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the "muse" has moved on Lizzy yet the echo rings still: it is the tao of poems and moments and stars.

Hi Mat, I'd like to add a poem to this thread too. I hope that's okay.

The fire that we built becomes it's own. It gobbles up surrounding sounds and words and holds us still in it's warmth. The top log falls. Flame waves upwards. A fleck of ash escapes and dances its way to flesh that once was hidden.

****

If I were a fleck of ash

I would build my home
on that fertile place between
the stream and hills
that once stood so high.

Here I would lie my head
night after night, lulled
by the rhythm of your breath.
The sweet scent of musk

intoxicating my dreams,
carrying me back to when
the stream was a river
we dove into and swam.

Back to your poem

mat james wrote:Orgasm echoing

There's a reptile
in that mammal
you

I have seen the snake-look
I have felt the cold stare
the alone-ness
there

and
one early morning
..beneath the canvass swag
among the sandy stars
among the warm and moist
lip to lip
the hip-lift and groan

of DNA writhing

I heard your erupting
orgasm roaring !
.echoing
..echoing
...echoing

from some reptilian dawn


Mat James

I really liked the line DNA writhing. I had no idea how erotic DNA was.
It fits nicely with the image of the snake-look, very primal.

Your poem fits the thread beautifully, Cate, very romantic and in the place, so to speak: and the intro works a treat.
Add more poems whenever you hear the echo musing forth, or the muse echoing from within. I like the way you have rippled into this thread bringing your own warmth and desires and "longing".

I really liked the line DNA writhing. I had no idea how erotic DNA was.
It fits nicely with the image of the snake-look, very primal.

I saw two tiger snakes "making love" on some sand hills near a coastal lake many years ago. They were "writhing" and they were beautiful and oblivious to my presence. I am pleased you saw the link with the DNA writhing, since dinosaur days and back.

A toast to the muse and its echo
and thanks,
Mat.

A toast to muses, past, present and future.

I saw two tiger snakes "making love" on some sand hills near a coastal lake many years ago. They were "writhing" and they were beautiful and oblivious to my presence. I am pleased you saw the link with the DNA writhing, since dinosaur days and back.

Snakes making love by the lake, that would be something to watch. I can see how that experience would stay with you.

The beginning of life is a beautiful thing - I posted this once before, but I'm afraid my timing was bad and it may have come across as being cheeky. You have to watch through to the end - I know slugs are ugly and yucky things but when they make love they are the most beautiful of creatures.

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xdxbx_ ... ugs-mating

Hi Cate ~

They're difficult to let go of, those slugs, aren't they? I imagine one day you may say, "Oh, how I love you. Will you be my slug?"


~ Lizzy

Wow Cate/Lizzy,
snakes, slugs and slimy sex. There has to be a poem in that mix!

Who is game to write one???

Or an adaptation?

You are my slug, dear
My slimy slug dear
You twist me happy
When I go dry

and so on...

I'm VERY happy to see you here, Mat. Where is Bernard in relationship to the fires? Do you remember where it is that Boss lives?


~ Lizzy

Boss and Burnie are a long way from the fires Lizzy.
As far as I know, all is well with both of them.

The Leonard Cohen concert location I attended 3 weeks ago is right next door (only a few miles away) and I/we drove through that devastated region at that time, and it was beautiful then: Really beautiful! Such a shame.

Thanks, Mat. People have begun to check in now, in one way or another. When it comes to tragedies like this, you just want to know for absolute sure that everyone you know is okay. It's hard enough hearing about those you don't know who aren't.


~ Lizzy

Thanks for the poetry, Cate.
You are something...!

Here I would lie my head
night after night, lulled
by the rhythm of your breath.

Thank you Mat and vise versa

Washed to peace


It is a new morning
out here
by my campfire
and I'm fine now
I'm relaxed
content

the yesterday blues
of my lonely soul
somehow washed my heart
to peace

to not want too much
is the "destination"

I have a feeling of acceptance
akin to not wanting

I look at
the bright green leaves
red, dewy sand
blue sky
...and I feel fresh as this morning.

beer-bubble flights

The pub again;
it was a Friday night of beer-bubble conversations
those golden bursts
that heal a working week.
Some-one came up
and placed his big arm around me
enquiring,
“Remember me ?”
I replied, “No”
so he continued,
“I’m Steven, Steve,
grade 5, remember ?
I remember you Mat,
you were always putting us under your wing
when we needed comfort and I want to thank you.”

...I didn’t know his name
he was new to school today
and in my grade 5 class,
he just stood there crying
sobbing wet
leaning against the wall
of the hand-ball court
while most of my class-mates
teased and taunted,
tormenting him.
I watched for some time
confused.
What pleasure
did they get from this?
Why did he care what these kids thought?
Why did he just lean there,
-caring ?
Why not walk away;
or belt some-one?

I left the line

...where we all wait
for our turn on court

the siren went
I put my arm around his shoulder
we turned for class
and taking hold of his eyes
I whispered, feather-soft,
“Don’t worry about them,
come with me.”
And he did.
His name was Roberto
and I thought he looked like a monkey,
as every-one else did
and that scream of “Monkey Face!”
was their taunt.
I thought that maybe he was from the Amazon
or some jungle somewhere,
where budding Tarzans swing
on vines,
he had the thick curly hair
the swarthy skin
of muscle-toned legs in shorts,
but he was only Italian.

...and the big guy there
and here, among the beer ?
I remembered him now,
awkward kid with clumsy limbs
quiet and on the outer
neither sort-after nor avoided
just there!
And here he was now
full of generous smiles,
personality and grateful acknowledgements,
bigger than ever!
I thanked him for enlightening me
that once upon a childhood
I was a caring and compassionate being.
He bought me a beer,
put that huge arm back around me
feather-soft
and told me of his happy life.

...That beer tasted good
as we soared back
to a little boy with wings.

MatbellybuttongazerJ

Wonderful poem on this Friday afternoon (at least where I am) Mat – thank you.

...I remember a snippet from Jack's 'Leonard as a boy' thread, now you've fleshed it out. Why didn't you stand it in a thread of its own??