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Shut

Art by Anne Magill

 

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 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

I wrote this almost exactly three years ago, and repeated the post two years ago and then a year ago. I am sure there were reasons for my writing the original. I am sure there must have been.
It captures the hopelessly romantic poet in me – and yet also the steel. A coldness, a stubbornness, a determination, an unbending will. I will never change. It is simply the way I am.
I hope it stands another repost.

 
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Posted by on November 24, 2017 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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Harbour Lights

art-by-dmitri-danish

 

In a far off

warm, exotic place

where lights

along the old harbour

shine and shimmer

glisten and glimmer

dance and dissolve

into the green-black sea

your elegant hand

will find mine.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Written a year ago. Sometimes those harbour lights call insistently.

Art by Dmitri Danish

 
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Posted by on November 20, 2017 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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Something has changed

 

Her life is the same.

Yet something subtle, imperceptible, indefinable has changed.

She seeks it in the buildings, the landscape, the weather and the light.  In the steam from her coffee. She looks for it in the faces of others. She tries to find clues in music, in art, and in films that make her laugh and cry. In books and in magazines and in the words of romantic poets

She watches clouds making familiar shapes across an ordinary sky.

She stands surrounded by night and studies the moon and stars. She lets the breeze tug at her hair and listens for something she might not hear.

In her room, with the lights down low, she examines her body, stripping naked, running her hands over her skin. She is alive to her own touch. Her fingers make her sigh. She breathes deeply.

She stares back at herself and tries to read her own expression.

Her eyes give something away. They are bright, wide, curious, excited. Her lips are full, the faintest of smiles kissing the edges. There is the softest blush upon her cheek, and in her throat.

Her life is the same

Yet something has changed.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Laszlo Gulyas

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on November 7, 2017 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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… even the wolf

art-by-ryan-pancoast

 

In this season of fairytale and legend he paints himself as almost a hero.

He imagines himself snatching the poisoned apple from the rose-red lips of the raven haired princess with the snow-white skin and replacing it with an urgent kiss from his own hungry mouth.

He dreams of braving the vicious thorns of imprisoning briar to lift the unmoving but gorgeous living body of the sleeping beauty from out of her silent coffin.  To carry her to some safe and secret place and wake her with the heat of his breath upon her barely-pulsing, newly-naked throat.

He sees himself placing the glass shoe on the delicate foot of the young. innocent, badly treated servant girl and claiming her wide-eyed perfection, pulchritude, purity and submission for always.

Yet the girl he really wants – the angel in the red hooded cloak –  knows him as the dangerous creature of which her mother has warned.  He is the restless stranger with poetry in his notebook, desire in his heart, and a world of darkness in his soul.

It is true that his teeth and claws can be sharp and he has such a decadent yet eloquent hunger.

But now, in these fading days and threadbare nights, even the wolf yearns only to be loved.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Ryan Pancoast

It has now become a tradition for me to re-post this on Halloween. It does not fit with either the pagan origins or the current commercial frenzy for this ancient festival, but it is probably about as fairytale as I get. Although I do have a fondness for Sleeping Beauty which I shall also post today.

 
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Posted by on October 31, 2017 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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When she falls

art-by-wangjie-li

 

When She Falls

 

She has that look.

Something in the eyes.

In the line of her nose.

The tilt of her chin.

The set of her jaw.

She is bright, brave and assured.

But when she falls,

she will fall.

.

She has that smile.

Something in the curve.

In the line of her mouth,

The shape of her lips.

The show of her teeth.

She is cool, collected and poised.

But when she falls,

she will fall.

.

She has that way.

Something in the words.

In the sweep of her thoughts.

The pride in her voice,

The ice in her veins,

She is proud, aloof and secure.

But when she falls,

she will fall.

.

Oh, she will fall.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Wangjie Li

This is not new. But I like it. So I have re-posted once again.

 
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Posted by on October 18, 2017 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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Minor Tragedy

 

On a human scale

it was a very

minor tragedy.

 

After all

no one was maimed

or tortured

or raped

or killed.

 

No one was

made homeless

without food

or shelter

or country.

 

No one was lost

forever

at sea.

 

On a human scale

it was a very

minor tragedy.

 

Just two lovers

two hearts

two minds

two bodies

two souls

once joined

coming adrift.

 

But it still

hurt like fuck.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Diego Dayer

 

 

 
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Posted by on October 16, 2017 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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She makes my day

 

There are some songs which I just love.

This is one of them. I can’t explain it, can’t define it. I just love it. Perhaps because it is beautifully crafted with a gorgeous lyric. Perhaps because his voice is rich and wonderful. Perhaps because it catches the way one feels when utterly enchanted by someone.

I also guarantee if you listen to it three or four times you just cannot get it out of your head.

It is by the late Robert Palmer (he sadly died young in 2003), an English singer/songwriter. It is from his album Heavy Nova released in 1988. It is a reasonably good album with a couple of other stand out tracks.

Robert Palmer had wide musical tastes and was responsible for the iconic Addicted to Love song/video which Shania Twain later based her Feel Like a woman video.

Anyway. I sing this song when I am happy in a certain way.

 

By the way, this was another of my ‘songs I like but you might not know’ posts.

.

.

Song written, produced and performed by @ Robert Palmer

© this post the author writing as Romantic Dominant

 

 
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Posted by on August 22, 2017 in Music

 

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