by giadancer | Saturday– 8th January 2005 | bhakti, favorites, hope, light, love
We named our anthill The Plymouth,
with a peculiar closed-captioning for shorter people
(and those who excel at limbo).
Remember how we draped, we draped the white lace doily over the top?
It did not mold to our muddy musculature,
but instead, flattered with that peculiar nostalgia,
of etiquette and quite intentional courtship.
In the tide we sat, and peered up
at our droopy, white awning.
We realized
that it would never be the threshold of daisies;
for daisies only remind us of not being petunia,
that is, of not being so small.
No, our deeply carved tunnels are of Oz-like luster,
so they don’t cling to our many-minded legs.
For we really only fit quite haphazardly,
if we fold our legs, up and under,
into an origami crater of make believe.
So, I saw your peach-fleshed fingers
pluck together
the doily cortex. And pull down.
Pulled down our spirulina umbrella onto our hairy heads.
Then, veiled by our innocent mistake,
like just showered kitty fur heads;
we laughed.
We tumbled and turned over as children somersaulting in a pool.
The unknowing delighted us, tussled our hidden hearts into unshackled joy.
And, forgetting about the confines of the love tunnel we dug,
we fell into each other, forgot ourselves in our kittenish pretzel.
Unsalted and doughy is how love
finally saw
the white white sky of blue
expand
into the smoothest doily of protection.
And in our gaze, we slid down, the warm icy slope of recklessness
into the very original white rabbit’s hole
of
impersonal and accurate reflection.
So onto our threshold, we finally fell, lighthearted and fluffy
as doughy, unsalted bunnies.
Visits: 18
by giadancer | Sunday– 19th September 2004 | love, museless, myth
Sweetened lightning leaves streaks
Of your essence on my skin.
Paper memories leave us behind,
Panting, and wrung out of words.
Our future, pivotal and immediate, trusts the moon.
Still, logic betrays beauty with expectation.
Have you ever seen a shooting star
Through the lens of impatience?
Chameleons do not change
For the entertainment of others.
Petition my heart, not as a dying entity, but as renewal.
September 2004
Photograph by Tom Clark
Visits: 136
by giadancer | Friday– 20th August 2004 | artist, dreams, hope, love
Fortuitous berries stain our mouths furry
with Rorschach patterns, behavior fitting
for hedonist artists, derisory
and eating less until at last quitting.
Naughty plans release our minds from pining
for cream with our plate of appetizing words
for freedom from our elaborate stages,
for our way out of archaic attachments.
Springy noodles bounce out of the sky
into my motor center, and you know where from there.
You’re digesting them now; eat your fill.
To please me, to please yourself if I dare.
Dare ensnare, enlist you to my side
of this fanciful life second we get.
Come play with me, give yourself latitude
to be and not care, to care so so much.
The moon will bring you to tears.
Gigantic phrases energetically tease me,
flying by my apartment window in boldface fonts.
Subliminal by daylight, brazen by night,
they scream: “Write, write, write!”
My fishing net lays limp by my side;
but I refuse to trap them, to box them into my mind.
I’ll let them fly free to flap off their meaning
and drench my neighbors with their passion globs.
My miniature ledged Buddha goddess turns her head
away from me to wave control goodbye.
I think I do, too. But freedom keeps getting bigger.
Just when my notion of flying becomes unreal,
I die again and rebirth into more sky.
Only dregs give understanding of bliss.
I did not know you then,
but still I met you for an unexpected rendezvous
outside of pure chance, and inside of self-actualization.
And in between, life happened, struck me love.
I’m an eagle-watcher, go-getter, Earth Mother,
more feline than femme, mirage than mate.
Visits: 12
by giadancer | Monday– 2nd August 2004 | bhakti, favorites, hope, love, musing
The tide has changed the color of my sleeves!
Are you familiar with merry-go-rounds? Neither am I.
Do you know why the earth moves beneath us??
It’s just that yesterday wasn’t my birthday.
Not that I would care; but things are different now.
The spaces are filled with a different kind of icing.
That sparkles and sweetens the spackling for sponges.
Sponges soaked many times over by learning, sex and woes,
And shriveled most recently, into disguise and forgetting,
Masses of calcified promise.
Wrung out into the immensity of universal pores,
Drained into every passing glance,
Sinking the curious many with wetness. Transcendent and fortifying.
But alas, the sponges live and spawn and giggle again,
Like unschooled fish, naughty caviar spread on aristocratic crouton rounds.
Feeling pregnant. Eating pepreroncinis by the jar. And grapefruit by the ladle!
What? In love, you say?
With who? With what and how?
You’re playing mind games with yourselves again, silly voyeurs.
Leave the sponge to her she-mania.
She’s not alone; you needn’t worry anymore.
Visits: 19
by giadancer | Thursday– 20th May 2004 | absurdist, love, musing
Tumultuous tar pits ease themselves
into the disguise formerly known as “your anus.”
Do not tempt me; I will go there.
You’re so old that you’ve still got
the hard taco on the outside.
Just wear your diaphragm and a helmet;
your prominent jugular won’t get in the way, I promise.
An Indian nugget has deposited itself
into my overnight bag.
This is the last thing I need,
another pesky Hindu barging
its way into my consciousness.
Popsicle dreams never disappoint me.
I am a muse in disguise.
A bed of nails will do me just fine;
ascension will be my ultimate tribute.
Human beings are such cowards!
You may scoff at me. You may.
But others will not.
The natural order will reveal itself-
as not existing.
Do not please me, I refuse to be pleased.
It is not within my scope to accept mercury.
The last time we do it
will be just as the first, a medieval paradise.
Give me nuts and seeds;
let my vegetation do its glory.
Rate of Change = Rate of Loving
Do you see this?
Do you see me?
Do you love me?
May 2004
Visits: 70
by giadancer | Friday– 2nd April 2004 | absurdist, jazz, language, love
Homemade juxtaposition sauce
with sizzling sirloin lizards
on a side of soft shell spankings.
Roast prime devil, venous green salad,
subdural hem-sho; beatnik don’t know.
Meet you in your room at half past
pluming pummels. Plum-laced perfect!
Visits: 100
by giadancer | Monday– 29th December 2003 | bhakti, light, love, myth
We have lived and loved
from the privacy of our reserve,
that reactive space
just above the surface.
We inhabit the physical place
but abide by the passions
that govern ancient spirits
afar.
In the playground of the knowers,
the lovers, the givers;
we are creators,
the authors of life,
monkey-barred minds
and sea-sawed hearts
with sandy-floored souls.
Fueled by sensation,
we are those to whom
fear is only a myth,
a story told by
the Others.
Photograph by Gia. Vindhyachal, India
Visits: 48
by giadancer | Friday– 24th October 2003 | bhakti, favorites, love, sensuality
I wake up to you, my everymorning brew,
the image of your heated arms.
I tumble into sleep for you, my eternalnight pacifier.
I thirst for you, my essential soul fluid.
I eat only enough to glide back into your safekeeping
so I have room to devour your love
each and every precious moment I am granted,
for your presence to enlighten,
handfeed my creative pony.
My mane obscures your process,
keeping it behind stained glass
and just distanced enough
to satiate my always illusion of not knowing.
You substantiate my essential mythology,
giving of your ashes as fuel
with your purpose.
I meditate upon you
that is, to God, to the surrender of the universe
and all that is my truth beauty, that is ours,
and which is sought for by all,
and naught to be attained.
It cannot be, in living or dying;
the oneness of us it not to be understood,
but to be cherished, by all that is good.
It is in simplicity that I love you.
The only way that I can.
More and more through every molecule.
Feign acquiesce
for you, my essential soul fluid.
I eat only enough to glide back into your safekeeping
so I have room to devour.
Photograph by Anderson J. Gonzalez
Visits: 20
by giadancer | Thursday– 19th June 2003 | favorites, jazz, kama, love, sensuality
Winding nights of life infuse our burgeoning blood
with confounded needs and unfounded insecurities.
A neat titration yesterday,
dripping sapphire desire into fidele base.
Tonight magenta clouds bubble through
my cylinder, begging for mutation, for your beaker of molten jazz
to saturate, adulterate, reiterate our implicit bondage.
June 2003
Painting by Randall Paul O’Rourke
Visits: 49
by giadancer | Sunday– 29th December 2002 | hope, love
I.
We have each traded ourselves in
for the other.
Seeming to fulfill the dense plot of desire
that we continually harvest,
the perennial property of our existence.
II.
Do not love me, for you do.
Disengage the affording branch
from my corridor
and plug it into your own.
Reintroduce your ambition to its origin.
Here it may meekly dip only one trait in
(but permit practice sessions).
III.
You are being beckoned now.
Your old self of reality
screams through me.
Breathe yourself in;
I know that you see me
and think that you love me.
In fact, you do.
But the love for your soul
must thrive in harmony,
strengthening each individual love.
IV.
We are one.
And previously, as two,
we found ourselves, alone and connected.
Brief brushes often maybe, at times,
even now; elemental brilliance is still possible.
Merely, understandably, in hiding.
Don’t you think,
that sometimes, we should all just live
from within the masquerade?
Like it is a masquerade.
(For it is.)
Here, we star in our own plays
allowing ourselves to be playwright
by entitlement and luscious capability.
Ultimately culpability, I know!
V.
Will you join me in the forest of decadence?
Wear your costume of true self.
Not the daily duds of conformity
that we have become so accustomed to,
but those that exude
the exuberance which draws.
VI.
This game is not for them; it’s ours.
Shear your landscape
into the most outrageous design imaginable.
Curse the censor;
fold him up into his can.
VII.
I cannot fall in love with you anymore
as I repeat every three beats of my heart.
And yet, I will.
Regardless, bubbles do brew and tumble
voluptuously, so far from our union.
Stop scrutinizing!
Encouraging eruption, minus becoming,
will not.
VIII.
Just take the swell of the storm
into your body
and simply allow yourself to become it.
Feel that you will lose yourself;
and there, sitting divine and naked,
you will find yourself.
And meet the one that I love.
Visits: 133
by giadancer | Wednesday– 6th November 2002 | favorites, kama, love, sensuality
In our decadent cradle of human entwinement,
I find my release from worldly things.
Your entrance opens the gates of ecstasy
as you probe my deepest cavity,
surging your life force into me.
I see nothing tangible-
Only the mythical creatures
swirling around us,
splashing us with brilliance.
Shifting shadows of spiritual forms
that merge with us.
In darkness and in light.
I hear nothing audible-
Only the primal moans that emerge from our depths
and the coursing of blood;
Mine, yours, the heavens.
My senses edge into that new dimension
Unattributable to the orbs
Unattainable by mere orifice.
I taste myself on your lips
and with your essence heating my breath
I plunge my tongue into the wetness of your mouth,
thrusting into it as if it was my own flowing chasm.
Our sex combines into an irreplicable elixir,
my tongue becoming its own entity.
It seems to think,
that it can meet your very soul.
Yes, my own slithering snake begs,
like my writhing body,
for your all-encompassing ofference.
I have taken you into me
As my self-devouring need dictates.
I cannot resist the carnal abandon.
I am hopeless in the face of your love.
and if you dare set your fiery gaze into me,
the final wall will crumble into the wayside.
I am yours
I am yours, throbbing as I do
Only for you.
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Visits: 17
by giadancer | Monday– 10th June 2002 | love, sensuality, travel
The kingdom divinely promised,
centuries before my conception,
for twenty-two years, appeared
only as a shadow invitation–
bewitching, through smoke walls
and silken mirrors.
Ropes of gold led the way
loosely fashioned about my wrists.
Threads of knowledge, taste, and experience–
each spun for the purity
of its own vital fabric.
Churning emotions arouse
internal tides, awash
with yearning.
The wonders I have seen,
and unearthly pleasures tasted
weigh heavily on my soul,
the soul of the seeker.
So said, perpetually in flight
until she dips her soul in Paradise.
Coated with trembling ecstasy
in the least expected of days
a land of treasures,
a man of pleasures.
Oh, the magnanimous announcement,
generally reserved for chartered ears.
Here, now erect, it portrays us.
It betrays us. It’s the continents again.
We are battered
but ultimately unshaken
by the chattering of the masses.
Unafraid to forage twisted foliage.
That winding verbosity of
two strands that lay together
awaiting cerebral rejection
but instead finding spiritual unification.
If the latter is to be,
our two life forces will fold into each other.
Becoming twisted
into
the tango of soul.
Visits: 16
by giadancer | Saturday– 16th February 2002 | kama, love, museless, myth
Fantasies of those lips,
the mouth of that Bedeviled Creature,
have sustained my cravings
since their Leonine Inception,
when the Twins brashly recognized their destiny,
but Artfully Reserved this prized knowledge.
Seasons have passed.
In which a Millennium of Addictions has prevailed,
all in pursuit of that Consummate Intoxication
that those lips once promised.
Tales of Debauchery and reckless abandon
tread on the heels of the Mythical Beauty.
but to the dismay of her suitors,
her Fate was sealed long ago
by those Exquisite Lips.
Although those lips never dared
indulge in the Savoriness of your Lovely
since pre-conscious restraint once dominated;
the Haunting Images of such Union
refuse persuasion to vaporize
from my Enduring Imagination.
Sultry scenes in which
those lips, your Lips,
become my Portal to Oblivion-
my eternal Pass to Ecstasy.
For within Those Lips
Lives the vital flesh
of my Undying Devotion.
If Only slick with my dampness,
that tongue would be our Rebirth,
our revival into a world
of Unfathomable Love.
Visits: 22
by giadancer | Tuesday– 19th December 2000 | favorites, kama, love, seduction, sensuality
Slowly and deliberately
Passes my tongue over your psyche.
Across bridged minds
Lust may swiftly pass.
Sneaking devil grins and blushing blunders
Purports the cages of formality
To fade.
What magnificent actors!
We liars accepting passionless blows.
Building careful yellow castles
Encrusted with self-made mendacity.
I am begging: beware.
Low tide is forever a mere transience.
An incessant oscillation,
Incapable of anymore
Than soothing and smothering,
Stifling cell by cell.
The drift of endearment
May spare the foundation.
But even so,
Incontinent granule walls
Crumble beneath shattering moans.
Seize the vital cliffs!
Their swollen pools agitated
By the daunting images
Of your luscious locks
Ravishing my being.
In want of a core violation,
An opening of long ago cloaked wounds.
Washed over
Into muddy pools of mortification;
Retreat.
December 2000
Photograph by Anderson J. Gonzalez
Visits: 59
by giadancer | Friday– 3rd November 2000 | language, love, sensuality, sonnet
Manipulate me with subtle language.
Embrace it, divulging the prosaic lie
Lingering on the salty summer ridge-
the carnal threshold searing from my thigh!
A warm serpent burrows inside my mind
As it lights a fire, caressing the strait.
Imploring breaths cajole a willed grind
Dripping fire into the rivets we create.
Along a lethargy of meaning, to
A snarled torrent of scurrilous bliss.
It unfolds unto jaded veins anew,
Seeping out in blankets of catharsis.
The coupling of such drives echoes the heartbeat-
As the fate which offers not vista retreat.
Visits: 24
