A Word from the Editor Lover’s Tattoo by Daniel de Cullá Melting Point of Love by Suzanne Bailie I touch your lips with mine by John Tustin Anniversary Poem, Year 5 by Barbara Ruth As I sit here waiting… by Adrian Ernesto Cepeda Best Fictional Lovers (according to me) My Eternal Muse by Trico J. Lutkins Art by Chris Fowler First Commission by Trent Kannegieter Numbers by Lynn White The Landscape Impossible by Jay Helmstutler Novels to Read about Love and Lovers Our Little Talks by Meghan Victoria Cleave by Barbara Ruth Lover’s Ecstasy by Daniel de Cullá Art (Searching for the door that Surfaced) by Bill Wolak My Secret Gift by Suzanne Bailie She is an angle by John Tustin Famous Lovers As flour dust powders all over her skin by Adrian Ernesto Cepeda The Breath of Romance by Vincent Spada
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Tangled by Andrew Scott Erotic – ΕΡΩΤΙΚΟ by Dr. Kapardeli Eftichia Love Song Sing Anyway by Barbara Ruth Anthem by Trent Kannegieter Pairing by JD DeHart Inextricable by JD DeHart I miss your odd little feet by John Tustin Book Review Love – ΕΡΩΤΑΣ by Dr. Kapardeli Eftichia Leaving by Lynn White Didgeridoo by Suzanne Bailie The radio signal is her only guide by Adrian Ernesto Cepeda For all of these years by Meghan Victoria Credits
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– Two people in a romantic and/or sexual relationship outside of marriage.
I started this magazine for the lovers among us, the hopeless romantics… The ones who watch a movie like Titanic and go… Ahhhhhhhhh…
If that is you, then you will LOVE this magazine. I want to share poetry, stories and art with you that will make you go weak in the legs. I want to look at movies, review books. I have many ideas!
Musae P Adumbratus Editor
www.mpapublishing.co.za
LOVERS’ TATTOO By Daniel de Cullá He dreams the first Lovers‘Tattoo Throwing up Venus‘ Mountain From his girl friend -Oh, a man penetrating her tattoo He thinked Trying to get closer to dome Kissing her labial lips As bees the flowers with sun. When he moved into the vulva The scene dissolved Like a little volcano Cold for as long As then suddenly And tattoo back off. -Here is where we are born She said.
Melting Point of Love Suzanne Bailie Alone, I would savor a bittersweet treat. One, small square I would allow myself anymore, somehow seemed obscene. But you, enchanting imp, crept in feeding me droplets of affection. You filled my caverns of despair with sparkling hope and dreams of delight. Continent shifting aftershock brought me to my knees. Now, with you, I rip away this gold wrapped foil offering all its lusciousness to you. I thrill to know the pleasure you‘ll feel when I rest this square, silken brown luxury, on your pink tongue. My heart beats unashamed for your sensual delights. Brain lobes to ear lobes. Nose tip to finger tips. Breasts to belly button. Your creamy arched waist to your dainty arched instep. For I am enraptured beguiled. I long to explore the melting point of chocolate the melting point of, you. Hearts fused our beats syncopated in smoky jazz notes whirling swirling together a melody made, of two. Side by side and intertwined we sway in this mahogany bliss. You‘re my cacao my cocoa butter my, sweet forever.
I TOUCH YOUR LIPS WITH MINE John Tustin I touch your lips with mine: It is a mixing of colored paints As they splash seemingly haphazard On our canvas faces.
Delicate strokes at first: Soft, pliant, thorough. The tempo rises, the brushes flail, As we try to fill our empty cloth of night With every conceivable color at once. But there is a plan there: A plan to rise and fall and daub With fervor and vigor And breathless ease Until we are finally spent, Entwined and in repose, Glowing as we marvel At our latest masterpiece. It is as perfect As all of the others before it.
Anniversary Poem, Year 5 Barbara Ruth I love you for your curly words, the bones of your wrists, the first time you kissed me, for taking my side, buying all the Coconut Bliss in the store, that time it was on sale, for all the names you invent me.
I love our fingers wildly dancing and also when they fall asleep against our tender palms. I love your hands brushing the cat, even though I’m jealous.
I love you for the movies, laughs and books the beaches on 17 Mile, the way you ask me to sing while you drive the way we stretch
the way we reach
each other.
I love you for our secret secrets, and how you listen to my stories one more time again.
I love you for the way you harbor me and for your curly words.
As I sit here waiting… Adrian Ernesto Cepeda ―You are like a secret that I don‘t dare think about too often for fear it will go away.‖ — Anne Sexton What would you say? What if I wrote you an imaginary kind of love that doesn‘t even exist between us? Poems about your long silver hair, hanging over your tight cerulean blouse clinging just right above your even tighter more slender blue jeans. I could Yellow Silk these Poems, would you know if I was undressing you with my innermost lines? As I sit here waiting? What if? Before pressing down, picturing you unbuttoning inside this elevator see my reflection as the arrow directs me to the bottom floor taking me away from you again? Staring at my lyrical canvas wondering, should I continue clicking my pen, to show that my ink will always remember you and our make believe encounter and dare to keep fountaining lyrical snapshot and moments our lips will never dare. As my pen remembers your face— My lover might just feel your stanza presence speaking volumes on my secret page; What if I wrote you Love? Poems? Maybe compose them a little softer as my tip gently grazes lines demanding they become words spoken—recited, imagine unzipping as I slide down blue jean kisses over your flesh, licking every giggling wrinkle, picturing how you taste so young. Even as these internal verses, ignite flickering pretending the loudest
sparks, I could never dare speak your name so silently, if I did the whole world would feel the stuttering desire, beating— as I‘m elevator waiting, in between the arrows of my unassuming tongue?
Best Fictional Lovers (according to me) Romeo & Juliete
Stefano & Elena & Damon
Morticia and Gomez
Wall-E & Eve
Noah & Allie
My Eternal Muse By Trico J. Lutkins I watch her from over the arm of the couch. Seated there. Reading one of the countless novels she owns. Librarian classes perched on her face, making me wish I had some overdue books. She sips her Coke. In that moment, I‘d give anything to be that can, to touch those lips. Her legs outstretched to the floor creating curves like a sports car, I just can‘t help but notice. I wonder what great deed I had done in a past life to be so blessed as to be married to such a beauty. Had I defended the weak and down-trodden against an army? Had I saved orphans from a burning building? No, I just had to make her laugh.
By Chris Fowler
First Commission By Trent Kannegieter I thought I had everything Until you stepped into my life And your potent, wondrous aura Shattered everything but you. For the first time in my life, I am at a complete loss for words. So, I apologize, in advance, If I lose my trademarked eloquence to basic butterflies For never before have I written About one who means so much to me. I must admit; this isn't my first attempt. I've tried before to fathom your distant majesty. But I could never reach your towering heights With merely my humble words. But still, you ask why I'm so obsessed with you, But you would never need to ask If only you'd look around And see all the rules I'm breaking just to say hello... I guess... What I'm saying... Is it's a shame I found you here, Where they'll never even begin to comprehend What makes you feel so trapped... I guess, what I'm saying, Is it's a shame I met you now, When a day earlier, I could've taken you away And a day later, I would be far more worthy to. However, it seems that shameful happenstance Has morphed into my greatest blessing,
Because it's that same mundane moment That catapulted us together. I guess what I'm saying... Is I've never met a mind like yours, Which, from flirting to philosophy, Will never cease to inspire a new topic, Or push me to my limits, Just to make you smile. I guess what I'm saying Is that you're magnetic. And that every motion, every word, Enthralls me and drags me ever deeper into your spell. I didn't know I was falling Until it was far too late to undo the damage And I spent days in absolute agony All because I craved your ecstasy But through fever dreams and midnight screams I learned to accept the fear of the fall And ever since I've given my all Trying to convince you of the same I guess what I'm saying Is that it's been hard for me too, Knowing I could lose you any second All the while knowing That in my arms is where you belong... I guess that I'm saying Is that you drive me to the brink of sanity, One step away from my wildest dreams One mistake away from a living nightmare Forcing me to wake up to 5 needy texts Or wait up all night for nothing at all And somewhere down the road I've realized that every step I take in our passion play Endears me to you even more. I find myself writing for you all night Just to give you a poem before you leave And I know you say you're using me,
But you're my first and last commission, So, if that is the case Just promise me you'll never stop. I guess what I'm saying Is let's fall in love, mind and spirit. Let's take whatever this is and give in And leave the rest behind. And I'm saying that I know it's scary But if this has taught me one thing, It's that sometimes you have to take a dangerous leap To really fly free. I can show you incredible things. And I know this isn't good enough. Mere words never will be. But that won't stop me from trying, Spending hours scouring our messages If only just to get lost in them again. What I'm saying is I want nothing more Than you and your beautiful soul, my love. Thank you for letting me into your heart.
Numbers Lynn White by
How many times have we had this conversation? I don‘t know. I‘m not good with numbers and neither are you. Probably, it‘s the same number of times as we‘ve promised not to have it again. I‘m not very good with promises either. And neither are you.
How many times have we made a decision, a final decision, that has convinced us? Probably never, as we‘re still having this conversation. I‘m not very good at decisions either. And neither are you.
Life has become too complex for us and the numbers don‘t add up as we‘d like them to. We want to stop at two, but there are other numbers in between.
So, our numbers keep on adding up to nothing. Nothing except conversations and promises that we don‘t want or believe in. And are unable to end.
THE LANDSCAPE IMPOSSIBLE By Jay Helmstutler
And I, one last night here in my hometown; and you, one last morning there in yours. And yet at attention, watching you slumber, and guarding your sleep, the ghost of me: some painter of your position, and where he‘s always stood, and studied, and wanted to be, and fast at work on some great masterpiece. And for once recording the light instead of the darkness, as he must in order to capture the peace of your room, and the shadow of the dawn against those features, and upon those magnificent limbs. And his paintbrush, drowning in deficiency; and his vicious, silent rage at the failure; and a mirror, cross the room, giving him reason to quit at once and at last, and to join your body in bed. And then, remembering the chance he‘d enjoyed, and altogether forsaken, so that he could arrive at this scene, finding the motivation to complete his design, that impossible landscape of legs and stomach, shoulders and face. And, imagining the flutter of your eyelid, immediately recognizing the ignorance of your pupil; and turning to escape that ignorance, and with his depiction, before you can force his exit. He leaves you asleep or awake. And then he returns to me, and shows me that painting; and I fight the temptation to curse it, and to curse him, for having captured in vividness what I could never with the blacks and whites of my own exhausted words. And his confessions, thoughts similar to mine, of joining your body in bed; of the moments, or hours, or even years with your flesh-canvas, without painting, but with his tongue-brush producing a dynamic art nonetheless; and of hearing your pleasures forthwith, and having such songs with you nearly often, and
finding a way to flourish, even sexually, and without regret; these descriptions, conjoining in battery, never cease to yield the dark and orgasmic spasms which rob me of sleep but bless me with the twisted fictions I have not endeavored to live without. My ghost often turns, after a hard night‘s labor, to escape these dreamscapes, and with his sanity still. He leaves me asleep or awake. And I, yesternight or two dawns past, stood against the window of my room, which opens toward the street and its falsehood glare; and the lights, unnatural, drew upon my own unnaturalness, and I could see what I could have become with you as I stood with my own nakedness. And I saw that my ghost was nowhere in sight, and yet he was with me, ready to paint your slumber again, but to never himself sleep. And there I forced a fantasy that could prove my standing as a normal man, or even as a boy with average affection; for that is how I could offer myself to you, and the only way that you could accept me. And in that reverie, we lay together apart, and I could sense my imperfections conforming to a catalyst‘s demand. And your skin against mine triggered an ancient mortality, and some impossible escape from morality. And as I saw the night giving way, and felt a vividness within me, and knew your sleep to be trembling as it always would, I looked to the ghost who had once parted from me; and he painted us as we lay, and I feigned something called rest. And I winked at him, and for a moment we traded places, and he lay in the bed with you against your knowing. And I studied his expression and thought he‘d found death; so violent was his breathing that I offered him that place, forever and beside you, since he had defined your insides and outs with neither a paintbrush nor words. He had earned you, so I had surrendered. I left him asleep or awake. So this is the vantage point of my hometown: a room in some hotel along some familiar street. But I can‘t see the world since having closed the blinds; and I haven‘t seen you since my own sweet reverie. So one last night here; and you,
one last morning wherever you are. And my ghost between us, beside you or locked somewhere in the madness that is my memory; and painting of your position, and standing where he always will, studying and steadily working to capture you. Or lying with you, at rest and in the peace of that room, or merely feigning sleep and waiting for the finer painter, who has proven the more deserving of your masterpiece. I will often wonder how I could forsake that chance at normalcy for the nothingplace where I have ended. But the worthy artist, the man with less morality, and who would trade his obsessions and even his art to lay with you but for an instant, should always accept my decision to offer him my place with you; and he should do so without much argument. He is a part of me, a ghost, perhaps, and so I can know of his discovery of what I thought to be death, and know of his feeling at the instant of our transaction, at the moment I move from your bed. He has defined you, and thus earned you; and so I have surrendered. And, leaving him, asleep or awake, but knowing not which, I can open the blinds and see what lands I know, and know of familiar places, and even pretend to run through you. And then, returning at times opportune to the landscape impossible of legs and stomach, shoulders and face, having memorized a painting on the wall of you and I, together.
Novels to Read about Love and Lovers
The classics are always a winner – like pride & prejudice but new ones are just as great (links in credits to authors websites)
Our Little Talks Meghan Victoria
"You look like monday mornings.." "You look like sunday nights.." "You look like you come with warnings, babe" "You're one giant warning sign.." "You look like a music note mixed in with useless rhymes.." "And you look like a writer that has wasted too much time.." "You look like you never tried to keep your pen from running dry.." "Well.. you look really high" .. "I feel like you must love me.." "I feel you must be wrong, I feel like I've denied myself those feelings for too long.." "They must be gone.." As time ticks on.. "You look more broken than before.." "And you look like my heart, alive and walking out the door.." "Darling, of course.. you look so harmless when you're sleeping" "And you look like I love you enough
that this is almost worth me keeping.." "I feel so weakened." "Are you thirsty from this heat? You look like you lack energy.." "You look like you lack synergy and mystery and chilvary my bittersweet bad company.." "You look just like that change I need.." "You're the wave that knocks me off my feet.. Shall I say a prayer whilst on my knees? You look so far away from me.." "Your reveries tear at my seams as if my heart could stand to speak.. you're words are harsh and bleak in beat.." "But babe, you wrote that beat for me.." "I can't write what I can't see" "Your love must be pure subtlety.." "Like a puddle that's six inches deep.. ..but I still believe my mind can dream, and you're the sunday I can get some sleep.." "You're every day of every week." End.
Cleave Barbara Ruth Cleave a verb intransitive: to hold together to attach, adhere becoming one as in marriage. Cleave a verb transitive: to split asunder to fissure, fracture becoming two as in marriage. It‘s in our chemistry the same as rocks or stars: our molecules embrace, then as we transform they fly apart.
Does quartz resist rutile‘s bold intrusion? Does copper wish that manganese was malachite? Do sodium and chlorine lick their lips as they anticipate their union?
Another life form may have charted us already set out places at the periodic table in a house we cannot see: it is not given us to know.
Come here cohere because of this, our natural attraction. Go back detach because of this, our natural division. Through it all, and through it all we cleave.
LOVERS’ ECSTASY -Daniel de Cullá This place, this time, this way Oh, that place It’s just where one feed the wind. Walking to the river The lover girl with eyes and heart in center Her body with smoke and desire Goes to find one place where she And her lover friend stopped on the banks. The Sun has its tide home going Flashing the light thru the bush Over the stream. Love is on the same line of the river And their Love is like a wheel. She dreams with the only man to snore A comfortable life. Probably not? She laughs at first looking for lover friend Suddenly realizing his freedom only Thinking to fall in Love Toy with divertice Even if he did blow over just being able To pick up and come. -Man, presence/absence Is what makes this place so tolerable? With my man I wll not be lonely I will sense no mistake. She feels her lover friend behind her With a smile wider than his bronzed face Saying: -Pretty, do You want to dance with me? The Lovers pretty much
On their own into the shrubs: The space of Love here¡ Translucency privileged to see The union of sky and earth Because they lived at the edge of Love: Boy traveling her openness In his girl venture now She saying to plant a flower in her patio And he saying then throw that check away Lady “because I want to seal yr urn”. -Love me, sir¡ she exclaimed. Love exploded with them Saying She: Our bodies producing two flowers And only together do we form a whole He: We feel in Love with these pieces Of sky and earth Let us hear the pure light Shining steady thru the Vulva Opened for FireFlower And be content. She: Love has gotten us Into this Ecstasy.
By Bill Wolak
My Secret Gift
Suzanne Bailie Enjoy your love Warm indulgence Creamy sweetness of her skin Embrace your love Sensual delights Her tickling pink finger tips Enchant your love Cherished partner Jeweled eyes gaze at me Excite your love Complete, divine surrender Shared passion sublime Entice your love A heartfelt temptress Her attention, my secret gift
She is an angel, from toes to halo: From the black explosion of her hair to the smoldering fuse of her smile. The delightful incongruity of her lips, the cottony warmth of her empathy and her embrace. The hotness of her desire, the cool balm of her hand upon my raging heart. Her sweet soul, her nimble mind, her movements like a bird navigating the violent currents and coming home to me, always me, blessed at last.
Famous Lovers Anthony & Cleopatra Marilyn Monroe & Kennedy Elizabeth Taylor & Richard Burton Princess Margaret & Peter Townsend
Diana & Dodi Ahahed
Eugene Terreblanc & Jani Allen
As flour dust powders all over her skin Adrian Ernesto Cepeda Naked hands viciously playing in the flour as the timer rings softly rolling pin with every tickling hours teasing me with every roll I am even softer dough within your fingers gripping me harder, pounding as she tossing me in the air nonchalantly like the French chefs love to do in their own kitchens but I see your ideas flaming switching on the oven love to stimulating my sweetness cooking with simpatico kisses my taste buds rising as apple pie simmers powdering leftover flour dust all over my skin, waiting wanting to spoon all those juicy flavors feeding you down to my favorite dish feasting me on the table crashing pans and plates like a silver wear symphony but we are louder than our clinking forks the deepest slices of my lust waiting as my craving rises feeding the heat as I’m coming with whip cream eyes
a
you can see I'm towering like cities in the crust and you’re tasting every mouthful eating every nibble, swallowing every crumb savoring your dessert smiles I can tell you love licking my plates more than satisfied with leaving me hungry and eating the stickiest smiles all over my skin.
The Breath of Romance Vincent Spada The look The scent The touch The Breath of Romance
The two Drawing together Closing Become one
Tangled - Andrew Scott I look at you across the room, so picture perfect, book in hand, so immersed, so immersed in thought, not seeing the natural beauty I see, nuzzled in your chair, golden locks, hair tussled, I just want to hold you, kiss you, feel all of you, your kindness, your passion. I could look at your eyes day and night, in silence, there are no words, just you and me, naked, sharing all, with the touch of immersed hands, not primal, loving, exploring and feeling all, baring all emotional fear, tangled in romance, being one, we share.
ΕΡΩΤΙΚΟ Τοφτο το κορμάκι ςτον ςπαραγμό των φιλιϊν και ςτθν αγάπθ γεννθμζνο *** Λευκοςτόλιςτο ςτθν ελεγεία του Ονείρου ςτο Περιλάμπριςμα και ςτων αςτεριϊν το ςάλεμα ςτων ρόδων το ηευγάρωμα *** Στα βαριά μφρα και ςτθν θδονι των χειλιϊν πορφυροί καρποί ςμίγουν οι φλοίςβοι και οι ψίκυροι EROTIC This small body in the heartbreak of kisses and love born *** In white decked in elegy Dream on resplendent and chalet of stars mating roses *** In heavy myrrh and the pleasure of the lips purple fruits mingle the roaring and whispers
Dr. Kapardeli Eftichia
Let's light it up, let's light it up Until our hearts catch fire And show the world, a burning light They've never shined so bright We'll find a way, we'll find a way To keep the cold night From breaking in over the walls Into the wild side The hunger satisfies We're burning up We might as well be lovers on the sun We might as well be lovers on the sun We might as well be lovers on the sun We'll never know, we'll never know What stands behind the North But I got a feeling It's a feeling that's we're dying for Just close your eyes, and hold your breath Because it feels right We'll keep it moving till we make it to the other side And let's enjoy the ride We're burning up We might as well be lovers on the sun We might as well be lovers on the sun We might as well be lovers on the sun Let's light it up, let's light it up Until our hearts catch fire And show the world, a burning light They've never shined so bright
Sing Anyway Barbara Ruth Let us touch each other with our soft eyes let me cry for the both of us and all these accumulated hurts, the wounds so easily ripped open again, again. The red earth knows our blood, our rage, put your hands on it, your head, kiss it with your feet.
What can we do with these yearnings for each other twisted, distorted from their elementary sweetness?
Once in awhile we will spread desire‘s wings to find the feathered kindness there remembering the angels we have always been even in the midst of our self-loathing.
Boddhidharma said ―Pointing at your own heart, you find Buddha.‖ Your broken heart, your discouraged heart, your heart of simple joy, your storytelling heart.
Take my hand
my wrinkled, scar-marked hand and sing with me. Sing praisesongs and prayersongs and grieving songs and songs for how we hope to love each other in perfected ordinary sun and shadow knowing that our fears will scream at us for our honesty, that shame will burn us, silence us, splatter us with bloody words. Sing anyway. Any way you can.
Anthem Trent Kannegieter We thrive on the passion That (surely) seeps from our souls, Seducing us with its sweet sacraments, Enticing us to life with every step This is our covenant with this passion To embrace it in this rawest state of words And to let this grand evanescence Carry us where it shall Through our thoughts and dreams And a midnight scream We'll soon discover What makes us tick Through stirring words, Wondrous tales, We will try to create the perfect high, Smiling when we fall Because we know How much further We have to soar Before we hit the ground. We'll live to feed our inner hunger, To quench the thirst within us, Devouring Latin, Locke, and logarithms Until the darkness consumes all, And then for one more page, Knowing there's only so much time to enjoy the miracle that is life, So we better make every moment of it count. Through our love, sighs, And battle cries, We start our world In the words ahead.
JD DeHart
Pairing like a delicate wine with a meal, buttery merlot or crisp chardonnay they pair well together the balanced compliment Inextricable
Inextricable arm to arm flesh to flesh they are inextricably linked as deep as mind and spirit
a thought began and taken up by another, mouth parted to begin and then finished
I MISS YOUR ODD LITTLE FEET John Tustin
I miss your odd little feet Brown and so improbably perfect And the imprint they would leave Wet on my bath mat
I go into the bathroom And sometimes I see your footprints on that mat Even though they aren‘t there
I miss your hands And how they pulled me out of the pit
And how they touched my body Just the way they did
I miss your body And how we would come together And lock soul with soul Eye with eye Hip to thigh
I miss your tongue I miss your lips I miss your mouth Your kisses and your bites
And your words that would come to me Less and less I miss those, too
I miss your whispered crushed honey voice On the phone at five AM As we saved our lives
I miss your hair And how my fingers would disappear In their black forest of midnight Again and again Staring in wonder
I miss your thighs Your shoulders Your breasts Your bend at the back of your knee
I miss that feeling of you in another room On the phone And the anticipation of you opening the door And coming to bed In your ridiculous long socks And smiling Because you knew That the next hours were the only time We would be satisfied
But we would be satisfied
I miss your expressive eyes So timid in repose So hidden behind the glass Supplicating in lust Determined in orgasm Suddenly ferocious and unrecognizable In anger
I miss your eyes That told me I am really not so ugly In any definition Of the word
I miss your kindness
I miss Your fingers tangled with mine As I held you down And put it to you
I miss your odd little feet Brown and so improbably perfect The impact of them Hollowing my memory Along with all the rest of it
And I curse the imprint that they left That you left Upon my very soul
As I struggle now Just to boil water Walk to the store Or tie my damn shoes Without falling Down an endless Telescoped tunnel Of nothing And forever
Novel Review Grey by EL James I love stories written from the other person’s perspective, especially when I have read the original story. And this one is a eye opener. You see Christiaan Grey as this confident, sauve man. Reading the story from his perspective he was feeling unsure, waiting for her to call . He was just as human as me or you I loved it and will read all the other ones written from his perspective
ΕΡΩΤΑΣ Χφκθκε το άρωμα θ μζλιςςα τθσ θδονισ ,ςπαρταρά ςτων κρίνων τθν ςπορά *** Γερμζνοσ ςτθν αγκαλιά ςου ςτον ςπαραχτικό φμνο των φιλιϊν ςου αποκοιμιζμαι γλυκά *** Ω! κεά τθσ ομορφιάσ Ιζρεια τθσ λευκότθτασ ςτθσ αγάπθσ τθν θδονι των ενςτίκτων μυςτικοί ναοί *** Και εκείνοσ ο ψίκυροσ ... πόκοσ ςτο ευλφγιςτο ςϊμα ςτο αναςτζναγμα, ςτο πάλεμα ςτθσ αγάπθσ τθν οδφνθ LOVE Poured perfume bee pleasure, writhe Lily sowing *** Tilted in your arms the rending hymn of your Kiss drop off sweet *** Oh! goddess of beauty Priestess of whiteness the pleasures of love instincts secret temples *** And this whisper ... Lust to the resilient body to sigh, to fight the pain of love
Leaving Lynn White Last night at the theatre I saw you again, Your smile in a face so much younger. My confusion, my thoughts, my stares made him turn And your warm smile chilled me.
The past and it’s future all came flooding back. The shock of sensations long gone. The dance and the music, the books that we read, the memories that we must both have of the pain and the pleasures, that were part of our love a long time ago.
So I ask myself now, can anything stay to give pleasure to us in remembering those days? For my remnants now seem to be only pain, and their sadness engulfs me and halts my return.
So I left, in the end, as I left you, my love, Saying nothing, taking nothing, leaving nothing behind.
Without saying goodbye.
Didgeridoo Suzanne Bailie What if you were my didgeridoo?
People would notice and be at ease when I gripped you between my knees
My hand wrapped firm around your long wooden middle People would smile and perhaps wish I’d quit But I’d put you to my lips and take a deep breath Enjoying the low moan that circles, enveloping us
People would smirk and glance away as I wiped my mouth put my didgeridoo down waiting for another day
The radio signal is her only guide Adrian Ernesto Cepeda In a cul-de-sac as she pulls over, her ears ring, guiding like a bell through the night— as her favorite Fleetwood Mac song shivers in static, she’s already undressing you with her softest eyes. From this backseat rhythm you can feel your dreams unwind seeing her glow under streetlights, the song keeps moving the both of you, in unison, like tongues sharing a microphone, you two never speak in words just mouthing lyrics like: Would you stay if she promised you heaven? You breathe in her naked scent, tasting every inch of her rhythms. you've never seen woman taken by the wind through the shaking of my bent front hood antenna, like a cat in the dark…you feel the marks of her fingertips, on your back like a needle hits a record player, between all the riffs, your blinking, feel the spinning in her eyes; you’re instantly alive when she’s grinding you in circles,; and then she is the darkness. Sparking electricity, clouding up the windows, deep inside as she shares with you her favorite part, between the chorus and her whispers— as the fade out comes, kissing lips in her backseat, you are taken by her sky.
Meghan Victoria For all of these years we have lived on repeat, the same song and dance with over-played themes.. we can not connect our mismatched dreams but we stay afloat in melodious streams.. And in the end, the music stops.. and the silence kills us both.. So we just rewind like we never left coming in on a different note.. We've been singing and humming and doing our thing since so long ago.. but this track skips so often its so hard to take it slow.. Your words and my words create a poetic verse, a misleading sound and a bittersweet curse.. We get lost in our rhythm and go to town in our hearse.. and some days I wonder, who was the worst? Which one of us fell for the other one first? Then how'd we get tangled so far from this earth? Our energy is real, but the inertia hurts as the radio hits a wall and our speakers burst. End.
Credits All pictures, unless otherwise specified, was obtained in their unedited form from http://www.freestockphotos.biz. https://www.pexels.com Editing on photos done by MP Adumbratus (Editor)
Profiles of contributors: JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. His chapbook, The Truth About Snails, was recently published by RedDashboard.
John Tustin has two perfect children and his poetry online can be found at fritzware/johntustinpoetry
Andrew Scott is a native of Fredericton, NB. During his time as an active poet, Andrew Scott has taken the time to speak in front of a classrooms, judge poetry competitions as well as published worldwide in such publications as The Art of Being Human, Battered Shadows and The Broken Ones. His books, Snake With A Flower, The Phoenix Has Risen and The Storm Is Coming are available now
Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. Her poem 'A Rose For Gaza' was shortlisted for the Theatre Cloud 'War Poetry for Today' competition in October 2014 and has since been published and reprinted in anthologies by Vending Machine Press, Weasel Press and CTU. Poems have also recently been included in several anthologies including - Harbinger Asylum‘s 'A Moment To Live By', Stacey Savage‘s ‗We Are Poetry an Anthology of Love poems‘, ITWOW, ‗She Did It Anyway‘, Community Arts Ink‘s ‗Reclaiming Our Voices‘ and a number of on line and print journals. https://www.facebook.com/pages/Lynn-White-Poetry/1603675983213077?fref=ts lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com
Adrian Ernesto Cepeda is an LA Poet who is currently enrolled in the MFA Graduate program at Antioch University in Los Angeles where he lives with his wife and their cat Woody Gold. His poetry has been featured in thirty-five different publications and journals including The Yellow Chair Review, Thick With Conviction and Silver Birch Press. Jay Helmstutler holds an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from American University in Washington, D.C., and has an unpublished collection of "literary noir" short stories under his belt. He has fiction forthcoming in Dead Guns Magazine, Schlock! Webzine, the Alucard Press Fifty Shades of Slay anthology, the JEA Press Rejected For Content 3 anthology, and the Horrified Press Sinners and Saints "Fugitives," "Displacement," and "When Disaster Strikes" anthologies. He has previously been featured in Freedom Fiction, Ealain Magazine, and the Low Explosions: Writings on the Body anthology.
Dr. Kapardeli Eftichia has a Doctorate from ARTS AND CULTURE WORLD ACADEMY. Born in Athens and live in Patras. She writes poetry, stories, short stories, xaikou , essays, novels. It deals with the painting. Participate in treble choirs as a soprano She studied journalism AKEM (Athenian training center). He has many awards in national competitions first, second and third prizes Her work there is to many national and international anthologies Just a few days was author of the Indian Academy Anthology http://worldpeaceacademy.blogspot.com/2010/10/poetsfor-world-peace.html The first collections of poetry are confiding and light .Has a section at the University of Cyprus in Greek culture is a member of the world poets society. The official website is http://world-poets.blogspot. com / is a member of the IWA (internasional writers) chaired by Teresinka Pereira, is a member of the POETAS DEL MUNDO
Suzanne Bailie is a playwright and poet. Her poetry is included in several anthologies and online magazines. Her words have inspired modern dance and graced Seattle Metro buses. Currently her poetry is part of Dirt? Exhibition. Suzanne‘s short and quirky plays have been produced in America, Australia, the United Kingdom and South America. When she isn't writing she is creating abstract art collage or hot glue gun sculptures. I grew up in a small apartment and I always found my alone time could be anywhere, with anyone, so long as I had a journal. This poetic escape fueled my desire to keep writing, even after leaving my New England home and heading west. I have always had a zest for new experiences, but I maintain my unique style through every piece I write. My parents named me Meghan Victoria, and this is the name I prefer to publish under.
Bill Wolak is a poet, photographer, and collage artist. His collages have been published in The Annual, Peculiar Mormyrid, Danse Macabre, Dirty Chai, Hermeneutic Chaos Literary Journal, Lost Coast Review, Yellow Chair Review, Otis Nebula, and Horror Sleaze Trash. He has just published his twelfth book of poetry entitled Love Opens the Hands with Nirala Press. Recently, he was a featured poet at The Mihai Eminescu International Poetry Festival in Craiova, Romania. Mr. Wolak teaches Creative Writing at William Paterson University in New Jersey.
Barbara Ruth is a published photographer, fiction writer, memoirist and essayist, as well as poet. She was Area Coordinator for San Diego County branch of California Poets In the Schools for many
years. Her recent work appears in the following 2015 anthologies: QDA: Queer Disability Anthology; Slim Volume: This Body I Live In; Stories Of Our Lives: Women and Health and Biting the Bullet: Essays on Women and Courage. She is happy to be lovers with Lisa, who inspired the Anniversary Poem, many years ago . Trico Lutkins lives in his Townhouse of Solitude with his sinister henchman (actually she‘s a ―henchgirl‖), Audrey, his wickedly awesome partner-in-crime, Tracy, and the silent and deadly ninja-cat, Jack. He enjoys studying history and writing in various genres. He tries to write the best he can, but sometimes he‘s lucky and writes better than he can. Trico writes the ongoing comic book series, Jack of Spades, for Source Point Press and had contributed to many anthologies, Source Point Presents, Serial, Delightfully Wicked Poetic Tales, Eerie Tales: 666, ArtifexI and III, Speakeasy 2009 and 2010, Ona Latina, Voluted Tales, Ghostlight, A Bit of Poe, Thirteen Little Hells, Michigan Comics Collective Antholog Volume II, Forgotten Tales of Forgotten Lore, and Lycan Lore
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Christopher Fowler is expressionistic figurative painter hailing from rural southeastern North Carolina. His paintings seek to expose the vulnerability behind human figures and life while exploring the contradicting facades that humans are often forced to retreat behind. Christopher cannot trace back to the start of his passion for art; it grew from the ―moment he realized what pens could do to paper.‖ His artistic renaissance burst forth in college when he stopped attempting to simply duplicate things well and began striving to create pieces that collectors could connect with. His artistic training took place at the University of North Carolina at Pembroke where he received a Bachelor‘s Degree in Fine Art. His senior exhibit was titled ―Glowing, Fluorescent Box of Air‖ and featured figurative mixed media works. He completed an independent study under renowned artist James Biedermann during his time at UNCP on oil painting. Christopher continues to paint and draw fervently in his studio while constantly seeking to improve his works. He is available for commissioned works and gallery representation. He currently resides in Hope Mills, North Carolina, with his pregnant wife, Keally, and two puppies, Dimitri and Chaka.
Links to information sources: https://www.goodreads.com – all books gotten from here Novels to Read - http://nicholassparks.com/ http://www.audreyniffenegger.com/ http://www.janeausten.org/ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Natalie_Babbitt http://www.jrward.com/ http://www.cassandraclare.com/ Best fictional Lovers Romeo & Juliet: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1645131/ http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0117509/ http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0063518/
Vampire Diaries: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1405406/ Morticia and Gomes: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Addams_Family Wall-E: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0910970/ The Notebook: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0332280/ Famous Real lovers Anthony & Cleopatra: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antony_and_Cleopatra Marilyn Monroe & Kennedy: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marilyn_Monroe Elizabeth Taylor & Richard Burton: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Taylor Princess Margaret & Peter Townsend: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Princess_Margaret,_Countess_of_Snowdon Diana & Dodi Ahahed: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diana,_Princess_of_Wales Eugene Terreblanc & Jani Allen: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eug%C3%A8ne_Terre%27Blanche Book Review – Grey http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2322441/ http://www.eljamesauthor.com/ Love Song http://www.davidguetta.com/