Love to Think of Those Naked Epochs

I love to think of those naked epochs
Whose statues Phoebus liked to tinge with gold.
At that time men and women, lithe and strong,
Tasted the thrill of love free from care and prudery,
And with the amorous sun caressing their loins
They gloried in the health of their noble bodies.
Then Cybele, generous with her fruits,
Did not find her chi'ldren too heavy a burden;
A she-wolf from whose heart flowed boundless love for all,
She fed the universe from her tawny nipples.

...

Charles Baudelaire




ahhhh the idealistic vision it elicits; so primevally beautiful






The Tally

Add them up in glamored graces
Their beauty and their powdered faces
Their form and shapes so statuesque
Their brightly lighted avarice.

� Amanda 2012
8/25/2012




prettily flows and resonates... and is imbued with superlative snarkiness Quote

ahhhh the idealistic vision it elicits; so primevally beautiful






The Tally

Add them up in glamored graces
Their beauty and their powdered faces
Their form and shapes so statuesque
Their brightly lighted avarice.

� Amanda 2012
8/25/2012




prettily flows and resonates... and is imbued with superlative snarkiness


Caution when seeking the Snark, Shiva Head, you might encounter the Boojum.

Something for you to consider while on this seeming quest Shiva Head ... http://fav.me/d48ai8h
Quote

Ice Cream
by =C-Allagash

Vanilla or chocolate may be good,
but this is almost a dream.
I think I've never tasted
such a delicious "ice cream".

Enjoy while I enjoy you,
let your legs part.
You taste so yummy, dear...
Degusting you is an art!

I can have you for hours,
the best flavor I've ever felt.
Relax, I'm patient,
it's even better if you melt.

The hot syrup of yours
tastes delightfully sweet.
How, licking your ice cream,
I can feel such a heat?

My favourite kind of ice cream,
better than strawberry or lime.
Please, let-me have more of you.
It's almost the end of summertime.

C-Allagash - here - http://c-allagash.deviantart.com/
Quote

Don�t

Gauging the impact made with hammered breath
Escape had never been possible, surrenders had been offered but
No prisoners, no survivors, no ransoms no, no. No. Nothing would be left,
Never would another walk these salted garden�s steps. �Cut deep daughter, cut
Hard and cruel and often� the voiced commands of Queens and Princes
Had taught her; history is writ. Blood track foot prints never staggered off
From her bed, set prettily laced trap of smooth legged delight and death.

Cold ice left frozen in her place where long ago she�d struggled soft
While inked needle and dripping plume had scripted chaque mouvement
In any lover�s heaving breast, spread thigh�s quiver, rippled cheek,
Perfect smile, dark puddled dilation of pupil, clenched teeth of pleasure,
Finger�s grasp of her bruised flesh, purple shadows left decorations
On neck, on shoulder, over eyes, royalty inscribed. �There are no meek,
No lambs, no maiden head, to forest sweeten each sooth told end.�

Warnings, yes, of impending pleasured pain; plasters worn, stained sheets
That smelled of what was torn, consumed before, painted shapes
Of what had lain, those who slept beneath her inked form, placed artful,
Careful, decorations she adorned her ageless flesh and drum tight bleached
Carapace of desert scoured bone. Scented trap of mystery, tilted symmetry,
A labyrinth of woven paths wandered oblivious, wet crotched, toward her disaster.

�A Queen must survey and leaven loves offered� so many lessons proffered
And beaten senseless in Spartan trials of survival, �Love is only softness�
They scoffed often. She�d made her bed and lived offered within. �Don�t, don�t�
Sighed voices, signed messages with languor�s wet tongued kisses; �Don�t,� pleased
Cries in morning light; �Don�t� leave, �Don�t� say it, �Don�t� ever stop.

� Amanda 2012
8/26/2012




Woven work here and whispered in a hushed voice of goodbye - http://fav.me/d5clcwi

___________________________________________________________________________ ______
I tell stories in words and music and pictures; I am a cinematographer for those who read.
- Amanda Graham -

Quote

* BOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG GOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG BOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNGGGG GOOONNNG *

The ancestral spirits have spoken; It is time for Abstinence Tip # AUZK12 ( base of the elders)
from deep, deep within the Book of Ride...

She is everything you ever dreamed of... her beauty beyond compare... her spirit light and bewitching... her charm oh so deadly...

Do not fear... The Book contains powers greater than these... And all you must do is understand... understand.... understand....

The Slow Fade was developed in the year 23 AD in Compendium by Licenius Tertulius. His unfortunate brush with True Love was threatening to end his life prematurely. She was married you see to a battle hardened centurian. He was just a drummer in a back street band. He was a man who could dream with the best of them but he was savvy enough to realize the need to be an occaisonal realist. K1lling wasn't in him and his powers of persuasion were not quite up to that challenge.

So rather than adding another trajedy to the rolls of human history, he developed the Slow Fade. She was bright and devoted. But he was patient. He simply quite slowly made himself disappear in subtle ways. He first changed his style of dress. Baggier. Greys. He lowered his speech volume and developed a cough. He slowed down his movements, his voice, his gait. When he was alone, he meditated on being invisible.

At first she noticed some oddness. They laughed about it. But slowly he started to fade out of her consciousness. His tattoos disappeared. His earrings vanished. Even his mustache, a rarity in Roman culture, went the way of the dodo.

The number of his visits began to decline. She didn't even notice. He moved to outside the city, nothing in her heart stirred. And, because such an ending is often anti-climatic, he simply... faded away...

Over the years it has been perfected. It is no longer necessary to move or change your style of dress. Instead focus on the mental aspect. The mind is everything. You can will yourself into the ether. It may help to only drink tea in her presence.

* GOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG BOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGG *

Here ends the reading....

Quote

* BOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG GOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG BOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNGGGG GOOONNNG *

... focus on the mental aspect...


* GOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG BOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGG *

Here ends the reading....





� la critique

It's always interesting to me to watch your intricate mind assay and interpret my works in your own torn notebook paper and sledge hammered way mon cheri. I had wondered after my Loom had woven the work what point of view might hold sway. I had considered first person, third, should any be perfect? I made my decision, taking that of third omnipresent allowing you, my reader, to impose your own perfected and predictable point of view to hold sway.

The piece as presented, "Don't" is the first person's words as witnessed by third and others. It is I, recognizing the dangers posed to those who would hold me in love, the endings foretold, my own nature what it is. I allow you, my third person viewer, to know what lies within 'she' as me, and my bed as 'they'. Perhaps some twists of phrasing, or more eloquent threading would have lead you path-wise to the proper viewing seat; but then, for you, I'd have charged a healthy TIP to participate.

I am grateful for the page hits on the dA work, as is the artist whose linked through visuals were part of the work's composition. Bon appetite mon cherie, I look forward to your solitary stand against emotionality, I am sure that this site will provide plenty of fodder for your particular wood chipper. Au revoir!

Quote

It's always interesting to me to watch your intricate mind assay and interpret my works in your own torn notebook paper and sledge hammered way mon cheri. I had wondered after my Loom had woven the work what point of view might hold sway. I had considered first person, third, should any be perfect? I made my decision, taking that of third omnipresent allowing you, my reader, to impose your own perfected and predictable point of view to hold sway.


It is because I don't add disclaimers to my posts that confusion can occur. I have never commented directly on one of your works I think. I view my woodchipping as providing a contrast, albeit ever present, to the usual themes of such threads.

That I have never been a great love poet, that in public I enjoy poking fun more than sharing the experience emotional are also contributors.

Yep, pick at them until they snap is my motto... Although i've mellowed some over the years. Give me another few years and I'll kind of ... fade... into the background noise...

Quote

Now I see you full, my love
As the moon, the Blue moon,
I thought, I did see you;
It was the moon, the Gibbous moon.
You smiled, for me, when you were
The moon, the Crescent moon,
With your pain, on your dark.
You laughed, for me, when you were
The moon, the Half moon,
But now I know, that I saw,
Only the moon, the dark moon,
And thought it, to be,
The moon, the full moon.
�Anees Rahman
Anees Rahman
Quote

blanc

Moments small, pass sudden soft quiet steps,
Watch while emptied alphabets crumble expectations
Faceless faith informed by stilled life expressions
Cat pad foot falls draw heart to wounds that wept.

Flat neutral affect snow screen absolute
Tu joues, tu jouir, tu me peindre en blanc
Returned found pillowed white no track
Blank screen stabbed, staggered dissolute.

� Amanda 2012
9.3.2012
Quote

Swarm Sun Life Cut

Wear my histories in my skin, deep where safely kept
Always displayed, always felt, even when concealed
From eyes that never wept.

One hundred eleven butterflies cloaked in smoke
Once bled and dug deep in my flesh to wait
They woke, fed, and now seek mates.

Barren stripped forest consumed by youth
Now beauty in disaster; graceful glide of invitation
Remains forever untouched.

� Amanda 2012
9.5.2012

woven work here - http://fav.me/d5dqnpl

___________________________________________________
I tell stories in words and music and pictures; I am a cinematographer for those who read.
- Amanda Graham - Quote

Unguarded Smiles

Lying upon her side facing me; her face so dimly lit, her skin almost completely bare to my eyes with only the lightest touches of makeup left; there is the slightest expansion of her lips, a touch of breeze might have lifted them and her into sleep.

In the wind of our passage as spray rises and settles like dew, her excitement apparent and her joy wide and free, she is me when I was at her age.

Amidst a room of friends and strangers, her glass held to her lipsticked mouth as she sips, a chance remark she hears from me and there is wine erupting from her nostrils.

Four generations of a single face in time's passage, cheeks, mouths, eyes, foreheads and chins; his pride arrives without regard for histories, his Irish face in grin.

Mounted and firmly sat, my hair blown back and the rise and fall capture me in rhythms where with only the strength of my gripping thighs I turn him and my mouth is my freed heart's face.


� Amanda 2012
9.10.2012 Quote

Rubble Light Crush

You leave in anger; your one, always on tap, always available emotion. Other feelings pass quickly, faint puffs of hormones that drift for only a moment and then spread thin disappearing like the smoke from your mouth on your balcony overlooking the water feature in the noisy swimming pool below. Anger is your friend, your constant lover; this is the reason why your best orgasms are alone while watched by strangers you grunt at and smile for. Now, you have found your place and given in to those who, like you, limit their facial expressions to frozen smiles masking ashed hearts and curdled stomachs. As it always is you suspended your beliefs and hope, giving in to your single narrow thread; what is loved must be destroyed, even if it makes you less you feel that you are more. There was no bridge left to keep intact, you left without a thought to looking back. We are both now quite alone; you count yourself the victor.


The light in the square on Primorskyi Boulevard is thin sharp and white. The pale yellow painted buildings and the scuffed white stone of the square's paving stones, engineered to engender a feeling of light happiness even in winter, instead blind and daze me. I feel dizzy and faint and as though I might pass out at any moment. The vodka that the gypsy girl Marina and I had shared the night before has left a thirst and unsteadiness that I fear will cause me to sit down on my ass right here in public or vomit if I do not get some water. Around me people still in their winter coats and hats stir and pass though none, so far, have pushed against me. I'm grateful that unlike Americans these Ukrainians in open spaces avoid physical contact. The curved exterior of the two buildings separated by Kateryyns'ka Street are lined by small folding tables where vendors and citizens sell their wares; Palekh paper mache lacquered boxes, wooden painted Easter eggs, small painted icons and varieties of Matryoshka dolls on several tables where vendors shout their prices at the rare foreign tourists; tables with cheaply mass produced copies of old out of print Russian art books, novels, out of date magazines and maintenance instructions for the variety of crap Zaporozhets produced in country. There is one watercolor artist whose display of architectural paintings I had enjoyed the previous afternoon. I'd bought two small works of his which were waiting back in the suite at the Londonskya. I narrow my focus and stare at the waving hands of Marina as she argues with the currency traders who are clustered around the base of the statue of Richelieu. She and I both reek of sex and burnt alcohol. I want her to just do the exchange so that we can get back to the suite and bathe and sleep until tonight. She turns and smiles widely and runs to me. I adore the dark black hair that meets in a pointed widow's peak in the center of her freckled forehead. "Look Amanda, I get yesterday's rate! Today's is twenty percent worse, from fifteen hundred ruble per dollar to now one thousand seven hundred fifty; you and I will eat well tonight with dollars." The joke in Odessa is that the ruble is now called the rubble.


The party is loud and the noise of it cuts like a razor on the surface of my eyeball. Glinting lights and flashing sparkles cover every surface; candles, lamps, body glitter, Mylar balloons filled with helium floating. All these young fashion magazine men and women dressed well and pretty polished to a shine that practically glows. There are three wide screen televisions on sides of the room filled with images of crowds and dancing. So many people with plastic plates and tableware piling shrimp and fruit and god knows what that white and green flecked stuff is from a long table along the left wall. I'm not sure why I was invited; "Please come and bring a friend" but I have none. If I hadn't been hungry I wouldn't have walked the twelve blocks and ridden the elevator to this floor to get here. I regret my stomach's desires; I hate my body for starving. People part as I push forward, my appetite has disappeared. I eye the group getting drinks at the free bar and move toward the wide expanse of glass doors at the far end of the room. My mind obscures everything in blurred Impressionist splashes of color as voices call out "Amanda come meet Doug you'll like him!" fades, "Mandy, hi how are you?" gone. The crowd thickens and the sound of the Dub-step makes my stomach turn and twist in knots. People are in motion attempting to match the rhythm of noise to their body's cycles. My head wants to burst like a melon falling eighteen floors to hard wet concrete. "Mandy, darling, please come say hello to Cynthia, she loves your humor." ghosts "Hi girl!" "That's the one." "She's my friend." "Wit" "Short" "Cow" "Cunt" "Ugly" pressing in. I slide the glass and am outside where the wind is strong and tears my hair and moves my face and pulls my clothes and I think only of that long fast fall that when she pushed I had already taken.

� Amanda 2012
9.13.2012

woven work here - http://fav.me/d5ennn5

___________________________________________________________________________ _________
I tell stories in words and music and pictures; I am a cinematographer for those who read.
- Amanda Graham -
Quote

You Were Wrong!
by =C-Allagash

Thinking about the last argument,
wondering if I should open my heart.
My feelings have been such a mess...
and you, so bitter. It's so hard!

Present and past are mixed up.
Was it me? Was it you?
Our relationship has changed so much.
How? Why? I can't find any clue.

Today I feel coldness, nothing else,
when you look towards me.
Will we ever be fine again?
Another day? Another life? Oh, let it be!

For now, I want you to know:
I won't chill out, I won't hold my tongue.
Your thoughtlessness screwed up everything.
I blame you, you were wrong!


C-Allagash - dA artist here - http://c-allagash.deviantart.com/ Quote

Marks

"� the exhilarated tragic experience, is for me the only source of art." - Mark Rothko


There are cigarette smoke and burn stains, bottles with some contents left not yet drunk or spilled, all uncorked, some lay sideways threatened by near edges; there are dishes unwashed, dirt on the floor, the unhinged back door; a single bulb lit over the green painted table; green stained wooden chairs, one on its side and leg broken, ash trays overflowing, beer cans, stained and unfinished glasses, papers for rolling the granules of dry tobacco, a yardstick that broke at 19 inches; food left uneaten, an open refrigerator; ice melting in pools on several surfaces; flies, roaches, spiders not hiding. Here, over here, beside the sink filled with brown water, pills loose on counters; a newspaper unread round tea colored stains in rings on A-1; a sharp edged glint of bloody knife blade, packaged food wrappings, dry crisp onion skin papers, air blackened potato slices, wilted leaf of lettuce, stale hard green tinged loaf of bread. Range and oven, spattered black burnt grease and oil; open cabinets where only dust is collected. Mind you do not trip on holes in linoleum, and keep your footing in that large crusted pool of blood which leans and lurches from within the man shaped chalk outline of an artist now retired.

� Amanda 2012
9.15.2012

woven work here - http://fav.me/d5evp6n

______________________________________________________________

I tell stories in words and music and pictures; I am a cinematographer for those who read.
- Amanda Graham - Quote

The C Word
by =sunshinegypsy

Words have power,

the way the doctor asks you to sit
before pulling out the C word

god is not here in this room,
watching us lob the conversation back and forth

My friend calls the instant before I call her,
only three minutes on my phone but

I need them. Past friends murmur slyly
inside my head. Broken, needy,

and when the call drops out I finally cry.

It is the human response to need
comfort, compassion, a voice

that isn't being careful with every word.

Here is god �
the unexpected ringing from my computer,
the voice I need, a face, laughter,

family.

sunshinegypsy dA artist here - http://sunshinegypsy.deviantart.com/ Quote

This Blood

Spills rapidly heated, mists cooled and clotted
Tickles touching fine fibered hairs, follicles sprung
Curled bent held caressed nerve to nerve pressed
Kept supine as flow progresses; slows in hesitation
Paused in consideration then surge again furrowed
Channel searched in pioneer exploration and mapping
This body's histories topology written surfaces
Levees, bayou, flat standing red waters, streams
Sliding gravity led down waterfall lands and curved
Slick surfaces pebbled smooth stoned creek bed
As my desire pants hungered in waiting.

� Amanda 2012
9.17.2012

Woven work here - http://fav.me/d5f4dg7

___________________________________________________________________________ _______________
I tell stories in words and music and pictures; I am a cinematographer for those who read.
- Amanda Graham -
Quote

By way of assuring all of you here in this tiny corner of the Omniverse that my spirit and attitudes remain intact in other, more remote and expansive parts, the same sort of quarrelsome and noisy voice - a response to a comment which I made on another poet's choice of word, and my response to him. For your amusement, a discussion about the use of the word 'shining' as a noun:

=NemoX7 11 hours ago Hobbyist Writer

Hmm, I used shining because it fitted in with way in which I was trying to describe something. I know what shining is, I'm not daft. If I write something, it's intended. So shining in my poem was correct. Regardless of what you think. And really why the pedantic nature over grammer. It's poetic licence after all. If I was writing it out like a prose piece then of course it would be wrong.


*Amanda-Graham Moments ago Professional Writer

Oh dear, a testy sensitive internet personality. Oh goody, I must tell you that while you might consider yourself adept at this course of action it is quite unwise in public practice. While, as I pointed out to you who are so insistent, that Poetic License allows one to overcome resistance; where rules of language should pertain, oft times to achieve a fine refrain, it is still and always IS a LANGUAGE whose senses of wordings must be met; else readers are left bemused and mostly confused, saying "WTF kind of writer? They�ve run amok they've used 'shining' simply to leave others with their rank level of need to impress; or perhaps simply due to laziness."

So dear one whom I have read, let me speak quite clearly and precisely, �pedantic� had I the intention or even the inclination I would have torn your scrivenings out a whole new entry point to fondle your work�s innards.

Kisses and licks Doll

Mandy

P.S. Sweet author, do feel free to review my own pieces; each and every one flagged in search of critique. Quote

Pendant
by =KissTheSunrise


Still,
I remain now,
an illusion.

A prism within prisms,
floating;
dancing high upon the air.

Out of sight,
out of mind,
out of all consciousness.

KissTheSunrise dA artist here - http://kissthesunrise.deviantart.com/ Quote

Equinox


I left alone as did you.


� Amanda 2012
9.21.2012


�quinoxe


J'ai quitt� seul, comme vous avez.


� Amanda 2012
9.21.2012


woven work here - http://fav.me/d5fijcn

____________________________________________________________________
I tell stories in words and music and pictures; I am a cinematographer for those who read.
- Amanda Graham -
Quote

I wanted to.
by ~FireChic86

I've held you,
Like no other woman ever will.

I've loved you,
Like no other woman ever will.

I've needed you,
Like no other woman ever will.

Tears can't show you how I hurt,
Their evidence staining the dirt.
My eyes cannot speak the pain,
Knowing your soul I've slain.

I've tried,
To give you everything.

I've tried,
To save you from everything.

I've tried,
To love you through everything.

I wanted to be with you forever,
But your jealousy that did sever,
I wanted to be beside you,
You could only see what you wanted to do.

I wanted to love you, I still do.
You just couldn't realize what I needed from you.

FireChic86 dA artist here - http://firechic86.deviantart.com/ Quote