fāz/Gypsy Priestess

She has been with me for a very long time, winged animal woman, keeper of the sacred heart, protector of the veil, moonlight jungle hunter, card reader and fire dancer

Her mystery lingers in the air…lilacs, burning leaves, holy copal, sun touched skin, ocean salt on the tongue

This image is a single breath in her eternity, caught and released. The next breath and the next she is not this at all, or this,

or this, or this

I can never know her, and yet, she is all my life.

 

Gypsy Priestess. 18×14. Acrylic on paper on panel. By clinock

 

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Ghosts – Joan of Arc

Seeking sanctuary from the burn

I enter her cold and holy dance,

and am unmasked, and frozen

between unseen armor

and tundric nakedness

as she avalanches

to a purer love.

She moves in fires I cannot enter

and consumes my night in flames.

She pours herself through me,

a radiant and smoldering lava

scorching a charcoal path

on which I follow

her bright beauty.

There is mystery in her conflagration

binding me with smoky tongues

and releasing me in blinding light.

Her immaculate impossibility remains

and I am fused forever

to this sighing ghost

of ash and passion.

painting and poem by clinock

hot tub dance

it was

a torrid tango,

intimate touches

in shimmering heat

and cold blue air.

it was

a racing blood

fandango,

a simmering

amniotic rendezvous.

it was

a sizzling cauldron of

salty wet desire,

a full moon

roiling ocean rumba.

it was all

raw lips and basted thighs,

tangled flesh falling apart,

restless limbs losing ground

immersed and drowning.

it was lines forgotten,

identities scrambled

naked, masked, revealed,

dissolved, fragmented,

whole and healed.

and it was hide and seek

and blind man’s bluff

and catch me if you can

with a stiff oar in a feral sea

dipping and thrusting

through oscillating fluids

in a wavering boat

floating, flooding, rising

bodies liquifying,

spurting like whales.

it was a forming and melting,

a mute transfiguration

lost in translation and found

again under sultry layering

of transmogrified faces.

it was always in flux

through shifting perspectives

of steam where nothing was ever

what it seemed

in the hot tub dance.

drawing and poem by clinock

All credits and an admiring thank you to Steven @  http://poemimage.wordpress.com for the idea and inspiration for the design of this post. You are the Master my friend…

Eggs of Isis

Isis

goddess

burning desire

fecund magic flames

igniting life’s passion

as over and over

 she conjures

surrender

wonder

love

we are

her eggs

her fruitful

full ripe bodies

 fertile  gardens of longing

surfaces penetrating sighing depths

parting hidden veils of loving

 exploring moist heat

soft caverns of fire

exiting

entering

closing

 opening

 opening more

 inviting us to dance

this waltz of birth and death and love

again and again and again

in blood and tears

and laughter

our shells

slowly

dissolving

into

rounded arcs

of light

 

acrylic mixed media painting and poem by clinock.

A Case of You (5)

Sunday Haiku – Between:

everyday magic

she opens between flowers

enchanting this man.

 

you on a blue raft

between blue sky and sea

dressed in blue silence.

 

smushing strawberries

between stained lips and tongue

taste my sweet juices.

 

sweetest summer wine

passed between your mouth and mine

inhaling your eyes.

 

between us tonight

only a sighing of stars

the scent of lilac.

 

embraced between lights

shimmering on waves of sun

exciting the moon.

 

/ art and haiku by clinock /

A Case of You (4)

it is not so long since

you fell away

into unexpected distance

and fragmented silence,

and yet, as in knowing you,

it fills a lifetime.

 

this summer night

wraps me in your absence,

warm and stitched

by wired crows

blackly drawn

on electric staves

scratching empty sky

with torrid blues.

 

dusked and lost

I walk in circles as

you crystallize in me,

a rose between my ribs,

wild surf in my eyes,

brambles penetrating bone,

hot winds across my thighs

and a dislocation

in my reaching hands.

 

I wonder how it is for you

to have me rolling

in your highway head

like a loose marble

in a roaring train;

rattling, tickling, falling

between bare legs

under your clutch,

sounding a different beat

to the radio’s song.

 

this is a space of consequence,

a chant of meditation,

a cello in an empty church,

the long cry of a loon,

howling of ragged wolves

in moonlight

and all the choirs of my heart

calling you home.

 

/ art and poem by clinock /