MLP~Mystic Lake Poetry

[My Erotic Trail]

Our lives are filled with challenges.
May you find the joy in the difficult
understanding the passion of living
flames through our soul
when we learn to see beauty
in the ugliness of life.

beauty is skin deep
or just above the earht's crust <grin

I always enjoy reading you! (~_~)

 

[My Erotic Trail]

is the snow owl perched at the foot of a mountain of snow?

 

[My Erotic Trail]

morning dew frozen
on the foot
of a snow capped mountain

 

[Du Lac]

Trees sink their roots
into the sky
of the mothers heart.

May you always
feel your roots drinking
from her soul
and know you are a
star in her night sky.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Trees sink their roots
into the sky
of the mothers heart.

May you always
feel your roots drinking
from her soul
and know you are a
star in her night sky.

this made me smile... thanks Du~

Thinking like a Star
by My Erotic Trail ©

Thoughts,
like the stars so very many
of the perfect way to shine
like a star I have yet to find.

Moments came like the wind
embraced in realities passing
that never made it to pen.

All that is existent before me,
absorbed in the dark mass of space
thinking like a star.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

frozen Dew
field of white
mist on the rise
with the sun

 

[Du Lac]

A New Year gently enters our path
May we all find a desire for forgiveness
both others and self
as we discover the now of living.

 

[Unbridled_Passion]

fairies of the night
twinkling
lighting the way

maneuvering through the treetops
almost magically,
resembling stars

children chasing
giggling
placing in jars

morning's near
time to sleep
fairies of the night

 

[Du Lac]

UP
Loved the visions in the poem thank you for sharing it here!
du lac

 

[Du Lac]

When you feel
hollow souled people
who take precious energy
from your very bones

Know that you are
an abundant source
of light and power.

It is all inside of you
if you reach for it.

Remember your dark times

Know that your light
maybe the reason
that one who has darkness
as a companion
may see hope in life
when your light and energy
touches their soul.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

When you feel
hollow souled people
who take precious energy
from your very bones

Know that you are
an abundant source
of light and power.

It is all inside of you
if you reach for it.

Remember your dark times

Know that your light
maybe the reason
that one who has darkness
as a companion
may see hope in life
when your light and energy
touches their soul.

when you walk into a monistary
there is always a place for
the candles of memories
remembering those who have passed
as well as candles of prayers and wishes
but out of all the candles in the room (many)
there are those candles which stand out from all the others
be it flickering (energy) or taller or brighter
or casting a shadow in just the right way
all illuminate something
in their different placements

(~_~)
good to read ya ... again

 

[Du Lac]

Fresh lillies on a spring day
yellows, orange and pinks
fragrant and soothing
reminding us
of the opportunity we all have
to be reborn this moment in time.

Remember the now,
do not forget the past
do not live in it
nor get lost in the future
if you do not breath in this moment,
live it
be it
you have no tomorrow.

Be the lilly
drink in the sun
may you be reborn
into the new life of this moment.


Art I loved your reply to the last little blessing. It was wonderful. Very different for you. I miss you .. it seems we are going to be moving again!!!! This time to California! OMG can you see me as a CA girl. I will have some time off again from working to write. Hope we can catch up on life things.
blessings
du~

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Fresh lillies on a spring day
yellows, orange and pinks
fragrant and soothing
reminding us
of the opportunity we all have
to be reborn this moment in time.

Remember the now,
do not forget the past
do not live in it
nor get lost in the future
if you do not breath in this moment,
live it
be it
you have no tomorrow.

Be the lilly
drink in the sun
may you be reborn
into the new life of this moment.


Art I loved your reply to the last little blessing. It was wonderful. Very different for you. I miss you .. it seems we are going to be moving again!!!! This time to California! OMG can you see me as a CA girl. I will have some time off again from working to write. Hope we can catch up on life things.
blessings
du~

your poetic charm has been missed (~_~)
as much as your passionate pen <grin

 

[Du Lac]

Cold crisp morning air
greets the wary woman
with whispers of adventure.

To the west we look
hearing the call of the sea

Screeches ride
the whales breath
down the mountain walls
leaving a blast of snow
and tales of long lost dreams
that coat the valleys floor
landing at the wary womans feet.

Dare she reach for the dream?

Listen to the whales call?

Smell the sea breath
of an ancient friend?

Holder of ancient records
speaking to stone people
who nod in accordance as they all remember
a time left behind
all laid at the feet of a wary woman.​

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Cold crisp morning air
greets the wary woman
with whispers of adventure.

To the west we look
hearing the call of the sea

Screeches ride
the whales breath
down the mountain walls
leaving a blast of snow
and tales of long lost dreams
that coat the valleys floor
landing at the wary womans feet.

Dare she reach for the dream?

Listen to the whales call?

Smell the sea breath
of an ancient friend?

Holder of ancient records
speaking to stone people
who nod in accordance as they all remember
a time left behind
all laid at the feet of a wary woman.​

I have missed your mystic poetry (~_~)

 

[My Erotic Trail]

where the mountains
kiss the dew
and sun rays
warm the flesh
like a note
from a long lost friend

 

[Du Lac]

Howls of the Wild Woman

It is a Tuesday in California, with hawks flying through gray skies and wet breezes telling us that the rain will not leave just yet. As the gray stretches across the miles, I find myself listening to Mary Chapin Carpenter with her stories of life vibrating through my ears reaching deep for my soul. This journey from ears to soul always brings tears forth from my eyes. Salt-water brims forth, falling like a wave gently covering sands of the beaches that create the coastline of my new homeland. My time in the desert has made me extremely appreciative of the gray wet clouds that are so abundant in this new land. In the desert rain is sacred, life giving and the earth drinks it with greed and gusto leaving no scent of water in the air which makes you think you dreamt up the soft rain that danced off your roof during the night.

Dry air that births clear night skies littered with tiny stars beckoning for your mind to voyage lie just on the other side of powerful mountains housing a crystal blue lake which holds healing powers of the elders. Mary sings sad songs from my former self; making my head run to the past and remember the life I stood still in day after day before my woodsman came from a frozen desert to rescue me. Through him, I learned I was dying, lost within the sad songs, living them, frozen within the lines of desperate lyrics. Daily the battle began with the small missing pieces of life that I cradled deep within my soul. Waiting and dying, I lived the life that others called normal and happy.

The Atlantic coastline perched not far from my home, I sat in there day in and day out, waiting and forgetting that life was for living not for sitting about and wanting discovery. Sad songs of loneliness playing throughout my house, slowly tugging at my faith and making me believe the dark ghost who whispered from my past that I was not worth loving. Salt water beating across tiny rock kingdoms we call sand, traveling miles to scent my days with salt-water dreams. My life on this coastline differs for one main reason: love for self and by another. A creative soul will surely die when two things happen: it lives without love and/or it is caged. A slow death radiates from the person without their knowing it. Deep down though, they feel the dying and cannot understand why the things in life that others call normal only make them unhappy.

Cages come in so many pretty containers: dream houses, great paying jobs, stable men, expensive cars, family, and friends. These cages do not seem threatening to the woman because her rearing has taught her to cherish and covet these dreams. When they sit before her the conditioned child within wants to run and scream with glee. Lurking deep within the most sacred cave of the woman surges another type of scream, a howl of grief and despair. The scream turns into a screech vibrating through her bones and clawing at her soul trying to get her attention anyway it can. The woman feels it but society has told her that these pretty containers are the real gems of living. The gleeful squeals from the child vanquish the howls of the wild woman and the battle for her soul begins.

The conditioning and training of our childhood is hard to break. At this point many women push the creative soul deep within a corner of their being and pretend that they don’t hear the lock snapping shut when they say “I do” to the job offer, house mortgage or “right man.” They do everything in their power to tell themselves that this is what they truly want in life. Motherhood, a great powerful job, fantastic house with 5 bedrooms and a quarter acre or the man that all her family said was a fantastic catch. Most of the wild women who allow themselves to walk this path are worthy of Oscars as they act out their lives daily doing the chores of being a woman in the modern world. Somewhere down the line years later they either hear the last whimpers of the dying woman caged within the dark corner of their private thoughts or the howling begins again and life they have been taught to cherish seems bland, mundane and miserable. It is then they must choose life or death. Far too many cannot face the exile that will be their fate once they grasp onto the coattail of the creative soul. The women who chose to deny their creative souls become angry lonely souls living within pretty stage front containers poisoning all who they touch. Some become addicts, others feed off the misery of others, while sadly some see no way out and commit suicide.

This is where I found myself at the age of 40, with a memory of living as the creative soul eating my mind away slowly as I went to work daily and cleaned my house that all said I should be so proud of as a single woman. As a young woman, I had listened to my heart and lived a life of traveling, performing and creating. As I lived my life the conditioned child called to me telling me that this was not the life for me and that I should really grow up. My dreams were laced with murmurs of living a life of the damned. Women are not suppose to be independent and wander the world we were suppose to living within picket fences, bring up children and listen to our parents. The young woman who walked in the daylight wanted everything. She wanted to climb the Eiffel tower, help street people find a warm place to live, teach children to love unconditionally, dance under a desert sky and so much more. Therefore, as the day dreams fought with the night haunts I took comfort within the arms of the wrong man and a bottle. The battle got worst and the slowly my world dwindled to him and a drink. My creative soul bowed out and I returned home to become the woman that my child within told me to be.

This went fine for a while as I sobered up, went back to school and allowed myself to flourish creatively within acceptable roles of student, waitress or Aunt. I was eccentric but my family was happy that I was alive and working towards growing up. Men loved my “different self” but always they would try to “domesticate” Denise ending with a break up and my thinking that there was something very wrong with me.

Graduating with honors from college in my thirties, I found myself looking for the right job and man to fulfill the dream of normal living. Each one I found was a pretty cage that I ran from in one form or another. After a few years the wild woman within me began to whimper and I knew she was dying.

The dreams began again this time stalking my day crying into my head and telling me I had to make a choice or die. I found myself one night driving towards a bridge knowing it was time to make a decision. My decision was to live. At that moment, I sat crying my heart out while listening to the howls giving birth to the woman who sits on the Pacific coastline writing these thoughts. I refused to sit around waiting for life to start and began to take action. I found I could write, poems and short stories flew from my fingertips enchanting my mind as I researched for my own truth. I dressed in gypsy dresses and danced in dew soaked grass running from snakes and speaking to the trees. I began to heal.

Today the wild woman lives freely within my body, mind and soul. I allow her to wander new avenues, be it creating jewelry, praying at an altar, painting, writing, photography or just plain old loving.

My search for the right man changed and he finally discovered me because I put my soul out there bare naked with all I was on the internet. I was no longer sitting waiting life away, I wanted everything again and I was going to get it. My woodsman from the frozen desert has taught me to love and be happy with me. Acceptance and pleasure breeds unconditional love within our life. My wild woman no longer howls she giggles gleefully enjoying life in tiny moments knowing there are no lurking cages in her future.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

It is a Tuesday in California, with hawks flying through gray skies and wet breezes telling us that the rain will not leave just yet. As the gray stretches across the miles, I find myself listening to Mary Chapin Carpenter with her stories of life vibrating through my ears reaching deep for my soul. This journey from ears to soul always brings tears forth from my eyes. Salt-water brims forth, falling like a wave gently covering sands of the beaches that create the coastline of my new homeland. My time in the desert has made me extremely appreciative of the gray wet clouds that are so abundant in this new land. In the desert rain is sacred, life giving and the earth drinks it with greed and gusto leaving no scent of water in the air which makes you think you dreamt up the soft rain that danced off your roof during the night.

Dry air that births clear night skies littered with tiny stars beckoning for your mind to voyage lie just on the other side of powerful mountains housing a crystal blue lake which holds healing powers of the elders. Mary sings sad songs from my former self; making my head run to the past and remember the life I stood still in day after day before my woodsman came from a frozen desert to rescue me. Through him, I learned I was dying, lost within the sad songs, living them, frozen within the lines of desperate lyrics. Daily the battle began with the small missing pieces of life that I cradled deep within my soul. Waiting and dying, I lived the life that others called normal and happy.

The Atlantic coastline perched not far from my home, I sat in there day in and day out, waiting and forgetting that life was for living not for sitting about and wanting discovery. Sad songs of loneliness playing throughout my house, slowly tugging at my faith and making me believe the dark ghost who whispered from my past that I was not worth loving. Salt water beating across tiny rock kingdoms we call sand, traveling miles to scent my days with salt-water dreams. My life on this coastline differs for one main reason: love for self and by another. A creative soul will surely die when two things happen: it lives without love and/or it is caged. A slow death radiates from the person without their knowing it. Deep down though, they feel the dying and cannot understand why the things in life that others call normal only make them unhappy.

Cages come in so many pretty containers: dream houses, great paying jobs, stable men, expensive cars, family, and friends. These cages do not seem threatening to the woman because her rearing has taught her to cherish and covet these dreams. When they sit before her the conditioned child within wants to run and scream with glee. Lurking deep within the most sacred cave of the woman surges another type of scream, a howl of grief and despair. The scream turns into a screech vibrating through her bones and clawing at her soul trying to get her attention anyway it can. The woman feels it but society has told her that these pretty containers are the real gems of living. The gleeful squeals from the child vanquish the howls of the wild woman and the battle for her soul begins.

The conditioning and training of our childhood is hard to break. At this point many women push the creative soul deep within a corner of their being and pretend that they don’t hear the lock snapping shut when they say “I do” to the job offer, house mortgage or “right man.” They do everything in their power to tell themselves that this is what they truly want in life. Motherhood, a great powerful job, fantastic house with 5 bedrooms and a quarter acre or the man that all her family said was a fantastic catch. Most of the wild women who allow themselves to walk this path are worthy of Oscars as they act out their lives daily doing the chores of being a woman in the modern world. Somewhere down the line years later they either hear the last whimpers of the dying woman caged within the dark corner of their private thoughts or the howling begins again and life they have been taught to cherish seems bland, mundane and miserable. It is then they must choose life or death. Far too many cannot face the exile that will be their fate once they grasp onto the coattail of the creative soul. The women who chose to deny their creative souls become angry lonely souls living within pretty stage front containers poisoning all who they touch. Some become addicts, others feed off the misery of others, while sadly some see no way out and commit suicide.

This is where I found myself at the age of 40, with a memory of living as the creative soul eating my mind away slowly as I went to work daily and cleaned my house that all said I should be so proud of as a single woman. As a young woman, I had listened to my heart and lived a life of traveling, performing and creating. As I lived my life the conditioned child called to me telling me that this was not the life for me and that I should really grow up. My dreams were laced with murmurs of living a life of the damned. Women are not suppose to be independent and wander the world we were suppose to living within picket fences, bring up children and listen to our parents. The young woman who walked in the daylight wanted everything. She wanted to climb the Eiffel tower, help street people find a warm place to live, teach children to love unconditionally, dance under a desert sky and so much more. Therefore, as the day dreams fought with the night haunts I took comfort within the arms of the wrong man and a bottle. The battle got worst and the slowly my world dwindled to him and a drink. My creative soul bowed out and I returned home to become the woman that my child within told me to be.

This went fine for a while as I sobered up, went back to school and allowed myself to flourish creatively within acceptable roles of student, waitress or Aunt. I was eccentric but my family was happy that I was alive and working towards growing up. Men loved my “different self” but always they would try to “domesticate” Denise ending with a break up and my thinking that there was something very wrong with me.

Graduating with honors from college in my thirties, I found myself looking for the right job and man to fulfill the dream of normal living. Each one I found was a pretty cage that I ran from in one form or another. After a few years the wild woman within me began to whimper and I knew she was dying.

The dreams began again this time stalking my day crying into my head and telling me I had to make a choice or die. I found myself one night driving towards a bridge knowing it was time to make a decision. My decision was to live. At that moment, I sat crying my heart out while listening to the howls giving birth to the woman who sits on the Pacific coastline writing these thoughts. I refused to sit around waiting for life to start and began to take action. I found I could write, poems and short stories flew from my fingertips enchanting my mind as I researched for my own truth. I dressed in gypsy dresses and danced in dew soaked grass running from snakes and speaking to the trees. I began to heal.

Today the wild woman lives freely within my body, mind and soul. I allow her to wander new avenues, be it creating jewelry, praying at an altar, painting, writing, photography or just plain old loving.

My search for the right man changed and he finally discovered me because I put my soul out there bare naked with all I was on the internet. I was no longer sitting waiting life away, I wanted everything again and I was going to get it. My woodsman from the frozen desert has taught me to love and be happy with me. Acceptance and pleasure breeds unconditional love within our life. My wild woman no longer howls she giggles gleefully enjoying life in tiny moments knowing there are no lurking cages in her future.

I miss the sparkle of the dew in the mornings <grin; I always enjoy reading you. I thought I would relay that the Earth Day story contest @ Lit begins on the 25th of this month and thought of you and your 'earthly' writes. (~_*)

 

[Du Lac]

work in progress

I stroll within the mists
each breath floods tiny pockets of doubt
as the earth's manna calls to the soul.

Who says that God does not speak to them?
Daily within breaks of human chatter
a bird sings with fluid purity
proof of the deities chant.

Those with ears to hear
will have eyes to see...

Fog covered green hills soothe the eye
slowly visible dense water lifts
as Apollo's fingers carress the neck

I purr like a cat who soaks on a ledge
a silent motile umbra
who bled in the past
fading scars who only whisper
lost in the moment of voices carried.

Seeking a truthful second
in the bird song of the morn.

 

[WickedEve]

Good lines: each breath floods tiny pockets of doubt

a silent motile umbra
who bled in the past


I haven't seen you around in awhile.

 

[Du Lac]

thanks eve
I usually only come to this page because things have not been flowing poetry wise. But I am back and hopefully writing will come again.
blessings
du lac

 

[Du Lac]

Victim.. (in progress)

Can't remember something so hard to find,
seeking answers lost within the dilemnas of dreams,
You gnaw bleached bones of other's faith
crying to God for the twilight of salvation.

Tardy soul tears glisten behind cloudy thoughts
wondering all the while
Why me?

Tropical rains storm your soul
driving you from your truth
seeking the peace of a hurricanes eye
on a sunny day.

Prey of chance, hostage of self
forbidden lies lace your tongue
as you deny your own deliverance.

Lost within the lair of a liars grief,
have you degenerated to the plateau
of he who stole your soul?

Forever the victim of past drama
calling upon a God you hate
for answers you will ignore.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

this is why ... I miss the dew (~_~)

Can't remember something so hard to find,
seeking answers lost within the dilemnas of dreams,
You gnaw bleached bones of other's faith
crying to God for the twilight of salvation.

Tardy soul tears glisten behind cloudy thoughts
wondering all the while
Why me?

Tropical rains storm your soul
driving you from your truth
seeking the peace of a hurricanes eye
on a sunny day.

Prey of chance, hostage of self
forbidden lies lace your tongue
as you deny your own deliverance.

Lost within the lair of a liars grief,
have you degenerated to the plateau
of he who stole your soul?

Forever the victim of past drama
calling upon a God you hate
for answers you will ignore.

 

[Du Lac]

Just some thoughts to work with later

A soft rain falls gently upon the roof
as bird song filters through the gray
time stands still
lost in the world in between
unconsious dreams float to reality
leaving a sadness upon the pillow
awake the day is benign
still a part of me
floats in the song
I crave for the cave of my dream.

 

[Du Lac]

I breath
small spores of daylight fill
my dark closets
shadows dance as dust
swirls around the soul
my fireflies of the night
waltz from my dreams.

Time moves on the day stops
frozen within a breath
of sunshine

White petals inhale the day
waving hello from amongst the green
The dust flies, crawling into corners
waiting to be cleared by the light.

I breath
eyes open
I begin the day.