Warmest Solstice to All!

All of these are by Robert Herrick (1591-1674)


Come, bring with a noise,
My merry, merry boys,

The Christmas log to the firing;
While my good dame, she
Bids ye all be free,

And drink to your heart’s desiring.
With the last year’s brand
Light the new block, and

For good success in his spending,
On your Psaltries play,
That sweet luck may

Come while the log is tending.

This next one is for Candlemas, which is usually February 2nd. This is also celebrated as Imbolic, and also, at times, falls around the Lunar New Year. Funny all that. I include it as a precursor to a new season…


Kindle the Christmas brand, and then
Till sunset let it burn;
Which quench'd, then lay it up again,
Till Christmas next return.

Part must be kept, wherewith to teend
The Christmas log next year;
And where 'tis safely kept, the fiend
Can do no mischief there

May your darkest hour wander happily into daylight once more.

A little bit of dark for a sunny day

Some things should never be forgotten. The poetry of Poe, for example.


BY a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule
From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime,
Out of SPACE — out of TIME.
Bottomless vales and boundless floods,
And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods,
With forms that no man can discover
For the dews that drip all over;
Mountains toppling evermore
Into seas without a shore;
Seas that restlessly aspire,
Surging, unto skies of fire;
Lakes that endlessly outspread
Their lone waters — lone and dead,
Their still waters — still and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily.
By the lakes that thus outspread
Their lone waters, lone and dead,
Their sad waters, sad and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily,
By the mountains — near the river
Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever,
By the grey woods, — by the swamp
Where the toad and the newt encamp,
By the dismal tarns and pools
Where dwell the Ghouls,
By each spot the most unholy —
In each nook most melancholy,
There the traveller meets aghast
Sheeted Memories of the Past —
Shrouded forms that start and sigh
As they pass the wanderer by —
White-robed forms of friends long given,
In agony, to the Earth — and Heaven.
For the heart whose woes are legion
‘Tis a peaceful, soothing region —
For the spirit that walks in shadow
‘Tis — oh ’tis an Eldorado!
But the traveller, travelling through it,
May not — dare not openly view it;
Never its mysteries are exposed
To the weak human eye unclosed;
So wills its King, who hath forbid
The uplifting of the fringed lid;
And thus the sad Soul that here passes
Beholds it but through darkened glasses.
By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have wandered home but newly
From this ultimate dim Thule.

– Who else could do this but Poe? 1842 my dear ones.. ahh, the beauty of the darkness still shines through.


Poets write Requiems, too

April 26th, 2008

Soulful eyes in the moonlit face of love
I capture your eyes in my memory; I can still smell you in the house
Your fur still clings to the corners of the bedroom
Tail curled protectively, as if my arms were not enough
Your big-belly sighs over the catnip sock, just a little snort
You loved everyone who entered here
They loved you in return,
Mr. Man
And you sent them away with a feeling of joy
You sitting on the toilet cover, stretching toward the tub
Just one more drop of water on your tongue and on your face
My shower cat, my Jeeves, my Q-Tip, my Alien
Want treats?
How could something so small claim such large territory,
In my heart’s interior? In a queen-sized bed?
Your life was just a blink in my eye, and yet and yet and yet…
Now it’s just the memories that follow
Sweeping down, tear-like
You taught me that a cat can sleep anywhere there is a sunbeam
Or A Warm Thing
And love anyone no matter how upset they were
You taught me to type with your face in my hands
And how to endure a four-footed massage
You taught me to go with grace, wherever that might be
Even unto the other side
You taught me to love without fear, to love without condition, to love like there is no tomorrow
Because sometimes, there isn’t one
It’s tomorrow for me, my little devoted boy
And I hope I have the spirit to carry you with me, bright white and open
Soft and tender
Until I meet you once more

April is National Poetry Month

Why do women write? Why do women write erotica? Perhaps this will help. Celebrate National poetry month and your favorite women erotic writers. Read some Anais. Read some Susie Bright. Heck, read me!

Why do women write? Read on…

“I believe that one writes because one has to create a world in which one can live. I could not live in any of the worlds offered to me…I had to create a world of my own, like a climate, a country, an atmosphere in which I could breathe.” — Anais Nin

“Why is the measure of love loss?” — Jeanette Winterson

“Writing, loving: inseperable. Writing is a gesture of love. Just as one is not without the other, so Writing and Loving are lovers, and unfold only in each other’s embrace….For love, the words become loved and read flesh, multiplied into all the bodies and texts that love bears and awaits from love. Text: not a detour, but the flesh at work in a labor of love.” — Helene Cixous

“To do this again. To keep this door open & my hands in it, writing. Making the voice speak what the hands have already spoken. The embrace, before the utterance. Always.” –Erin Moure, Furious

Like to Like – G. J. Whyte-Melville

Ahhhh… found it.

Like to Like
G.J. Whyte-Melville (Thank you, Katrina!)

I pass’d without the city gate,
I linger’d by the way;
The palm was bending to her mate,
And thus I heard her say,

“The arrow to the quiver,
And the wild bird to the tree;
The stream to meet the river,
And the river to the sea.
The waves are wedded on the beach,
The shadows on the lea;
And like to like, and each to each,
And I to thee.

“The cedar on the mountain,
And the bramble in the brake;
The willow by the fountain,
And the lily on the lake;
The serpent coiling in its lair,
The eagle soaring free,
Draw kin to kin, and pair to pair,
And I to thee.

“For everything created
In the bounds of earth and sky,
Hath such longing to be mated,
It must couple, or must die.
The wind of heaven beguiles the leaf,
The rose invites the bee;
The sickle hugs the barley-sheaf,
And I love thee.
By night and day, in joy and grief,
Do thou love me?

“The palm was bending to her mate,
I marked her meaning well;
And pass’d within the city gate,
The fond old tale to tell.

(Google Books Rocks!)

Something to pass the time in my head… for those who know who you are…

i like my body when it is with your
e e cummings – 1925

i like my body when it is with your body.
It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric furr, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh….And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

Ahhh. And maybe just one more. I am looking for the whole poem, if anyone finds it. I would love to read it all… I can only imagine the metaphor and symbolism… she says with a devious smile.

From Like to Like by George John Whyte-Melville

“For everything created
In the bounds of earth and sky
Has such longing to be mated,
It must couple or must die.”