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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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I am not a holy man

In the half light

 

I am not a holy man.

But I will touch your brow

as you kneel before me.

I will whisper a prayer

to your beauty

and your body.

 

I am not a holy man.

But I will hear your confession

in the sacred darkness.

I will sing a hymn

to your sweet heart

and submissive soul.

 

I am not a holy man.

But I will place my hands upon you

and anoint you with oil.

I will bless the moment

of your conversion

that carried you

here to me.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Anne Magill

 
19 Comments

Posted by on March 19, 2015 in D/s, Poetry

 

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Hanging on

Man of Steel

I am watching the afternoon dissolve.

The light is fading. The trees and shrubs, the borders and paths, the fences and lawns are merging softly into one another. The last, muted. copper rays of the sun are reflected back briefly and wistfully in the leaded windows of the old summer-house.

I am in my quiet study. The ancient central heating pipes are complaining moodily beneath dark oak floorboards. The melancholy music recently playing has stopped. The absence of piano, violin and guitar has left an almost holy stillness.

Like a church hushed for prayer.

Despite myself, despite my promises to me, I am thinking of you. I have let your presence slide gently into the gathering gloom. I hear the faintest echo of your laughter. I catch your scent lingering like a sigh.

Both, of course, are impossible.

I feel a need to write something for you. A poem to send. Words to make you remember. And perhaps to regret.

But I know I won’t.

I will simply sigh and switch on the desk lamp. I will banish the ghosts and shadows and pale dancers to the sudden darkness that will press at my window.

Yet just for a moment I will sit here.

Hanging on.

Until I can bear to let you go.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

 Art by Anne Magill

 

 
8 Comments

Posted by on February 21, 2015 in Still Life

 

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Shut

heartland83

I am a sensitive soul.

Perhaps too much for a man.

I sigh at beauty. I am enchanted by charm. I can get lost in a look.

I cry at sad movies, often glad of the dark.

I am a romantic, Sad songs in my ear buds. Black and white films in the winter. Meetings in steamy window bookshop cafes, walks by the swan-gliding river, dinner in the flickering light of whispering candles.

A message on my phone that ends in a kiss.

I am a dreamer. A poet. Someone who will never forget the press of her lips.

And sometimes, only sometimes,  I am a fool.

Yet for all that, if I am hurt, I can become as hard and as cold as a Siberian frost.

And the doors to my heart

Slam

Shut.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Anne Magill

 
22 Comments

Posted by on November 19, 2014 in Still Life

 

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Disappointed (again)

Man of Steel

Dear Romantic

This is not the first time that I have had cause to write.

I am disappointed in you.

I know that we sometimes don’t see eye to eye. It is inevitable given the difference in our perspectives. But usually I respect and, you will be surprised to read, even admire you. There is clearly something about hearts and flowers that resonates with women. I am honest enough to admit that I would not be nearly as compelling without your influence.

But recently you have gone beyond romantic. You have shown signs of becoming sentimental. That is unforgivable. It is a deeply unattractive trait and one which I have no desire to be associated. I have read somewhere that as women age they cry less, whereas men are compelled to shed tears more often. Believe me, tears are neither masculine nor attractive.

Much worse than that, in your recent dealings with women you have become embarrassing. Despite my efforts you have become weak, you have compromised, you have allowed your will – our will – to be bent or twisted. You have become immersed in relationships that are complex and, in straying from the pure D/s path that is our religion, have been doomed to fail. You are in danger of losing the dignity, credibility and gravitas that our experience and knowledge command.

I repeat. I am disappointed. I expect change.

Who we are depends upon it.

Yours

Dominant

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant – Originally published October 2013 in this blog

Art by Anne Magill

I had fun with this when I wrote it a year ago. I thought it deserved another airing

 
22 Comments

Posted by on October 8, 2014 in D/s, Still Life

 

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Bonfire

 

In the half light

It is over.

He says it to himself out loud, testing the meaning, trying to gauge how much hurt there is in those four hard syllables. He does not flinch as they bruise the air.

He has been here before. He knows how to cope, The procedure, the action, the process he must follow.

He begins by telling himself he feels nothing. He shrugs his shoulders, hardens his jaw, stiffens his lip. He is determined, resolute, strong.

He knows there is an exorcism to perform, a ritual, a ceremony, an extraction, an eradication. He must obliterate, wash out, abolish, expunge.

He is methodical, thorough, determined. He does not hesitate. He removes her name from his contacts, removes her telephone number, removes every address of any kind, removes every reference, removes her birthday.

He makes certain he cannot show weakness in the future, He cannot bow to sentiment, He cannot make a fool of himself.

He can never be tempted to tell her he wants her.

With great certainty of purpose he blocks her or unfollows her on all the social media, all the networking, all the blogs, all the messaging they shared.

Finally he builds a huge, raging, hungry, devouring, virtual bonfire of everything that would remind him of her.. He deletes all her photographs and videos. He deletes their e-mails. He deletes their messages. He deletes their texts. He deletes their words.

He deletes their history.

He does not look at any of it as it vanishes into the flames His fingers are precise, cold, dispassionate, tapping at the keyboard.

He leans back in his chair.

It is done. It is over.

He takes a deep, dangerous breath.

He blames the tears running down his face

on the smoke

from the bonfire.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Anne Magill

 
48 Comments

Posted by on April 28, 2014 in Lovers Past, Still Life

 

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Private Man

Man of Steel

Despite outward appearances

He is a very private man.

He is not one to boast or to crow.

He does not pretend to be what he is not.

He does not demand respect on the back of a self awarded title.

He does not indulge in public drama.

He does not harass or molest or stalk.

He does not reveal the identity of a lover

He does not betray secrets

He does not want or encourage sycophantic cults

He does not mail photographs of his body parts.

He does not claim to fuck like a stallion.

 

He is a very private man

And perhaps he is dull because of it.

But she knows his heart

And she adores him.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Anne Magill

 
28 Comments

Posted by on November 26, 2013 in Still Life

 

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Disappointed

Man of Steel

Dear Romantic

This is not the first time that I have had cause to write.

I am disappointed in you.

I know that we sometimes don’t see eye to eye. It is inevitable given the difference in our perspectives. But usually I respect and, you will be surprised to read, even admire you. There is clearly something about hearts and flowers that resonates with women. I am honest enough to admit that I would not be nearly as compelling without your influence.

But recently you have gone beyond romantic. You have shown signs of becoming sentimental. That is unforgivable. It is a deeply unattractive trait and one which I have no desire to be associated. I have read somewhere that as women age they cry less, whereas men are compelled to shed tears more often. Believe me, tears are neither masculine nor attractive.

Much worse than that, in your recent dealings with women you have become embarrassing. Despite my efforts you have become weak, you have compromised, you have allowed your will – our will – to be bent or twisted. You have become immersed in relationships that are complex and, in straying from the pure D/s path that is our religion, have been doomed to fail. You are in danger of losing the dignity, credibility and gravitas that our experience and knowledge command.

I repeat. I am disappointed. I expect change.

Who we are depends upon it.

Yours

Dominant

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Anne Magill

 
25 Comments

Posted by on October 16, 2013 in D/s, Still Life

 

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Never, ever.

smitten84

They have escaped.

Their bolt-hole, far beyond the cities, out of reach of the railway, along narrow roads of high wind-swept hedges. Where the sea is always cold and clean and the air is fresh; mewing with gulls and tangy with salt on the rugged coast.

Where their walls are stone and two feet thick, the floors wood and slate, the same reassuring grey as the roofs and the sky when it is brooding. Where there is no telephone, no broadband, almost no connectivity in the ether. Where work has been left far behind and any lover is out of reach.

They are easy together. They have grown as close as blood family over the many years of knowing. They are silent often, contentedly sharing each others’ thoughts. They read, listen to music, walk for miles across the wild countryside, laugh at the same things. They eat and drink well. Expensively and healthily. He writes. She designs.

She is tall, elegant, slim, intelligent, shy and blonde. He is taller, long-limbed, distinctive, creative, with friendly but sometimes piercing eyes.  They are a well matched couple.

But they never, ever fuck.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Anne Magill

 
22 Comments

Posted by on July 31, 2013 in Wears my ring

 

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Sometimes the day

sojourn

Sometimes the day drains him.

The early morning alarm, urgent and insistent, to steal his dreams before the day has made up its mind. The long drive, or the busy train, headphones full of music failing to mask the rising clamour of mail, phone and text.

The relentless passage of meetings, presentations, discussions and decisions, The motivating, the cajoling, the guiding, the occasional steely imposing of his authority. The responsibility of many eyes seeking direction.

The lunchtime escape to the gym, the cross-trainer and treadmill forcing a sweat, his muscles straining at the self-imposed, determined discipline.

The pace of the afternoon, the challenges, the opportunities, the brave victories, the sapping defeats. Success resting on a knife-edge. Before the journey home, the last of his energy slowly retreating from him.

He sips his wine and stretches out, long-limbed, weary, heavy-eyed, tired to the bone

Sometimes the day drains him.

He thinks of her and he smiles.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Anne Magill

 

 

 

 

 
23 Comments

Posted by on June 24, 2013 in Still Life

 

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