Sensual metaphors

[bluerains]

Once upon a Clearing

From twilight earth
flowing with white droplets
of magic from her grassy scented bed,
hardness spams domain with raw
rippling angles of broad shoulders
tracing violet heat rising from
purple mounds of softness.
Slowly mouths begin to set
free four degrees of separation,
as each element rejoices
in spring’s plenteous pasture.

 

[RhymeFairy]

made me think of this thread ~

An Hymn To The Morning


ATTEND my lays, ye ever honour'd nine,
Assist my labours, and my strains refine;
In smoothest numbers pour the notes along,
For bright Aurora now demands my song.
Aurora hail, and all the thousand dies,
Which deck thy progress through the vaulted skies:
The morn awakes, and wide extends her rays,
On ev'ry leaf the gentle zephyr plays;
Harmonious lays the feather'd race resume,
Dart the bright eye, and shake the painted plume.
Ye shady groves, your verdant gloom display
To shield your poet from the burning day:
Calliope awake the sacred lyre,
While thy fair sisters fan the pleasing fire:
The bow'rs, the gales, the variegated skies
In all their pleasures in my bosom rise.
See in the east th' illustrious king of day!
His rising radiance drives the shades away--
But Oh! I feel his fervid beams too strong,
And scarce begun, concludes th' abortive song.


~~ Phillis Wheatley

 

[RhymeFairy]

ManRay bounce ~

I read a poem of ManRays, A Question
This is what bounced ~


I see how you have grown
spread your wings
fly ... for your rhyming
is a gift
that does not quiet
meet the eye.Stay behind
your curtain of
friend
candle this world
with a light. A gift
you patiently present
pressing again
again
alighting our path
with words from passion
filled lips, cocooned inside
a body of basic animal
instinct.



Just so's ya know.
I have been here a while and have seen he as many others
have grown so much in their writing. I posted a thingy
on another thread and wanted to read his latest
so there ya go ~

 

[My Erotic Trail]

From twilight earth
flowing with white droplets
of magic from her grassy scented bed,
hardness spams domain with raw
rippling angles of broad shoulders
tracing violet heat rising from
purple mounds of softness.
Slowly mouths begin to set
free four degrees of separation,
as each element rejoices
in spring’s plenteous pasture.

the signature pic

Tears of the Sun

 

[bluerains]

the signature pic

Tears of the Sun

blood on the moon...

 

[bluerains]

don't think I read much of MR..dont know why...
but, this is really quite nice...tight and warm visuals...I liked it a lot
as your poem as well..ty for the mput..please bring more great words...to inspire the muse..



QUOTE=RhymeFairy]I read a poem of ManRays, A Question
This is what bounced ~

I see how you have grown
spread your wings
fly ... for your rhyming
is a gift
that does not quiet
meet the eye.Stay behind
your curtain of
friend
candle this world
with a light. A gift
you patiently present
pressing again
again
alighting our path
with words from passion
filled lips, cocooned inside
a body of basic animal
instinct.



Just so's ya know.
I have been here a while and have seen he as many others
have grown so much in their writing. I posted a thingy
on another thread and wanted to read his latest
so there ya go ~
[/QUOTE]

 

[RhymeFairy]

Quiet Mornings ~

I like the quiet mornings
When the waves have washed the footprints from the shore,
When even the gulls are just beginning to stir
And the heat of the day has not yet roused the flies
to search the seaweed for breakfast,
When the beach still has the sand of sleep in its eyes
And the driftwood looks like tired swimmers
resting on the shore
When the waves laugh at the rocks
And playfully wash the night from thier eyes.
Soon enough the hungry gulls will dive for fish
And the waves will beat shape into the rocks.
Feet will pound on the beach
And ladies will snatch the driftwood for lamps.
And I will face the days demands,
Trampled like the sand,
Wounded like the rocks,
Torn up like the wood,
Living for another quiet morning!

~~ James Kavanaugh


When I read this one I thought of SandSpike and Blue, lol.
So I brought it here to muse ya'll. I will refrain from doing
so again. Could not help myself ~

 

[wildsweetone]

I like the quiet mornings
When the waves have washed the footprints from the shore,
When even the gulls are just beginning to stir
And the heat of the day has not yet roused the flies
to search the seaweed for breakfast,
When the beach still has the sand of sleep in its eyes
And the driftwood looks like tired swimmers
resting on the shore
When the waves laugh at the rocks
And playfully wash the night from thier eyes.
Soon enough the hungry gulls will dive for fish
And the waves will beat shape into the rocks.
Feet will pound on the beach
And ladies will snatch the driftwood for lamps.
And I will face the days demands,
Trampled like the sand,
Wounded like the rocks,
Torn up like the wood,
Living for another quiet morning!

~~ James Kavanaugh


When I read this one I thought of SandSpike and Blue, lol.
So I brought it here to muse ya'll. I will refrain from doing
so again. Could not help myself ~

hey don't refrain from posting poetry like this! it's awesome. and i admit i started rewriting the first few lines in my head - i have no idea why, but i just felt it sat better slightly briefer than it appears now. my apologies to Mr Kavanaugh.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

hey don't refrain from posting poetry like this! it's awesome. and i admit i started rewriting the first few lines in my head - i have no idea why, but i just felt it sat better slightly briefer than it appears now. my apologies to Mr Kavanaugh.

I agree ...,more please

 

[RhymeFairy]

Searchers ~

“I am one of the searchers. There are, I believe, millions of us. We are not unhappy, but neither are we really content. We continue to explore life, hoping to uncover its ultimate secret. We continue to explore ourselves, hoping to understand. We like to walk along the beach, we are drawn by the ocean, taken by its power, its unceasing motion, its mystery and unspeakable beauty. We like forests and mountains, deserts and hidden rivers, and the lonely cities as well. Our sadness is as much a part of out lives as is out laughter. To share our sadness with one we love is perhaps as great a joy as we can know - unless it is to share our laughter.

We searchers are ambitious only for life itself, for everything beautiful it can provide. Most of all, we want to love and be loved. We want to live in a relationship that will not impede our wandering, nor prevent our search, nor lock us in prison walls; that will take us for what little we have to give. We do not want to prove ourselves to another or to compete for love. For we are wanderers, dreamers, and lovers, lonely men and women who dare to ask of life everything good and beautiful...those who are too gentle to live among wolves."

~~ James Kavanaugh


Hope I am not boring ya'll. I just find this poet so calming, and informational. He keeps me wondering, and still feeds my soul with thoughtful tidbits of love and emotion. A path we all must take sometime.
To find ... ourselves all over again ~

 

[bluerains]

have not read this poet ...I really like his images...bring more...until then I will be back Sunday ..you said your muse needed a kick in the knickers...so here is a bit of inspiration to fire the red haired elf.. as we approach the last days of march winds..
mercury retro...total ecilpse of Egypt and such...the warrior is on stand by...this I am told...mother will protect her child...see this...

The Morrígan

by Danielle Ní Dhighe
Copyright © 1996, 1997 Danielle Ní Dhighe
All Rights Reserved
May be reposted as long as the above attribution and copyright notice are retained

THE MORRÍGAN

The Morrígan is a goddess of battle, strife, and fertility. Her name translates as ‘Phantom Queen,’ which is entirely appropriate for Her. The Morrígan appears as both a single goddess and a trio of goddesses, which includes the Badb ‘Vulture’ and Nemain ‘Frenzy’. The Morrígan frequently appears in the ornithological guise of a hooded crow. She is one of the Tuatha De Danann (People of the Goddess Danu) and She helped defeat the Firbolgs at the First Battle of Magh Tuireadh and the Fomorii at the Second Battle of Mag Tured.
By some accounts, She is the consort of the Dagda, while the Badb and Nemain are sometimes listed as consorts of Néit, an obscure war god who is possibly Nuada the Sky Father in His warrior aspect. It is interesting to note that another battle goddess, Macha, is also associated with Nuada.

ORIGINS

The origins of the Morrígan seem to reach directly back to the megalithic cult of the Mothers. The Mothers (Matrones, Idises, Dísir, etc.) usually appeared as triple goddesses and their cult was expressed through both battle ecstasy and regenerative ecstasy. Later Celtic goddesses of sovereignty, such as the trio of Éire, Banba, and Fótla, also use magic in warfare. “Influence in the sphere of warfare, but by means of magic and incantation rather than through physical strength, is common to these beings.” (Ross 205)
Éire, a goddess connected to the land in a fashion reminiscent of the Mothers, could appear as a beautiful woman or as a crow, as could the Morrígan. The Dísir appeared in similar guises. In addition to being battle goddesses, they are significantly associated with fate as well as birth in many cases, along with appearing before a death or to escort the deceased. It is interesting to note that some sources present Éire and the Morrígan as half-sisters.
There is certainly evidence that the concept of a raven goddess of battle wasn’t limited to the Irish Celts. An inscription found in France invoking Cathubodva, ‘Battle Raven’, shows that a similar concept was known among the Gaulish Celts.

SIMILARITIES BETWEEN THE MORRÍGAN AND THE VALKYRIES

The Morrígan’s role in the Irish cosmology is quite similar to the role played by the Valkyries in Norse cosmology. Both use magic to cast fetters on warriors and choose who will die.
During the Second Battle, the Morrígan “said she would go and destroy Indech son of Dé Domnann and ‘deprive him of the blood of his heart and the kidneys of his valor’, and she gave two handfuls of that blood to the hosts. When Indech later appeared in the battle, he was already doomed.” (Rees 36)
Compare this to the Washer at the Ford, another guise of the Morrígan. The Washer is usually to be found washing the clothes of men about to die in battle. In effect, She is choosing who will die.
An early German spell found in Merseburg mentions the Indisi, who decided the fortunes of war and the fates of warriors. The Scandinavian Song of the Spear, quoted in Njals Saga, gives a detailed description of Valkyries as women weaving on a grisly loom, with severed heads for weights, arrows for shuttles, and entrails for the warp. As they worked, they exulted at the loss of life that would take place. “All is sinister now to see, a cloud of blood moves over the sky, the air is red with the blood of men, and the battle women chant their song.” (Davidson 94)
An Old English poem, Exodus, refers to ravens as choosers of the slain. There are links between ravens, choosing of the slain, casting fetters, and female beings in many sources.
“As the Norse and English sources show them to us, the walkurjas are figures of awe and even terror, who delight in the deaths of men. As battlefield scavengers, they are very close to the ravens, who are described as waelceasega, ‘picking over the dead’...” (Our Troth)
“The function of the goddess [the Morrígan] here, it may be noted, is not to attack the hero [Cúchulainn] with weapons but to render him helpless at a crucial point in the battle, like the valkyries who cast ‘fetters’ upon warriors...thus both in Irish and Scandinavian literature we have a conception of female beings associated with battle, both fierce and erotic.” (Davidson 97, 100)

THE MORRÍGAN AND CÚCHULAINN

She appeared to the hero Cúchulainn (son of the god Lugh) and offered Her love to him. When he failed to recognize Her and rejected Her, She told him that She would hinder him when he was in battle. When Cúchulainn was eventually killed, She settled on his shoulder in the form of a crow. Cú’s misfortune was that he never recognized the feminine power of sovereignty that She offered to him.
She appeared to him on at least four occasions and each time he failed to recognize Her.
1. When She appeared to him and declared Her love for him.
2. After he had wounded Her, She appeared to him as an old hag and he offered his blessings to Her, which caused Her to be healed.
3. On his way to his final battle, he saw the Washer at the Ford, who declared that She was “washing the clothes and arms of
Cúchulainn, who would soon be dead.”
4. When he was forced by three hags (which represent the Morrígan in
Her triple aspect) to break a taboo of eating dogflesh.

THE ROLE OF THE MORRÍGAN

For modern Celtic Pagans, the role of the Morrígan in our religion is different than what it was for our ancestors. Most of us are not involved in life-or-death struggles on a daily basis. The Morrígan is an appropriate deity for strong, independent people, particularly those on a warrior path.


SOURCES:

Davidson, H. R. Ellis, Myths and Symbols in Pagan Europe (Syracuse NY: Syracuse University Press, 1988)
Our Troth (Ring of Troth)
Rees, Alwyn and Brinley, Celtic Heritage (NY: Thames & Hudson, 1994)
Ross, Anne, Pagan Celtic Britain (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1967)

[/QUOTE]

 

[bluerains]

kilted

See twins
swimming same sea
opposing one another
grey taken by
green plaid
of ancestry
beheaded torn assunder
a good book
is precious...

 

[RhymeFairy]

Words ~

Words are My Friends


Words are my friends
Sounds and syllables borrowed from sea shores
And winds whispering across a lonely canyon,
Or sudden storms frightening trees and little birds.

Words are my friends
Born in silence and boyhood wanderings,
Erupting from caves and rocks and city streets,
Or seeping from wounds and a face wrinkled too soon.

Words are my friends
Crawling from dreams and forgotten memories,
Cursing at pain and the deaths I did not understand,
Ready to hide or reveal as I bade them.

Words have carried my love
Betrayed my enmity and fear,
Healed wounds or inflicted them,
Shared secrets or sheltered me from everyone.

Words are my friends.


~~ James Kavanaugh
Walk Easy on the Earth, E. P. Dutton,
New York, 1979

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Words are My Friends


Words are my friends
Sounds and syllables borrowed from sea shores
And winds whispering across a lonely canyon,
Or sudden storms frightening trees and little birds.

Words are my friends
Born in silence and boyhood wanderings,
Erupting from caves and rocks and city streets,
Or seeping from wounds and a face wrinkled too soon.

Words are my friends
Crawling from dreams and forgotten memories,
Cursing at pain and the deaths I did not understand,
Ready to hide or reveal as I bade them.

Words have carried my love
Betrayed my enmity and fear,
Healed wounds or inflicted them,
Shared secrets or sheltered me from everyone.

Words are my friends.


~~ James Kavanaugh
Walk Easy on the Earth, E. P. Dutton,
New York, 1979

you two ladies are very inspirational and alt as a muse, huh? <grin
very nice reads

 

[quasar]

See twins
swimming same sea
opposing one another
grey taken by
green plaid
of ancestry
beheaded torn assunder
a good book
is precious...

Lost in pages
knowledge fertile
swimming a literary sea
avenues mirror vineyards
unfolds a path
the eyes follow
entity still
as the mind wanders
luring literature
strumming words
a novel's song
good book

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Lost in pages
knowledge fertile
swimming a literary sea
avenues mirror vineyards
unfolds a path
the eyes follow
entity still
as the mind wanders
luring literature
strumming words
a novel's song
good book

I like <grin

 

[bluerains]

we like more...

I like <grin

 

[bluerains]

Kinfolk

Emporium deceives,
burlesque receives
guises of emotive truth
as shapes of a phoenix
go unnoticed in floating
clouds.
Puppets are bought and sold
in money market mania
built upon shrines of bamboo bonds
Life becomes a foreshadow of what if's
driving an infinity..

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Emporium deceives,
burlesque receives
guises of emotive truth
as shapes of a phoenix
go unnoticed in floating
clouds.
Puppets are bought and sold
in money market mania
built upon shrines of bamboo bonds
Life becomes a foreshadow of what if's
driving an infinity..

the vine has thorns
that binds market scorn
when searching for a flower
that reaches and towers
to grasp and to hold
a plants life is sold

 

[RhymeFairy]

Hope Is the Thing With Feathers

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all


And sweetest in the gale is heard
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm


I've heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.


~~ Emily Dickinson


...

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Hope Is the Thing With Feathers

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all


And sweetest in the gale is heard
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm


I've heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.


~~ Emily Dickinson


...

oh emily
oh emily
please sing
sweet poetry

<grin thanks RF

 

[RhymeFairy]

simplistic need
of one heart,
to touch another
spearing flames
of embering
remembrance ~

 

[champagne1982]

deleted

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Moved from the Passion Suddenly thread

A new painting --

Still Life (with woman)

Draped in breakfast linen you sit
at a table laden with fruit
so ripe to bursting, the scent
sweet enough to make my teeth
ache with hunger. That first
caress of incisor on skin
bruises with pressure, stretching
without tearing, until the flesh
can move no more and yeilds
to cutting. Let the nectar
flow from your body into me, fill
me with such succulent delights
I hear a peach sigh in release.

pornacopia <grin...sizzling (~_*)
hot cucumbers this was good.

 

[sugarmountain]

March Madness(spring fever)

I like watching women
bounce balls around hard wood,
such skillful hands, the subtle touch
dribbling, dribbling,
they pull up short,
give it their best shot
sometimes sink it straight
in the hole without touching,
other times catching it
on the rebound, scoring
as only a woman can