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Tag Archives: a notebook of spidery poems

Inky black

Art by Daniel Danger

The night is inky black

It is cold enough to chill the flesh, chill the bones, chill the soul. I draw my cloak around me and stiffen my shoulders to the frigid air. I feel the skin on my face harden, the lines become deeper, my eyes narrow.

I trace my steps along the narrow path amongst the trees. My breathing is a mist.

There are sounds all around me. A pair of owls twit and woo. A fox barks. A muntjac is noisy and indiscreet in the woods.  The footsteps of ghosts follow me in indistinct echoes. Always ghosts. The wind disturbs the leaves.

The river is hidden to my right. It is swollen with recent rain. I sense it kissing the top of the banks on either side, brushing the underside of the bridge, and silently hurrying towards the far distant sea.

My house, home for what seems like forever but not for much longer, is a huge, looming solid shape. There is a light in a broken square. It shines out like a beacon, and a charm, in the darkness.

The night is inky black.

It surrounds me, engulfs me drowns me. I crunch slowly up the gravel drive. The wild rabbits flee my approach in panic.

I wonder if she will be home.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Daniel Danger

 
11 Comments

Posted by on January 14, 2016 in Still Life

 

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Ought to be a word

Art by Ellen Heck

There ought to be a word

for that delightful, warm, pleasant feeling you experience when you realise that someone is steadily working their way through your blog or your tweets.

It is intimate and sensual, strange and gratifying, and oddly fulfilling.

It is the pleasure of being read

And, just for a short while, being the centre of some stranger’s attention.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Ellen Heck

 

 
26 Comments

Posted by on January 4, 2016 in Still Life

 

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Broken

broken_doll_by_annmei-d4c6fxg

 

Today I broke a favourite mug.

I found myself desperately, stupidly, achingly sad.

Not for the crockery

although I will miss its familiar shape and weight.

But for every single thing

in my life

I have ever broken

and could not fix.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by AnnMei

 
24 Comments

Posted by on December 4, 2015 in Lovers Past, Still Life

 

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Sing to you

Art by Omar Galliani

I will sing to you

before you sleep

without words

without music

without voice.

 

Only my soul

filling the night

with desire

and deep

dark

silent

adoration.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Omar Galliani

 
20 Comments

Posted by on October 12, 2015 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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Over you

loui-jover.....peace

Over You

.

She caught my eye

She’s something new.

A different dress.

A different shoe.

And now I know

I’m over you.

.

I gave her words

Like I did with you.

A different smile

A different view

And now I know

I’m over you.

.

She broke my heart

Far worse than you.

A different pain

A different blue.

And now I know

I’m over you.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Loui Jover

This poem is not new. Some will recognise it. I can remember writing it, alone in the depths of winter in a remote, rented cottage on the edge of a small forest in south west England. It was a poem designed to hurt. But I never sent it to the girl I wanted to wound. Because I could not be that cruel. It is a simple poem, but I am fond of it.

This was originally posted two years ago – and perhaps even once before that. But it was a long time ago when I wrote it. 

 

 
14 Comments

Posted by on September 28, 2015 in D/s, Lovers Past, Poetry

 

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Seasonal

Art by Loui Jover

I will be your umbrella

in the lush, green, rainy spring.

I will be your cool, blue-green, sparkling sea

when wild, hot summer comes.

I will be your soft, whispering carpet of fiery leaves

in Autumn’s haunting mists.

I will be your safe, roaring fireside

when the Winter chill

bites hard.

 

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Loui Jover

 
6 Comments

Posted by on September 15, 2015 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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Change

 

Anne Magill 1962 - British painter - Never Let Me Go - Tutt'Art@ (33)

 

Change

 

I can sense it in the falling dark.

I can taste it on the August breeze.

I can hear it in the cry of gulls.

I can smell it in the burned out days.

I can see it in my silent reflection.

I can feel it shivering against my skin.

I can touch it as it comes up close.

Everything is changing.

Nothing will ever

be the same.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Anne Magill

 
42 Comments

Posted by on August 18, 2015 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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The Girl in the Photograph

Photo_Ultraviol_300CMYK-1

 

The girl in the photograph

The girl in the photograph
is swagger and poise
shyness and hope
uncertainty and strength

The girl in the photograph
is desire and fear
softness and style
fantasy and real

The girl in the photograph
is hunger and joy
knowledge and warmth
rebellion and love

The girl in the photograph
is danger and sex
promise and dreams
intelligence and wild

The girl in the photograph
is not mine
but I wish
she was

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photograph is Lana Del Rey, taken from her website.
The poem is not about her (though it is certainly about someone) but Lana illustrates it well

This is not one of my new ones – but I hope you enjoy

 
17 Comments

Posted by on August 17, 2015 in Lovers Past, Poetry

 

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Butterfly Net

Art by Moussin Irjan

 

Butterfly Net

 

She reads him avidly

hungrily

looking for patterns

for answers

for hints

for clues

for oxygen to fuel

the breathless possibility

that she might be ‘she’

.

Meanwhile

he chases her soul

with a butterfly net

spun from the best

of his words

to capture her

completely.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Moussin Irjan

 

 

 
40 Comments

Posted by on August 16, 2015 in Poetry

 

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Her body

pict0375

 

Her Body

 

Her body is my playground

A wonderland of curves and lines.

Of sweet breasts and urgent nipples.

Of rolling hips and elegant thighs.

 

Her body is my canvas

A perfect page on which to paint my words,

to daub my prose,

to  scratch my spidery, inky, dangerous poetry.

 

Her body is my church

A hallowed and sacred place

A holy ground on which to worship

And adore.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Henry Asencio

I wrote this a year ago. But you might have missed it.

 
20 Comments

Posted by on July 8, 2015 in D/s, Poetry

 

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