There is a void
In this room
A starkness
In space
Since you left here
With none
To replace
Your smile
Your charm
You static disarming whisper-like breath
Your verses
Of passion
Your sensuous jest
Your pear golden eyes
Now the world looks like less
Than it was
Than it is
A place that once fizzled
Is flaccid and drib
You stripped it all down
It all went away
A life that was full
Now echoes in grey
But not for not wanting
A lovelorn departing
Without ever quite leaving
Me safely from you
Still tied to your words
Your lips where they’d sit
The kisses between them
The silence of split
The bare walls around me
The vacancy sign
The murmur of nothing
This cube
This nude shrine
To you
And to us
Or at least what I thought
And what should I do with a heart under lock?
I shall stow it inside
This now empty box.
Poetry
Ripe Hearts
Pear trees,
and sunshine,
whispering willows,
and pussy willow pillows.
Kissing you
underneath
the falling blossoms
of breezy cherry trees,
whimsical and pink,
like my cheeks,
warm with the heat of
adoration divine.
Your love feels like
cool, crisp juice,
quenching, refreshing,
apple, peach, plum.
Lips are red,
full of blood,
engorged like
sweet, summer strawberries.
I fall onto
the lush green
of a grassy hill
and gaze up at a
canopy of color,
like a shading,
shadowing umbrella
made of tiny green leaves
swaying gently in the sky.
The warmth of you,
like the warmth of sunlight,
covers me as you cover me.
My toes still cool in the air.
As you touch
soft hands to my
soft white tummy,
I fill up again.
Filled with feelings,
I smile and sigh.
A warm breeze wafts by.
The leaves overhead
sound like the ocean.
The grass is cool
beneath us.
The sun is warm
above us.
Our arms and legs
wrapped up like
grape vines
on a fence of
faith and trust.
You kiss me again.
Your kiss is so sweet,
sweeter than
Queen Anne cherries,
more like
mandarin oranges.
Heaven above,
how I love
the taste of
your warm
and juicy
passion fruit kisses.
8/2000
Gypsy Prism
Spirit adorned in ribbons gold and blue
A penchant for breathless devotion
Steady in their wanton motion
Fueled by desires of royal equity
Spread across the layman’s alter
Bread and mead as rich as wine and cheese
Never feeling so alive
As when inside the midnight scape
The hearts and drums that syncopate
Driving us into the night
Where drink and rest intimate
Caravans of wood and wheels
Draped in satin
Trimmed in steel
Unfinished edges
Frayed and dancing in the wind
Like the long lean limbs of lover’s sin
Poured along sun darkened skin
Cloaked in shadow
Flickering
Ignited by the flames of fires all around
The sounds
Of merriment and passion
Rising to the skies
In wafting chants from those who worship both the spirit and the eyes
And from these embers
Our souls do rises
To meet with greatness and demise
The swift existence that is ours
Played out in song
Upon the flesh
Up toward the stars
With etherial earthbound dancing
Written 6/13/14
Inspired by “The New Gyspies” photo series by Iain McKell.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/evelyne-politanoff/iain-mckell-gypsies_b_936297.html
Empty Hands
Empty hands…
Starting over…
The car is crashed,
the chips are down.
I look around
and see no survivors,
a smoking gun,
and a dangling toe tag
with my name written in red,
the killer and the killed,
the leader and the misled,
a blood blurred vision
of memories swiftly fading,
stars bursting
into darkness,
silence, peace.
I sleep
just below the surface of responsiveness
waiting for the wounds to heal,
the smoke to clear,
the taste of gun powder
to dissolve.
Slowly a thirst
for sanity,
a will to live,
to move beyond the nightmare
tears
falling on the table
smashing, crashing
like the windshield,
like the handful of chips
that put me all in,
like my skull against the bullet…
and there is nothing here now,
nothing left of me
but skin and sin and
a past to learn or burn from,
and a conversation I am sick of having with myself.
I sit now
nude
staring at my
empty hands
and I realize
that I am starting over.
(2010)
Aries Girrrl
(Explicit Language Warning)
Orange for fire,
And green like a meadow.
Roll up in my grill
And I’ll cut you –
I’m metal.
I’m monster.
I’m proud –
With my crown in the air
And my feet on the ground.
I’m the chosen
Defender,
Both regal
And horned.
I threaten you once –
Consider you warned
That I’m patient
I’m peaceful
I’m a pretty nice gal,
But fuck with my herd
And I’m taking you out.
‘Cause this is my mountain
And these are my sheep,
And I’ll ram you right off
If you muck up the peace.
So come, sit, stay, love,
Enjoy,
And enlighten.
But do let the rack here
Remind you whose titan.
Satyr
I see you there –
Dancing
Wild in the life you’ve created
And kissed by the gods
Who designed you
To reflect the beauty
Of their loves
And in their dreams,
A vision brought forth
From a womb of creativity,
Cradled in perfect imagery,
And careening unchained through the earthly fantasies
Of Olympian kings.
Robust and on fire,
Dionysian kin
Compelling me
In life, and art, and sin.
Warm in the sun
And hot on my skin
You give rise to the restlessness within.
An Ampelos to my divining,
A promise of miracle
And intoxication,
A seduction so complete
It lifts the souls
Off their feet –
They go stumbling helpless toward your gaze.
A gift unto me –
A river that flows
Melodically,
Flutes and horns
Of wine and songs,
An orgy of the senses
That plays on my defenses,
Pulling me down to kneel
On my pedestal
Which you have provided.
And so I raise you up,
Like Krotos to the stars.
This muse mused by you –
A king
Crowned in vine
And thrown in skin,
A whisper of the way things might have been
If you and I
Were “you and I” –
But sadly, we are naught,
As you have yet
To come
To me.
There
I’m there
In a dream
Where I am free
Free to love
Free to breathe
Free to lose
Myself
In you
Who is there
To rescue me
From here
And bring me there
To the dream
Where I’m free to dream
But nothing more…
But nothing more.
Jill-Arcangela Mancuso 
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