Showing posts with label mystic women poets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mystic women poets. Show all posts

Sunday, November 25, 2012

from a new series of poems in progress, said Princess Haiku

Leopard Poem 14





Strawberries soaked in

dawn, pale this blood

of a poet. Leopard, I

feed you my veins; a

thrum of sex, you are

unfettered impulse.



Arcane beast, you live

me and I am you. I

see through passage

ways of your eyes and

follow a dusty road into

deep forest shallows at

the river’s edge, where

you drink my soul and I

remember you in

perpetuity.



Leopard of a thousand

stars, I am cloaked in

a sky of rosettes.

Your skin and claws

brined with power and

sated with a savage love.



I slip through cracks of

midnight, where smoke

of frankincense rises in

a ritual dance of self.

You are passion of a

secret hour, a flow of

human blood. A fierce

gift this breath of eternity.

Beware darling, I am

the wild of you.





Diane Dehler

@2012 all rights reserved

Elizabeth Barrett Browning, said Princess Haiku...a poet of love






by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed
And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright,
Let temple burn, or flax; an equal light
Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed:
And love is fire. And when I say at need
I love thee . . . mark! . . . I love thee—in thy sight
I stand transfigured, glorified aright,
With conscience of the new rays that proceed
Out of my face toward thine. There's nothing low
In love, when love the lowest: meanest creatures
Who love God, God accepts while loving so.
And what I feel, across the inferior features
Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show
How that great work of Love enhances Nature's.

Monday, November 19, 2012

Belladonna's Poem to Vladimir



To Vladimir


I am Belladonna a white flower
born to simplicity of petal, my grace
eternal lives within your eyes.
According to laws of nature I fade
yet perhaps a dance can bring me
back each year beneath a full moon.

As the midnight hour draws closer
my fade begins. What sorrow will
this night bring if the beauty of art
cannot transcend the life of a single
perfect woodland flower? Alas, it is
time to sleep and dream of other worlds.
I am Belladonna in full bloom, lush with
beauty under moon. I implore you to
dance and disappear by dawn.

I ask no man to risk mortal soul for me,
and the purity of your dancing light shall
guide me. Memory of your beauty will
be a lantern that I carry as I drift into
darkness where perished beauty and
faded petal dwell.


Diane Dehler
@2012 all rights reserved