currently …

i’m sorry, i’ve had cold after cold and now another one .. eerrgghh! am exhausted, please forgive … anyhow try this … it may be rubbish, but i’ve always admired something about Leda and you have to admit, swans are gorgeous lol ….

Leda’s popping dreams and bubbles of restraint;
she’s close, by water’s choice, to the wild charisma,
how he makes her kick-and-scream alive,
feathers in her throaty groan
and god, the perfect catch, between pale thighs.

That old man would claim her later, unaware
of how the river’s thrash and foam
taunted willow, cloning sorrow’s
spineless grace – a net to snare more misery
then gloat about misfortune’s violation

of her nature, clutching, biting moss for more
of that, so deep inside the catacombs of sleep.

unnameable …

unnameable read by Shell

in a deliciously strange way this poem was inspired by gingatao’s post on art and passion. you can find it here …


So come on, Lord, give it to me
tempest style, hips ’n’ ravens
flying fast and furious.
I know you like bravado style,
full-on performance art,
flames and magic twirling
wheat ‘n’ chaff all-ways;
still, it took us all to shaft
that one, didn’t it?

Not so easy meat that one,
there are problems with duality
and gifts like that, well,
let’s just say it’s lucky that all
artists crave extinction.
So come on, Lord, give it to me.

What are you thinking now,
right this haloed moment?
Maybe we could do it over latte?