December 4, 2006

  • Dionysus

    I don’t think I’ve written something like this before.  I’m excited about this poem.  Its a little unusual for me…not quite sure what to make of it or even if I like it yet. 

    As always, your comments, critiques, etc., are coveted and always welcome.

    Janette

    Dionysus

     

    When the supplicant first worshipped

    the angel, his marble arms stretched

    to welcome her reverential embrace,

    and His face bore the marks of knowing,

    the skillfully carved body taut,

    muscled, and beckoning.  He came

    to life before her eyes, beauty and art

    personified, his wings melting into

    the still perfection of skin.

     

    She washed his form with grateful tears

    that her eyes should behold this wonder.

    His hairless torso glistened like gossamer

    beneath the afternoon sun and misting eyes.

    Love was not yet known to her

    and yet she ached.  How intimate,

    how intimate was his touch as she writhed,

    awakening beneath the sweetness

    of his breath, his hands, his body.

     

    Their coupling was an act of holiness

    beautiful in its violence, its fury,

    a complete giving over of the flesh.

    She explored every part of him, the

    tender pink of his nipples, the down

    of fire, yellow and white, the stone

    he was carved from both sturdy

    and pliable, this living shrine of

    rock and velvet, silk and sun.

     

    The temple of this familiar

    haunted and haunting, the man-boy

    and the child-woman, the breaths of

    thankfulness, the weeping of the

    bittersweet, the honey of forgiveness,

    the hallowed ground of experience,

    Amen and Amen.

     

Comments (3)

  • I like it …a real other worldliness , sensuality and passion all laced together in beautiful fashion :o )

    Chris

  • Oh if only we could make men from silk and sun. . . well done.  Wow

  • Very nice–I particularly like the first verse and the way it opens, but the whole thing is well written.  This is just me from years of reading poetry, particularly contemporary, but the word “tears” is one that’s used and used.  Someone suggested to me that the challenge of the poet is not to say new things, but to say old things in new ways–and you did excel on this one! :)   Keep up the nice work. 

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