and mostly
(occasionally not)
given
space
food
The Den
a willing mate (or two)
we’re okay
affectionate dogs.
For when all is well with my shadow
-- no problem
   in peace
   in chains
'til the looped moon!

Yours the hand that found the wolf
Hid deep and quiet
In a cave that none could find,
Yours the hand that coaxed
Him forth to the light of day,

Yours the hand that provoked a howl,
That echoed through my soul
In shades of history long forgot,
Yours the hand that soothed
The hackles raised in vulnerability

Yours the scent that woke the man,
That made life a thing
To grasp and relish,
To make of me the best I can
To be the best for you,

Yours the hand and heart and soul
On which I am imprinted - and
From which I doubt I'll e'er be free,
You my lady and you my love,
Only you, only you, only you

Perhaps you aggrandize
Those sacred manifestations
Lupine resonance
When the moon takes a cooler hue
Ebbing in the western sky
As I scurry
Furtive in the wake of wolves
Cavort under cover of shadows
The darkness lenient
Diana's placid orb obfuscates
Any deeper meaning
These solo notes from husky throats
The soul’s chronicle lost
Your hackled superstitions don’t abet me
Demure dogs shiver on silvered chains
With the acumen of stones
They throw themselves
Lick the hand of the master
Fawning malleable in your fettered life
You crave the panacea
Of stagnant water and stale kibble
Trade these wild cries for silence
Shrink from the eminent colossus
Freedom is the howling nemesis
Beyond your black and white vision
You never see
The multifarious color of coyote dreams  
TL Boehm 070508

I'm dressed in blue and green today,
the colors of the mighty sea;
the color of the earth and sky,
flow in my veins through me.

Bicyclists climb distant hills,
'neath clouds of silver-grey:
bright dots among the landscape,
pedaling their hearts away.

I've never seen the grass this high,
nor so many shrubs in bloom;
Queen Anne's lace, lupine flowers,
dance in a breezy tune.

The monsoon rains have come,
with all it's frightful power;
with hard and driving force,
instead of just a shower.

Half a year's total comes quite fast,
flash flooding in dry creeks;
but nothing escapes water,
as it's own level it soon seeks.

Then the sun regains its throne,
once more, the sunny reign;
dispelling all dark clouds,
over shadowed plain.

In my photo album there's a black and white snapshot from your old Kodak camera. I'm sitting upon your stalwart shoulders with a backdrop of mountainous desert. Upon your height my head is above the hills my smile brighter than the whole blue sky.

I still remember that day. We went to Picacho Peak with a picnic lunch and climbed through the rocks, investigated the arroyos. The desert was alive with wildflowers. I collected some and brought them to you - you named every one.
Bluish-purple lupine. Yellow rabbit's bush.
Orange African daisies. Bright desert poppies. Indian paintbrush, flaring strokes of carmine fire. Pale pink globe mallow.

You have such a brilliant mind, a scientist in love with nature. I think you collected some seed to plant with the cacti in your backyard garden...

I still remember. It was a day that stands like that peak in my memory. The breeze in my curls way up high, upon those mountainous shoulders. It whispered to me of the desert spirits. And our guardian angels sang of the wonders of freedom.

I know you heard it, too.


♡ your daughter,
                   Catherine


SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/20/2016

The hiker cannot dwell there long,
concealed on a high gull-lined cliff,
overlooking the grey of the Sound.
Framed in a solemn March day,
two curiously juxtaposed species hold her gaze.
Silent as a fawn she watches
a black wolf beneath her arboreal outpost,
hunched in the fashion of Asian street vendors,
observing the other creatures.

Great humpbacks frolic in icy waters ---
spouting volcano plumes of spray
that catch the freshened wind ---
riding white-capped waves,
till entropy dissolves their mist to atomized brine.
Whale-song, too distant for the hiker's gentle ears,
comes rolling in tsunami-like
to the aurally attuned wolf,
which ***** its head and nods
in musical agreement with the odes.

Then little lupine brother
rears back his head and howls,
so sorrowful a moan, as she has ever heard ---
answering his water-brethren,
hunters of krill upon the seas.
Giggling at the incongruity of this lone celebrant
singing pack-songs to leviathans,
she hurries on her way,
lone wolf herself returning to the pack.

these foothills
rolling in pine and
grassland meadows,
where silvery lupine
follow the melting snow,
hint of the mountains to come
in spiny crags that
catch a cumulus pocked sky
cottonwood tufts rain
this day after solstice

When I return to Hope
it will be the height of summer's warm July
I'll stroll the gravel road to take the cutoff path
gathering lupine wildflowers, breezy among the dewy grass
make my morning way along heaven's labrynthine trail
with chirping cheery bird, sweet songs or distant calls of loon
where blue of sky is woven wild with magenta all abloom
and I will lose myself most complete
immersed in nature's room

Caught in the garden, in the rain
Reflections against glass
windowpanes.
And I promised you, I would bloom
where I was planted.

Art is an unshaven stranger
with a delicious
rainbow of candy
inviting you
into his van.  
The danger is that
you'll get
lost in art
and never
crawl back out . . .
which can be
both delicious
and deadly.
He scatters
doubloons of butterscotch at
your small, wary feet
dancing a jig of joy and
fear, walking a tightrope
of excited tension and
nervous expectation . . .
and we are hummingbirds
seeking the nectar of
creativity and abandon,
lupine and columbine of
words and pigment and harmony,
and we flutter forward,
amnesiacs to the cost,
for the sweetness
of genius marrying
peril and possibility
in a ceremony
of light,
a flurry of color, tint, and shade,
both particle and wave.

I've run myself ragged
chasing phantoms
and false prophets.
Willing ignorance
and somber idolatry
runs amok throughout
the trails that I leave
and I am not sorry.

I will not settle
for cheap emotions
and halfway love.
I need to feel it
radiating from every pore,
overflowing from each
long, pale fingertip
like sweet honey.

I need it to be real,
so thick that it's tangible,
instilling feelings akin
to those that lilacs
and wild lupine stir.

I need it to be
you and I
moving onward
and upwards
as two birds
in unison.

I need it to be
breathtakingly
ordinary.

It is not enough to see
a soul will manifest
what has been sown
immortal purple flame
gnarled roots in stone
the truth of nature
an external blooming
expression of the world

a flourishing vision
voraciously spreads
animating the meadow
with honey-scented breeze
steep slopes sweetened
magnificent blossoms
open lavender wings
to conquer the sky

here the air is thin
windblown seeds
so carelessly thrown
to harsh alpine soil
become willful weeds
persistently untamed
internally unchained
forever wild flowers

Cat three-tooth, cat stone-deaf, cat sidewinder walk,
Old Bealman stalked the croaking, the croaking,
with forepaws meek stroking
airs of a summer cool night.

Bealman, Bealman, Meow & Sealman,
Pacing, still racing, one two three man.
Bealman—frog fisher & free.

Delphinium, the roses, lupine interposes
a shadow of fortressed green leaf
disguises the notion my Bealman supposes—
to seize, dismember it through,
make self-concocted, dishering frog stew.

Bealman, Bealman, Meow & Sealman,
Pacing, still racing, one two three man.
Bealman—frog fisher & free.

Night hours accounting, morning’s surmounting,
a bird warning Bealman, his patience to thin.
Croaking still blending, a flower stalk was bending,
two legs, peaking out, sent Bealman straight in.

Bealman, O my Bealman, Meow & Sealman,
Pacing, still racing, one two three man.
Frog fisher & free.

I saw Bealman beaming; I saw Bealman beaming.
How cats manage beaming I’ll wonder again.
Since Bealman was twenty, any beaming is plenty.
I loved my old Bealman, my frog fisher friend.

Bealman, Bealman, My Meow Dear Sealman,
Bealman—frog fisher & free.

In the context of today's supernatural energy,
The brains in which I inhale are forever spinning.
I bought my eyes from the black market
and cannot see clearly anymore.

Saint Hildegard lived in yesterday's supernatural
with purchased Germanic eyes of green and ivory...
as mine are.
She is the best friend that I have never known
and would never **** my vibe.

But all of the energies running around
are killing the vibe that races through my spine.
And I want to see life as a puppy does,
running and frolicking low to the ground...
digging up tennis *****.

You can count on me, though,
to see life as a the gangsta I'm not,
and not as the hound I so want to be.

But I'm neither gangster nor *****,
but only a Lupine plant leaving seeds to be eaten
by the breathers with brains who take all I have to offer.

And nobody calls me the lucky one,
but I know I could be if I had somebody else's organs.
And if I were to dance with you
I may call myself the lucky one,
but I settle for dancing for you
and I'm not lucky at all.

And I don't know how I'm at the end of the line
when there are no girls in front of me.
Can you tell that there are no girls in front of me?

This line goes on for miles,
and the stereo I listen to today's supernatural frequencies through
goes on for miles.

You're the dearest loving zombie I know,
so take me away in a helicopter
far away from the breathers and the bleeders.
And we'll be the only ones in the sky
and we'll walk about the clouds
and engage our supernatural ids
and create a make-believe empire.

But there are things to do outside the windows
and nothing can possibly be how I wish it to.

heartspun yarn
arms-length
sifting lupine
for the first time

your half cast eyes
settle on mine
they speak 10,000 words

words like zen or
friend
fiend is not one of them

i sift your heart
undoing shoddy work

red lines
we've given you
uncrossed

man eater
Mooncrazed
canine runes gleam the color dread

worse:

you were cast opposite
Liam Neeson

antagonist
you had no chance
you were not complex
you were
knight-n-shining armor-less

i sift your being, dear thing
seeing your you
my needle speeds through

your sudden burst of breath
a wind of sorts
on my face
evokes the majestic
yet reminds the animal

i sift you
rise to my feet
and feel

that my i
has been licked clean

Lupine, lupine, from where did you come?
Your soft purple springings flow from the paths
And white mountain boulders
To linger in green breezes.

Lupine, lupine, stay a while
Though winter’s on its way I still
Know you can outlast
The inconstant summer sun.

Lupine, lupine, hold me steady
Through the tangled hills I roam
Searching, maybe, for a meaning
Something worthwhile, something to call me home.

Lupine, lupine, don’t forget me!
Let my memory live with you
As under the snowy earth I lie
To await the ending of all time.

lunar luminance lights his lucent lordly lair.
leaden legs languish lazily as he lay, laconic--
lexical loquaciousness long lost.
his latent lupine lust lignifies and lengthens,
longing lonesomely for his lovely limber lioness.
with lips of luxurious labial liquer,
and licks lapping like lashing lingual lightning,
liquifying his lavish lover, luscious lyrical lubrication.

Lupine casts the shadows
Tattooed on the skins of
Twining lovers.
Their pale ******
Intensifies the purple and violet
Splashes dotted on the soft green rugs.
The two lovers roll
Atop and under,
Aside and over,
Their sweet sweat distracts the bees from
Their honey foray.
Bees buzz
Lovers sigh
Perfection in its abundance.