Carolyn Crossley

Spirit

I am the fire spirit risen
from Aries, I have been riven,
on the birthday of Artemis
I was born of a stardust promise.

I am to be sought not bidden.
From in a dark place hidden.
On the cusp of the gloaming,
I may be found the hillsides roaming.

Passion

Summer nights, running through forests of love
Entwined like tree branches intimacy found.
Lips kiss as if greedily taking in water.
Bodies intermingled like vines, sought and received
Wrapped in each other’s arms, passion sated.

First Born

In the November snowfall.
Through the darkness of night. My courage in both hands.
The hours drifted by. The pain was numbed by gas and air.  Suddenly, you were there – belovéd firstborn.

Unequal

When one loves
more than the other
no good can
come of it.
The other cheats and tells lies
A divorce follows.

Estrangement

the saddest thing is
to be mourning the living,
our estranged children

Eternity

October sorrows
recalled memories – birth, death,
awaiting rebirth
our promised eternity
free from human pain at last!

~~~

Carolyn Crossley, ©🦊VixenOfVerse, is a poet and writer from the Northwest of England. Previously published in the first The Short Of It book – The Sound of Brilliance, she has also been published in the anthologies, Poetic Vision and Purrfect Poems. Carolyn has a thriving WordPress blog: Backfromdarknesstolight.com containing haiku, senryu, and other poetry forms. Carolyn’s first feature on The Short of It was on November 20, 2020, and featured again this year on 5/27/2022.

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Reblogs – A Faded Romantic’s Notebook & Candice Louisa Daquin

The heart wants what it wants…

Never Forget by A Faden Romantic’s Notebook

I will never forget
the adrenaline rush
the catch of breath
the quickening pulse
the sense of destiny
when first you touched
this page.

And I will never forget
my overwhelming desire
to seduce
and steal
and secure
your secret
submissive soul.

Purposely apart by Candice Louisa Daquin

They said, now, don’t spill a drop
I drank you down, an illegal cocktail
and wiped my black cherry mouth without regret
maybe that’s the divider between young and ancient?
Feel the fear and do it anyway, fray the tension
I had fear as a lover since I was a child
but you broke something inside
let out the glass ghost who had long dimmed
a need to feel more than harnessed safety
bristling around the edges like a perpet flame.
Why you? With your arrogant aspect and
the cruelty of no-one special
how I thirsted for your marzipan center
like sugar riddled kid will suck
the cherry fondue before even tasting
you devoured me, intentional or occidental
does it matter?
The slayed self knows no quaint repair
she floats in purgatory watchful of grace.
Then lend me the strength to survive passion
and I will bless you with my shame
that thick cost of it
weighing us down as we walk
purposely apart
eyes that catch as mayflies
and glaze over, fine as sugar powder
the unsaid tempest of an adult heart.

Reblogs – Jeanne & Joseph A. Pinto

Let us always go to great lengths and take the right paths which supply us with the most joy and happiness. We will find our bliss there.

Week in Review: B & W by Jeanne

Do you know golden 
the sticky glazed lover lips 
washed in sunny hues 
 
Happiness matters 
on stormy seas of teared eyes 
blinked in snug smile 
 
We’ll camouflage  
the pores which hold memories 
blackened by torrent 

sirenize by Joseph A. Pinto

a sea, a sea of freckles and it is between them i wish to trace your mythology through my tongue, to bring forth your sparkle the way you cast out all my dark. fingers dabbling in the wet i leave behind and if you and i have a name by then we’ll reimagine ourselves a thousand times. unhurried revolutions i will part your sphere of flesh and take you to a depth of essence you never thought you’d find. be mine. i want to gaze upon you nightly and know something in this great expanse makes sense and is all for me. 

Reblogs – Penny Wilson and Charles Robert Lindholm & John Coyote

Always chasing the delirium…

Still a Fool by Penny Wilson & Charles Robert Lindholm

I Was A Fool 
My Judgment Was Blurred 
Thinking Us Soulmates 
Was So Absurd 

Drunk On Your Kisses 
And Lost In Your Eyes 
Longing For Love 
I Believed All Your Lies 

Craving Your Touch 
And Sweet Ecstasy 
In Love With Love 
And The Fantasy 

I Took A Gamble 
I Rolled The Dice 
I Did What I Did 
I Paid The Price 

I’m Still A Fool, 
I’d Do It Again 

Ecstasy… by John Coyote

My love, I have found you. 
  
                 I want to make love to you from feet to sweet lips. 
  
                  Your brightness and sadness I need to know. 
  
                   I want us nude, heart and mind free. 
  
                    The hot and humid nights. 
  
                     Allowed us to sleep with no secrets. 
  
                      We are complete like a flowing river.  
  
                      I yearn to touch your face, your breasts, your waist. 
  
                       In the heat of the night. 
  
                        My feet touch your feet…

 My lips touch your lips…  
 
                         I’m yours and you are mine. 
 
                          My lovely one. 
 
                           You are my only sweet dream. 

                            Your love enchanted my soul. 
 
                             I kiss your feet, your knees, your stomach. 
 
                             Caress your curves and whisper. 
 
                              “My love. 
                              Why are you so kind to me?” 

Reblogs – Candice Louisa Daquin

One old and one a more recent post, but both are written superbly by my dear friend Candice Louisa Daquin! Enjoy how she weaves her magic by creating breathtaking imagery in these pieces filled with voluminous emotions and passion. Such talent keeps me flustered with pride. 🙂 

One such devoured moment

I am not overt 

even when good green absinthe is poured over 

a sugar cube 

the silver tongs holding 

sweetness just. 

I am not overt 

will not tell you of my sinning urge to 

strip you dear of clothing and chew 

the very mercy from you 

beneath my aching layers 

where frill and fancy and the soft cotton of 

longing 

lie on top of one another, spilling over 

in quiet crescendo. 

I’m not overt 

as you bend toward sunlight, creating a halo of 

light beneath your breasts and I see 

the coffee cream and the glory of 

all that I have ever desired 

drawn in chafed clamor. 

With reddened mouths, we 

empty our aching into indigo rivers 

for to release them 

and become that thing of wanting 

does not possess a language sufficient. 

If it did, I fear I would 

spend decades 

describing what it feels like 

to surrender to you,  feel the rounding 

of dark silver, begin to etch my spine 

its crescent capture, a moon within my 

shuddering limbs 

as we cascade over the other 

swimming like night swans 

oblivious to the beckon of dawn. 

I fear, should it be translated 

my throaty cries will be colors without 

meaning, a lake of pleasure, where finding you 

I sink beneath, without need of air 

your fingers playing me 

like a waterlogged flute 

for the merfolk who surely have 

no rest in their abandon. 

It is my greatest secret 

that you own my heart and I 

supplicate myself in yours, with the 

rosy thirst of a child seeking measure 

I find myself in the echo of you 

your fingers deep in me, striking urgent note 

sonorous and defeating sound 

together we listen to the rabbit stitch beat 

of our hearts, pressed in uttered motion 

as you enter my blood and I 

absorb a little more of you 

as suppliant as a beggar for your 

nectar. 

I fear should you ever not exist 

the part of me wedded to you in between 

the trees and through time would 

perish like starlight. 

For only you bid this girl 

alive like ancient wood-maker, setting finish 

the sound of us, abseiling into the other, our 

wordless joy, limbs bound, skin hot to touch 

this thimble of love vibrating its frequency 

out to lighthouses and beyond. 

Lost from you, I would be no more than 

a figment of what was, tortured by 

recollection, denied the warm sustaining of 

your cherished arms about me. 

I am not overt 

yet if I were, I should 

spill like a warm wax, the seal of you 

pressing permanently into my epidermis 

a shape of longing and need 

where mouths are elongated into song 

throats flung back in instrument. 

You inhabit me, as I reach for you 

cresting waves, growing barefoot dance 

a chant in time with quickening pulse 

your eyes black in half moon shade 

swish of violent love, simmering damp and lush 

I release to the witching smell of your 

skin surrounding us like points of 

flame in absolute blackness 

rising up, exhausting their burn 

falling down to rise again ever 

defiant and pleasured 

by the anonymity of their 

evoking spectacle 

as if I were alive 

only in that moment 

when you struck me 

bright with sulphur 

the sabotage of my sanity 

given willingly for one 

such devoured 

moment. 

Lemon rind lover

something so different stares me down 
in the bones of my face, murdering calcium 

I fear a change has come on me like death 

shifting all I knew previously into stones weighing down 

watching myself cut out of the pack with my own knife 

a wrong-headed empathy for cruel people becomes the epitaph 

we can stare at ourselves directly and see nothing of the future 

rushing through life, peering round corners 

how soon they show their true selves and the tar of their shriveled heart 

the slip from love to indifference, a hesitation gasping to spill her ache 

a handful of weeks pass and they advertise themselves to others like cheap meat 

for the next fool who scooping down, picks up their deceit like a fallen child 

in those instances, I wish for fangs and to be wild 

it seems more honest to tear your fucking throat out 

than help you understand why you are poison 

Reblogs – Candice Louisa Daquin & Romantic Dominant

Those desired cast a spell with their love potion, intoxicating us even at a distance.

Elixir by Candice Louisa Daquin

A yellow-eyed man asked me once 
what it was I favored 
in older women 
I told him 
it’s something in their faces 
the shape of their bodies 
how their bones knit songs 
as if all the years they have lived 
have built a testimony 
to the potency of woman 
I’m weak-kneed in the presence of 
strong women, vulnerable women 
singers, poets, artists, thinkers 
the myriad ways of woman 
how breasts find their shape 
over time 
and colors change with seasons 
hair grows long with streaks of grey 
eyes own brevity 
the smile remains that of a girl 
rendering me hot cheeked 
I feel the purposing of womanhood 
like a blanket 
though my contracted heart cannot 
own more than a singular affection 
i’m not like you, falling in love monthly 
I could count on my fingers the times 
a girl turned my head and my heart 
all the way around 
and when you wear that red skirt 
you know the one 
with the ruffles and the midnight cast
and dip your feet in the river 
the glint of your ankle chain catching the stars 
you could be twenty or you could be seventy 
and I’d lead you by the hand 
back to our tent, among the trees 
all facing the sky in prayer 
and lay you down beneath me 
a lotus opening her mouth 
to the glory of being alive 
with lips like you just ate wild berries 
and a tongue tasting of laughter 
I drink you in 
I drink you in 
the elixir of your existing 
even as we sagged against 
the enormity of surviving 
perhaps it’s that shape I love best 
how well you make enduring 
look 

Without touching by Romantic Dominant

He touches her   
without touching her.  

He holds her  
without holding her. 

He knows her 
without knowing her.  

He calls her  
and her soul answers. 

Reblogs – Penny Wilson & Candice Louisa Daquin

Both pieces are emblematic of the passion of living, creating, and being. What has you on fire?

Poetry of My Heart by Penny Wilson

The poetry  
of my heart  
spills  
onto the page  

in blue ink  
and fervent sighs  

The poetry  
of my heart  
is written  
on the wings  
of dreams  

and nights  
of longing  

The poetry  
of my heart 
negate shadows  
of terrors 

not voiced  

The poetry  
of my heart  
stands tall  
against  
this  
world

Dia de los muertos by Candice Louisa Daquin 

People told me to avoid you 

said you had teeth like a demon 

eyes with no good intention 

I liked how wolfish you looked 

without scruples or goodness 

it turned me on 

see, I had nothing left 

except the desire to burn out 

fast and hot like a candle without sufficient wick 

wax pouring over the table 

a great bloody mess 

reminding me of the time you 

bent me over that same table 

and carving my legs apart in your insistence 

we’d live forever if we kept dying 

a little death wrapped in roses 

those days seem distant now 

I haven’t been sexed on a table in 

a very long time, I don’t burn 

candles much, fearing fire 

when really 

I ought to be flinging windows open in redress 

in the midst of a hot flash 

tell the world to burn me 

reduce me until I’m unrecognizable 

and laughing in my ashen dance 

there on the table, driven into highways of wax 

dripping on the floor 

leaving a great bloody mess 

live in the face of death 

in the way of the young 

those who have yet to build pyres of fear 

live unencumbered 

sexing on tables, hot with longing 

with tongues that taste no ash 

no day of dying soon 

 

Reblog – Kiss by Paul Vincent Cannon

Oh, my imagination is on overdrive! I see luscious lips, passions reeling, and moistness. 😉

parallax

dVerse Poets – Quadrille 73

boy-946214__480.jpg

Photo: pixabay.com

Kiss

Today I spoke to you in
a language so intense,
with more love than latin,
and most certainly french,
a language that feels,
as tongues speak of ecstasy,
and lips are guided by heart,
a veritable feast on
which to gorge,
yet never sated.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

View original post

Reblog – Invisible ink by Candice Louisa Daquin

You’ll understand why I commented “If it were possible to get inside your brain as you write these pieces, I wouldn’t be able to finish my sentences. The passion with which you write, it’s beyond exciting, bordering on excruciating ecstasy. Someone hold me, I’m about to faint. I’m weak…” Enjoy! 😉

TheFeatheredSleep

When they say someone is driven to distraction

can’t stop thinking about …

I imagine

a woman running in the rain

newspaper overhead, painted nails

pursed lips, the crook of a smile despite

her hose getting wet, soaking her clavicle, glistening like

some jewel in a torrent might

suddenly fruit

it reminds me of the first time I heard Suzanne Vega sing

not knowing she was singing for a woman

but something in the detail caught my eye

how she felt the same hot breath, steaming glass

lost bra strap, showing slip, untucked blouse

a stray hair, falling in her eyes, it took all of my

self possession not to reach across and brush it

back into place

although I’d rather press my face

into her neck and lose myself to the sound

of rain and tempests, growing inside me

wordlessly showing her the crocheted waves

with every brush stroke

View original post 230 more words

Reblog – Pirate radio by Candice Louisa Daquin

Who wouldn’t want to be caught up in this moment? 😉

TheFeatheredSleep

Totems she left behind

what lost?

What gained?

cinereal clouds pierce cimmerian dusk

your fingers fastening in my hair

we interlaced in one another

le plus vieux pont, la plus jeune émotion

lineament of women,

crossing from mortal to sempiternal

drawing you to me, redolent with love-making

I empty myself inside you, like flowers plucked will dry

and retain their incense

your neck a budding posy of marble obsidian, onyx, malachite, rose quartz

pillowed thighs, yielding beneath entreaty

a woman is nectar, ambrosia, a mist on the breath of dusk

her center a temple to invoke

donne-moi ta soif laissez-moi vous rassasier

entreat the reciting of capture til we ripen into rapture

wordless in renewal you lend me promise,

I bestow the eternal endeavor turning metal dial,

through tempest comes outlying supplication of wireless reverie

Dormir sous les vagues

it’s 1999 again and we’re drying our wet socks on hot…

View original post 37 more words