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Sunday, 9 October 2011

THE POET


He appears in your life
just as a glowing evening Sun
dips beyond western sea.
What is it about him
that captures and holds
your attention,
that you find so devastatingly irresistible?
His dark brooding good looks maybe?
No.
That's much too shallow a reason
for such overwhelming reactions.
No, it's more the way his
powerfully evocative words
translate into wild hedonistic caresses
that holds you spellbound.
Your senses are expanded,
razor sharp.
You're drawn into the slipstream
of a white-hot meteor
that rips apart the night sky
of inhibition, allowing
the full force of passion
to fly free.
He suspends time itself
for you.
There is only this moment,
you, he and utter bliss.

Golden dawn.
With a solitary
heart-stopping kiss,
the linguistic magician promises
Forever.
Then he's gone.

Six lonely months
have passed.
His face has begun to blur
in your memory now.
He could've been no more
than a collective female fantasy
inadvertently hacked into,
or even the cheating love rat
your friends believe him to be.
But it really doesn't matter
if others think
he lied about forever,
because you know the truth.

There are many interpretations
for that word
and his lies here,
on a single page
in his recently published
anthology, where
he's made you
IMMORTAL.

9 comments:

  1. Ah, I just love, love, love this poem - How wonderfully romantic - so, so, beautiful Ygraine:)
    I have to ask Is it true :) ??

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  2. It's cherry!

    For my second reading I replaced the masculine with feminine pronouns and called it The Poetess.

    I so like the forever immortal.

    Add this to your "Best List". :)

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  3. I didn't say how beautiful the image is :)

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  4. Rose, Thank you so much. Only wishful thinking, I'm afraid!!!

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  5. Rhys, So glad you liked it. Thank you :)

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  6. Gnome, How I wish the imagination could be a little more "real"!! Everyday life has a lot of catching up to do...

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  7. Aye Lass am afraid it's only

    In dreams nature's silky sylph speeds
    her wings to enfold hold immortal
    maleness. As a passion swift and slow
    rides a tempo of heart flutters that melt
    in cold dawn light of morn: a memory.

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  8. I totally agree Mel. Perhaps that's why I live most of my life in the world of dreams and 'What if's' :)

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