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A couple of old poems
Skin
I crawl through your skin
moving so slow, so gentle-
yet deep, deep.
Crawling flames that linger
their touches of scarlet.
Reaching into you
I call your name.
Plunging through your depths of darkness,
I dance with your soul.
A dance of chaos and beauty,
of pleasure and spirit.
I watch your skin glow,
opening, opening up.
And the connection grows.
Feeling your taste linger on my tongue
I drink in your colours,
their hues of light and shadow.
You bathe me as I move,
free to glide with my senses,
free to unblock my pores,
as I open, open to you.
Snow
When will the snow come?
I want to slide down,
and slip, swoosh,
fall and return covered in it.
The powder pure softness,
painful to touch.
Desiring its weird feel
within hands,
numb.
Red like my nose,
like my toes,
despite thick socks
and trusty old wellies
kept hidden away.
Until it snows.
A spontaneous prose piece
Place
Stepping softly, golden-velvet, scented falls of naked feet on leaves that move and sparkle with dew, cool, refreshing, nourishing. That step on sticks, on stones, on earth, close to the source, close to the depths. Within her heart elation bubbles, inside her mind a peace and stillness, held deep to centre, the now of life, a joy in existing, simply. Moving faster, balanced, gentle, sweeping the ground with dancing steps, she nears her special place. Thicket humming strength and solitude, deep green and amber, dark brown and red. Filtered gold as saffron strands playing fern harps, shifting silent beauty. She pauses, gains to peak of swelling wonder, then lightly moves within, kissing the earth with soles and hands and face, shining the river of love.
Lynda Stevens excellent gothic/dark artist, who also has created her own Tarot
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Pondwhelk superb artist, writer and now film-maker