Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I

O Electric burning goddess,
bless me with your eyes and teeth
Make me as your earth,
with you the sky
-- one tree reaching up from mossy soil
into that sunset
that paints blue sky pink

II

Blessed, admit it,
that you swing your lily sledgehammer
to tease early flowers out of me.
(and I admit it
that I rush willingly
to every subtly titanic hammerfall)

III

Dear Lord, woman,
you are an avalanche irresistable
that I would be honoured to be swept up in;
a locomotive juggernaut unstoppable
onto whose tracks I would gladly fling my frame
at the slightest suggestion
from your everburn eyes.

IV

I have watched you fill a room
with subtle whirlwinds of sighs
merely by walking through it.
Your smile renders paralysis
in gasping explosions
and always takes me by surprise
no matter how many times I see
your invincible snow owl eyes

V

Your voice crosses strawberries with roses,
sentences that melt velvety in the ears
as though each syllable was a hard caramel
that you first sucked upon
before showering it over an unsuspecting audience.
If you married yourself,
your "I Do"s would slay even the priest

VI

You are capable of more phases
than the moon dare attempt.
And I'd wager there's a daffodil wolf
hidden under that wool,
or maybe more of a handsome hawk
bathed in a dove's feathers.
Either way, fang or talon,
only in dream could I conceive
of the delectable sting.

VII

In your eyes I see panoplies
whose swords are capable of such a smooth severity
as I have never seen.
I imagine that from across the room
you could skewer any target
with deliciously frightening accuracy
or bring any giant crashing to his knees
with a single razor-edge word.

VIII

Oh how you burn onyx, obsidian, ebon most bright
unabashed, you create in mere instants
towering trees from saplings
and squeeze their fruit into juice
with a simple glance.
Then in a dance,
call down their blossoms to surround you
and place one (only one)
behind your ear.

IX

Girl, you are a singular mixture of snow and ash
that spins tales most perfectly
You are arrayed in coats and scarves
that seem every much as part of you as your limbs
(that I long to kiss as much as your lips)
What I wouldn't offer in exchange
for a taste of your white wine
(but would quite happily settle for your smile)

X

I see you showered in the tears of a willow
some fantastic bird of violet feathers
adorned in autumn's finest flowers
And songbirds could only falter
if captured in your river rhythm
as I have helpless been
more times than any tree's rings could count.
(girl, you project stars from your fingertips
without ever realising it)

If I were a woman I would swoon for this poem, mars

hell, I might swoon anyway.

thing is --
each segment of this poem is about a different girl

I wonder about the implications of that occasionally, but that never lasts long

all poems are to the same ideal woman

ok, so you have me there, in essence at least

but each of these contains a grain of something specific about each girl, some action or statement made by her that I was blessed to be a witness to

Because of that, I can't bring myself to separate the individual poems from their initial target, despite of how entirely oblivious any audience may be

but still, in essence, you're right

good construction idea M!. It would be fun make a god-litany!!!!
great poem,

Arcadia

I started a poem thirty years ago
It was to be my statement on women
I called it "To A Pure Acetylene Virgin."
from a line in a Plath poem

I still haven't finished it
not because I'm not a dedicated poet
but becauase I haven't figured out
the essence of what a woman is

Oh my Got!!!! Marksman, this is swoonable.

Oh my my my.....I feel like Scarlet O'hara, flutter, flutter, flutter!!!!

Supremely excellent! Would like to be on the receiving end of this poem, mmmmm hmmmmmm.

So was it written over time or at one sitting so to speak?

Kudos!

I haven't figured out
the essence of what a woman is

So beautiful mark,
But you mentioned lips eyes limbs, a lot of body parts, but no face, not a criticism well maybe, just a wonderment, for me the essence of a woman is her face. Thinking about Red Emma's comment about the death treats against her, no fear for her life, she said all she was concerned about was her face and protecting it from disfigurement.


beautiful,

Thank you all

Mousey: I had written the stanzas beginning "O Burning electric goddess" and "Blessed, admit it" as separate short poems, and I had the idea to do a whole series, in honour of the veritable pantheon that I am blessed to know. All the others were written in one run while drinking way too much coffee and smoking way too many cigarettes at the local Denny's.

stilltrucking: I think that if I got started on the faces, I would still be writing :)
What I really wanted to do with these was capture in as few words as possible the energy signature of these women, to paint them abstract in a cathedral stained-glass

Actually, it's hard for me to conjure an accurate picture in my head of some of the faces. I'm not good at remembering what things look like

I'm not good at remembering what things look like

eidetic images, i can't paint them I struggle to write about them, human faces, haunting

to paint them abstract in a cathedral stained-glass

sorry to you had to explain that to me, but I am grateful too.