Edens

Song of Solomon 4:16

“Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.”

A wind bloweth gently

Stirring the hair

At the nape of my neck

Eyes closed I savor the scent

Of musk and spice and Africa

The loam of earth’s origin

Grown in fabled gardens

I await my beloved’s return

For reclamation

Prepared with anointments

Ruddy with ministrations

Fine gold braided in strands

At the secreted entrance

To a private sanctuary

Pomegranates lay heavy on boughs

Cinnamon studded with spikes

Of the finest saffron

Reddened apple bottomed fruits

And succulent peaches

The table set and feast prepared

Let my beloved come and have his fill

Awake fair winds

Bear him to his garden

Stir the petals gently

To release the spicy pungency

Of my ripened fruit

Grown from his careful tendings

Seeded for his palate only

The Art Forbidden

Song of Solomon

3:1-3

By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.

I will rise now, and go about the city in the streets, and in the broad ways I will seek him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.

The watchmen that go about the city found me: to whom I said, Saw ye him whom my soul loveth?

Why did you hide from me

I beseeched you ernestly

In city streets and

Lanes paved wide

Across heaven's horizons

I sought your face

My soul longed for you

Every watchman watched

But none could help me

Find you who I desired

Above the touch of strangers

That I will always shun

By night I dreamed

Of your sweet voice

Calling out to me

Calling me from evensong

In the quietest hour

Twixt now and then

Though in all faith

I prayed without ceasing

I fasted on my knees

I called you by name

But you answered not

Your essence still lingers

Around every memory

Those that keep count

Of us who are alone

Cannot erase the stain of tears

As there is no grace

Sufficient to make an art

Of being one forbidden love

Skin I'm In

Wrinkled and discolored

My skin is stretched to its limit

Of pain and scars

Permanent markers

Of the places you touched me

Gently and softly with tenderness

The bruises on my cheek, my calf

Extend the polar ends of

How my heart was stretched

Into pieces, little pieces

I live behind the kisses

And the promises

Uttered by lips

Disconnected from your heart

Words never meant to be fulfilled

But tasted good

On a practiced tongue

Skin that will not be lied to

Will not be bruised by another

I have no untouched places left

Unburned by your kind of love

This is the skin I’m in

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/inner-child-radio/2011/06/15/the-hump-day-show-with-gail-weston-shazor

I am very blessed to have been a guest on Inner Child Radio.

Please enjoy the broadcast.

NP

Miscarriage

I wake to sweat soaked sheets

Swimming in a angry rage

Purple pool of tears

My senses have bleed out

Onto the bed’s heavy blankets

Abortive pain stains my bed

Gripping the headboard

I try to stand

And find that my knees

No longer work well

Head swimming

Trying to make it to

The hallway bathroom

I fall to the floor

And crawl the rest of the way

Falling over into the tub

I lie on my back

So that I won’t drown

And be found face down

In this amniotic

Flood of love’s tears

© NP 5/21/11

Catching up

I will posting more writes in the days to come.

Thank you for supporting me and following this and my other blog "awordywoman".

NP

You...etheree

In

Each breath

I can feel

Fingers pulsing

Under thin cotton

Making me cup my hardness

Between jeans and the windowsill

I am as stiff as your nipples

And securely hidden by the steam

From my breath outside your bedroom window