MY LAKE

You might

get to know me

I might

get to know you

Or not

...

No more prisoners

of little ponds

Come swim in the transparent

Waters of my Lake

Where lust is so, so sane

...

It’s not a suggestion

Nor an invitation

This is my contention.

...

Sense my desire

Smell my heat

And listen aroused

To my heart beats

As I approach your ear

I‘ll wrap my legs around you

While we swim

In my transparent Lake

I’ll show you games

In other waters

You’ve never played

This is my transparent

Cool Lake

...

Keep afloat

For with my passion

I can drown you

And so would I

Since I might well

Inundate myself

With my own ardour

...

If we dive

We’ll dive together

If you sink

I’ll give you my hand

If I sink

You can give me yours

And if you can’t

Don’t worry

I‘ll come

Up by myself…

For-after all

This is my Lake.

© Dulce

DRY RAIN

among dry bushes

and yellow grass

not a drop of rain

there walks my girl

a bit on the wane

among thirsty trees

cracked soil and dusty paths

not the slightest breeze

walking my girl to seize

in her wilt she pleads

that the guy comes up

together hand in hand

the rain will show up

like two lovers

running across this land

laughing and kissing

hand in hand

no umbrellas no coats

no need to cover

or look for shelter

running across this land

together hand in hand

© Dulce

55 WORDS

ANOTHER SILLY SITUATION

I've injured my arm
and burnt my hand
while cooking for Frank
I run to answer the phone
And I fell down
I got furious
That's how my voice sounded
He was calling to apologize
for not being able to come tonight
This uncontrolled mare
opened the oven
and got burnt
Silly him
Silly ME.

SIGHING

I sigh.

Gone so soon

As a mere phantom.

I was convinced

By his powers

Of persuasion.

In the nick of time.

Was it real?

Ah! I sigh

And look

At the wilted orchard

Which’s been left

In my heart.

I can’t help it

But sigh.

Should have thought it over

Before letting myself go

Into such a bliss

Damn -I was buttered up.

Hmm- I sigh

Gone too soon

Before dawn

Bad idea

I foresee he won’t

Come back

Ok. Then

I’ll go down and

Pay another visit

To my wide blue Sea

My closest soul mate

For sure It’ll comfort

This solitary woman

And help me gain back

That confidence

That hard-work project

Which assures me

Only Am I essential...

Yes- I guess-eventually

I’ll manage

To heave a sigh

Of relief.

Original painting by Andrew Atroshenko

© Dulce

No More Ideas

Love is the same old story-
I won't take that
Wishes I'll keep still-
No fights
That's vain again
I've run out of ideas
Rejecting and rejected
Loves...
Repeated sights
The sea
The mountain
The sky
I've run out of ideas
It's the same old story
Dry rains
No out ways
It's invalid
It's obscene
Run out of ideas
my friends-
not crazy
not lazy
Just tired
Could make the effort
Or just go to bed
Run out of ideas...
Perhaps
Should give up
for a while
No-I guess
You won't accept that...
You see?
A poem grows
by itself-
It's written
While writing up.

(C) DULCE

BEG NO MORE

Get no sign
From you
I pray
I beg
I cast spells
On you
I pray
I beg
Send out all my wishes
To the air
So that they get
To you
Get no sign
From you

If only all my tears
Could move your soul
That strength
That coldness you show
I still can’t concieve
Why I never give in

Another opportunity
That’s all I need
The chance
To let you
Try my skin
My desire

Another opportunity
Just one
To meet again
Look into each other’s eyes
Have a talk
Set you free
Conquer your sex,
your heart,
your soul…

Just once
and forever
And you’ll see then
Whether you were right
Or not.

© Dulce / Pamela Hanson image.............................HAPPY 09/09/09! Magical number...

Old Lessons

Once a month I like to devote a post to an impressionist artist.This time it goes to P.A: Renoir. My poem of the day was inspired by this video ...And hope you understand....>>> (Please watch first and then read or viceversa!)

Below you can find another beautiful video with some FEMALE NUDE paintings as well.

We were children

Playful, joyful

Lost in innocence

Took for granted

Nothing

Could ever happen

That made our world

Break down…

We were blind with faith

And believed

Nothing

Could ever make us

Get down…

We were growing

Joyful, useful

In the grounds of heaven

We suffered vainly for

Death did not exist

Or was so far away…

Nobody taught us

It could happen

Any day

To anyone…

We grew up

Useful, mournful

When up came despair

Unreason and graves.

One of those times when

We had to accept,

Had to behave

As if nothing from

Our past had

Ever changed

And thus keep sane.

© DULCE

Pierre Auguste Renoir was a French impressionist painter noted for his radiant, intimate paintings, particularly of the female nude. Recognized by critics as one of the greatest and most independent painters of his period, Renoir is noted for the harmony of his lines, the brilliance of his colour, and the intimate charm of his wide variety of subjects. Unlike other impressionists he was as much interested in painting the single human figure or family group portraits as he was in landscapes; unlike them, too, he did not subordinate composition and plasticity of form to attempts at rendering the effect of light.

DOWNUP

Rescued from the well
Reinventing a new soul
Which looks as if cloned
From the one that fell.

Bright gold thread
Makes its way
Through the cloudy shadow
Replete with sounds
She cannot discern.

Cleansed her aura
By the gusts of wind
Soaked by the showery rains
She rehearses on a blind stage
In front of an audience
Which keeps being absent.

On the brisk of drizzling
No longer can resist
She pulls, he pushes off
Resentful and rescued again
From the well-known well
With the help
Of a few pills a day.
.........................................................................................................................................................
© Dulce

Touch My Words

Hear my voice

As a murmur

As the sound of waves

Breaking smoothly

On to the sand.

Feel my skin

As a silky sheet

As a sign of God

As a gifted sin

Allowed only in our land.

Smell my hair

As a perfumed rose

Caressing your body

As I move about

All over you.

Touch my breast

As you admire it

As you have always

Understood the world

Just for us both.

Look into my eyes

As if trying to read

As if you could see

All my serenity

For loving you.

.............................................................................................................................................

© Dulce

REAL LOVE, REAL LOSS

When I look at the four of us
in the photo of my study
my heart breaks a little
because one is no longer here.
Having lost a brother
is the most painful experience
I've ever had.
They say time cures old wounds-
I don't believe it
Cannot agree at all.
Missing him badly
after thirteen months
Quite the same-
as the first day
As the day they told us
Nothing could be done...
But while HE was here
living in misery and despair
At leat I could touch his hands,
Kiss him every day,
Look after him,
Love him and tell him
How much I did,
and do.
I always think
I should have told him
More often, though.
Now I look at the photo
and still cannot believe it
Being absolutely aware
Of this unfair truth
Kills me a bit everyday.

(C) DULCE

55 Words

Lazy Bulls

She is a housewife

and a slave

You see her every day

Washing, hanging,

ironing their clothes

She cooks for them

Shops for them

Cleans their dirtiness

Three grown up sons

And an unpleasant faced husband

I bet they’ve never fried an egg

And wonder how they’d manage

If she decided to set off forever.

By Dulce


Friday 55 Flash Fiction is brought to you by G-man ( Mr Knowitall)The idea is you write a story in exactly 55 words. If you want to take part pop over and let G-man know when you've posted your 55.

My Bed (III)

Bed sharing

Is a serious issue.

Very few do

And after this and that

They are expected

To leave before dawn.

For snoring

And other less pleasant

Noise is not welcome

In my cherished bed.

Only my little child

Is allowed to stay

After a middle-of-the-night

Bad stargaze.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

© Dulce

My BEd (II)

Oh these pillows of mine,
So many tears
Cried on you.
Witness
To all so many frustrations
And sorrows.
So many hugs shared
In compensation
For failures
And delusions.
Oh these pillows of mine,
In the place of the beloved…
Comfortably
Comforting me.
Confident
Of all my inner
And more obscure
Secrets…
-------------------------------------------------------
© Dulce –

My Bed (I)

How fortunate

I realize I am

Lying on my bed

My window shows me

My eternal, unmoving

Neighbour mountains

The clouds

With their curious changing shapes

Move south

Pushed as the wind pleases

Lying on my bed

I look out

And think about

Nothing.

-----------------------------------------------

© Dulce

Original painting by Pauline Adair

TUG of WAR

BAck is the King
Hiding his sword!
You came along with that smile on your face.
You came up with caressing hands.
I came down to your feet.
I thought I’d turned the page,
But the treacherous wind
Pushed it back.
Why do you insist
On this tedious, fatiguing return
To my mind?
Seems I have no wings
To fly away from your image-
My inspiration
For my best love making.
Fed up with this imagination…
Here comes the king!
Why do you insist
On staying where I am not welcome?
Saw you kissing me
Got aroused by your whispering
Why do you insist?
Why do I persist?
I thought I’d turned the page
But it’s open again In the very same place.
Back is the king!
Work and time
Wasted.
Why do I insist?
What the hell brought me
To this never ending condition?
Stuck in another woman's reign!
Do set off with all your troops
Do set out. Leave my land
Vanish away
And let new breezes
Blow in my track.
© Dulce