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Carry her home

Art by Nathan Oliviera

 

He is not young

or ripped

or tattooed

or pierced

or particularly famous

or like a boy

in a band.

 

But here

wrapped in his arms

with his stubble

his red wine

his music

his poems

and his teaching

he is the one

she wants

to carry her home.

.

.

 

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Nathan Oliviera

 
4 Comments

Posted by on May 24, 2016 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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In my youth ….

Art by Annick Bouvattier

A girl like you.

In my youth I would have fought other boys for the right to walk you home. Wearing the scars like a badge. Or I would have wandered backwards and forwards past your house , hoping to catch a glimpse of you at a window. Or long for you to see me, a shadowy figure beneath the street light, and think me romantic.

In my youth I would have carved presumptuous initials into innocent trees, into battered park benches, into tables, and desks, and the backs of chairs – not caring if I was caught. Or that you would disapprove if you knew.

In my youth I would have sought you out at dances, making a mess of my over rehearsed lines. I would have asked a friend to give you messages – which you would probably receive with a frown.

In my youth I would have made up a hundred heroic stories in my head where I come to your rescue. Saving you from the clutches of the mob, the grip of an assailant, the jaws of death. Or perhaps just finding your lost dog.

In my youth I would have written you tortured poems, toiled over for hours, scrawled on stolen paper, that would never leave the pocket of my faded denim jeans.

In my youth I would have wished for the internet, if I could have seen into the future.

Yet here I am. Connection at my fingertips. Posting pointless poetry.

That you will probably never read

A girl like you.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Annick Bouvattier

 

 
21 Comments

Posted by on May 23, 2016 in Still Life

 

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Addiction

Art by Andrew Atroshenko

Addiction

.

The uncaring night will take me

And oppress me with its heat.

Leave me wide eyed and sleepless

In a tangle of tortured sheets.

.

Since you became my addiction

I have wanted no one else.

Only to see you dance before me

I have longed for nothing else.

.

The over bright dawn will find me

And burden me with its hope.

Leave me confused and restless

Tied up tightly in my own rope.

.

Since you became my addiction

I have wanted no one else.

Only to see you dance before me

I have longed for nothing else.

.

The relentless day will trap me

And unsight me with its glare.

Leave me wandering and helpless

Your distance has stripped me bare.

.

Since you became my addiction

I have wanted no one else.

Only to see you dance before me

I have longed for nothing else.

 

© 2009 the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Past readers of this blog will recognise one of my favourite poems. I wrote it seven years ago in strange circumstances.
These addictions never stop …

 Art by Jack Vettriano

 
9 Comments

Posted by on May 22, 2016 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry

 

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What other guy?

Art by Alina Maksimenko

I have had a re-think.

About posting music on here.

There is little point in me exposing things I like which everyone will know. Instead they will be more obscure. So rather than a track by legendary Canadian singer songwriter Leonard Cohen (for younger readers he wrote Hallelujah) here is a song by his son Adam.

The music is gentle and the words are touching. It is a love song.

I have personal and past reasons for liking it that I won’t go into now.

And as for the reason for posting it today – unfortunately it is prosaic – I was simply skimming down my iTunes alphabetically.

Perhaps next time I shall start with Z.

.

.

© the Author writing as Romantic Dominant

Music by Adam Cohen. ‘What other Guy?’ from the album ‘Like a Man’ (2011)

Art by Alina Maksimenko

 

 

 
9 Comments

Posted by on May 21, 2016 in Music

 

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Vanishes

Art by Louis Jover

I craft

such grand

eloquent

deep

complex

sensual poetry

in my head.

But it all pales

and evaporates

and vanishes

on sight

of your pure

perfect

naked

and innocent

beauty

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Loui Jover

 

 
10 Comments

Posted by on May 19, 2016 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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Summer Dress

Art by Vladimir Volegov

I see you

in a summer dress.

Thin straps on elegant shoulders. Your breasts captured sweetly. The curve of your hips caressed. Your arms and legs beautifully bare.

The hem high on your thighs.

Your hair is caught and stroked by the soft, warm breeze. Your skin is kissed by the friendly sun.

Your gorgeous eyes are shining.

Your smile is heavenly.

Yet you are shy

as the dress falls

like a cotton sea

at your feet.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Vladimir Volegov

Written a year ago – but it is a time for dresses

 
17 Comments

Posted by on May 18, 2016 in Still Life

 

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Letting go

christmas-morning1944-by-andrew-wyeth-1386935407_org

There is a poem by my favourite poet Dylan Thomas which begins:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

It is popularly believed to be an exhortation to his father to fight against death.

My mother needed no such urging. She fought it tooth and nail.

Even when her body was but skin and bone. Even when she had morphed from a human being into a tiny bird lying broken on a wide expanse of white bed. Even when she had slipped into an unconscious state tn which she appeared to recognise no one. Even when she could not even take water, except to wet her thin lips. Even when it seemed impossible that she could still be alive.

She steadfastly refused to let to go. Brave, stubborn, tenacious, determined. And thoroughly unpredictable. My mother facing her demise the way she had lived.

Her children and her late-in-life-lover maintained a vigil that extended long beyond the expectations of medical staff. There was nothing we could do but hold her hand and helplessly bear witness to her last battle.

She most certainly raged against the dying of the light.

Until this morning.

When she finally, peacefully, let go.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Andrew Wyeth

 

 

 
30 Comments

Posted by on May 15, 2016 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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