A Dance on Stormy Seas

Something beautiful by Hyperion. Comments closed, please see the original.

INFJ CAFE

I have seen the sea when it is stormy and wild; when it is quietand serene; when it is dark and moody. And in all its moods, I see myself

Martin Buxbaum

Photo by Josh Hild on Pexels.com

The night we met,  we danced; we didn’t talk,  the music so loud. I gazed in your eyes  and you smiled, your eyes laughed,  we ignored the crowd. Slow music played,  you stayed at my side, my hands held you tight,  you drifted over my thigh. The light of your smile,  set fire to my night. Together we sailed  in a starry sky, tossed about  in a passionate tide. In stormy winds,  love unfurled our sail; I held you closer,  desire drowned my Hell. Above my thundering heart,  I heard a banshee cry, and paused in the strobe  of blinding light- Sirens sang in my mind. The room disappeared.  I whispered…

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Observations About Us

Poetry by Maxima, comments closed here.

Maxima

Bring me the horse of Zelenka
waiting for me in the green meadows
among the birds and the elm trees
and the wood pegs fragrant flowers
for I am facing an awesome battle.
I have a passionate love battle awaiting me.
I want her to surrender a world of tenderness,
her warm and beautiful lips.
My imagination and all of my dreams are deserted
on the glorious constellation of her beautiful eyes.
To be hers at sunrise I run along the sand by the sea
where she is the bliss of a playful nymph
adorned in flowers.

I love you my beautiful Angel

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of love and war

Paths of the past  that summon me without consent.

Your winter coat lies where we once lay on the bed of a decaying forest floor.
the silence is hard  as  pounding hooves or soft as the moon rising in your kingdom of stars.

 

Gurkski’s  ” Il me faut t’abandonne”

“Come dusk is when my mind walks out

from where I fence myself in,

my dark room of nightly delights where

I encounter her,  my queen of all things blue

and we fight right from the start

To  make me love her even more.

I place the hands of my heart to gather

my hunting spirit, follow her footprints

into our forests of  love and war.”

( excerpt)

The world is beautiful

The world is beautiful with its splendor of all shades of green and the chirping of black-robed  blackbirds groping about, and  sun and moderately cool air, and inconspicuous pedestrians, meek traffickers of tobacco and booze. After we make love she must get pretty again, while I prepare dinner, we have it with candles and strings that sing us into a warm and mild night. Other times we go to the theatre, opera, concert, café, end up in bars and into her dreams I tell her the night. What I have to offer to her is stolen from books she could read herself if so inclined. How, I think, can anyone stand the boredom of life undrunk?  She bites my ear, but for how long can she play this game? Along my voice reading her novels she glides over posh and fine accents into dreamlands I hum to her. And when she awakes again and again, she expects from her lover to tell her, the world is a beautiful place.

That’s easy for me, as easy as clouds rain down and bees fill their honeycombs and inside warm smiles I nakedly linger into our days. We feed us new life and do not fear death but rather what will make us die. We hurt one another but  we do not abandon us. Together we stay until cosmic symmetries break and make the world whole. As if we as lovers never existed. Your scent on my linens sail away into and out to this beautiful world.

 

Copyright the author writing as Serge Gurkski

 

Die Welt ist schön   (für Holly Rene Hunter)

Die Welt ist schön, sei schön mit ihrem vielerlei Grün, umhertastendem Getschilp der schwarzkuttigen Amseln, ihrer Sonne, ihrem mäßig kühlem Wind, unauffälligen Fußgängern, devoten Schnaps- und Tabakverkäufern. Schön auch wegen der vollen Brüste meiner Geliebten und ihrer Geilheit. Danach muss sie erst wieder schön werden. Ich koche, wir essen, Kerze, Violinen, laue Nacht. Oder: Theater, Oper, Konzert, Café, Kneipe. Ich erkläre, sie träumt, laue Nacht. Es steht, was ich ihr sage, in Büchern. Sie kann lesen, kann Bücher lesen. Könnte. Wie kann man, frag‘ ich mich, ohne Schnaps in dieser schönen Welt ohne Langeweile existieren? Sie beißt mich ins Ohr. Aber wie lange kann sie das durchhalten? In die Nacht gleitet sie an meiner Stimme, die leise aber akzentuiert Schönes, eben: belles lettres, in sie summt, damit sie auf Schallschwingen in ihren Traum schwebt. Und immer erwacht sie und hofft sie, mein schöner Spiegel, dass ich ihr die schöne Welt noch einmal mehr zeige.
Das kann ich wie Wolken regnen und so leicht, wie Bienen Honig in Waben füllen. In ihrer lächelnden Wärme liege ich nackt in den Tag. Wir füttern uns Leben. Zu Scharfes wird nicht serviert. Nicht den Tod, aber was dazu führt ersparen wir uns. Wir muten uns ständig Schmerz zu aber nicht den großen, den Abschied, bis plötzlich ex nihilo Symmetriebrüche die Welt wieder werden ließen. Als wären wir nicht gewesen. Es hing noch ein Geruch von dir und mir im unvertäuten Laken. Das schwob davon. Die Welt ist schön.

copyright the author writing as Serge Gurkski

 

Holly and I were wondering how Man Ray ended up with that name…here’s the answer…

Mystery solved.

Rethinking Life

Man Ray’s family changed their surname to Ray in 1912. Ray was nicknamed Manny but changed his name to Man, and slowly started to use Man RayRay’s father worked in a garment factory. He also owned a small tailoring shop outside his home, enlisting all his children from a tender age.

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We’re Back Party photographs…

Everyone was there and the best part was the poetry slam but Holly was too shy to recite so she just sat in the back snapping her fingers like the old days. ❤

Rethinking Life

Everyone had a wonderful time at the party.  The food was delicious and Holly and Resa’s contributions were greatly appreciated.  Holly gave the chicklets rides on her Harley and they will be talking about that for a very long time.

A tiny pony also gave some of the chicklets rides and the goats were busy taking guests to the Rubber Duck Pond.  There was dancing and chirping and the hatchlings did beautifully on their first time out.  Their poems were lovely and everyone peeped loudly.

The two bats, who arrived as guests, asked if they could live at The Coop.  The answer was yes and everyone was very excited about that.    No one is ever turned away from The Coop.

Today, after breakfast and clean up, the Chicklets will be getting ready for the Big Halloween Party.  Costumes are being made and new games are in the making, as…

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Occultistry

With Mr. Cake’s permission.

Comments are closed here.

cakeordeathsite

Claude Cahun Claude Cahun

Do I need to spell it out for you?
These words of mine are meant
As a spell neither more or less,
A charm to persuade your sweet self
To surrender in absentia and toto,
Give me the power and I promise,
In fact, swear on all that is unholy
To abuse the privilege you
Have so graciously granted, heedlessly,
Recklessly rushing through all
Of love’s myriad delights and mystery,
Imputing a whole lexicon of desire
In the sections of your shadow
Outlined against the bedroom wall,
In the jutting angles of your legs
For I seek the centre, a still point
Where all yearnings will cease
And desist from transmitting
This urgent ungovernable need
To translate the will divine,
This damnable demonic occultistry
That devours yet is never sated.

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