Sunday, June 15, 2014

Ninety One . . . .

My Think
By Stormcat

Where is my light when I need it?    My love?
Illuminate the posture of my strength. Evoke
the course of terrible retribution to enemies
whose subterfuge on feigned hollow power rely
and bring the humble servants to their place, so
truth triumphant knowledge shall at last control

I long my think to flow, discover all manner of
nuanced new, reach beyond unfamiliar, escape
imagination's limits, pierce the veil of humanity.
Where is my light when I need it?    My love?
Pathway to the holy that opens capability to
find truth even as it loudly whispers comfort.

Cloudy haze of tenuous descends on my think,
a barrier to decisive, an erosion to confidence.
Where is my light when I need it?    My love?
Ink of midnight seeds haunting memory nurtured
to full blown monster capable of annihilation that
tender light of love dispels as if a dawning sun.

Even as I acquiesce to existentialism, and view
of doctrines taught, nay, force fed in my youth
I feel a softness clarifying old internal conflict
as gifts of wisdom come from who knows where,
to ease long felt unquenchable relief to know,
There is my light when I need it!    My love!

Copyright 2014 All rights reserved

Poets United, poetry-pantry # 205

Sunday, June 8, 2014

Ninty . . .
Walprugis Night Witch
Photo by Snowflake
Witch-Goddess
By Stormcat

I’d fold the silks of weathered incantations to
lay them gently to a gracious vault. But rebel
winds shall billow resisting undulation, while
mists embrace their freedom’s indiscretion
and secret them to dreams of riotous love.

Oh what a witch possesses such sweet garment
her wine-blue hair draped strands splay thereupon
and eyes that fire-of-sapphire cowers hence-from
commands all buried lust to flame arise, even
as she melts my sword of anger with her song

I long to hold her in my arms forever. Strip
bare her goddess silky pure gauze gown
and even as our loins shall toil and lather
my back and chest, her fists upon, shall pound
until sweet wishes languish on my lips

that weathered incantations rise to stir me;
that silky gauze shall every sense caress;
that rising mists shall gentle raindrops form;
that ever I will hold my sweet witch-goddess
and celebrate the day that she was born.

 Copyright 2014 All rights reserved

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