Tag Archives: beautiful women
stare
At times I would catch her
staring at me
from the broken window
in the house next door;
deep brown eyes
set in a pale, lovely face
with long thick black hair
that disappeared
into the shadows;
a shameless stare
relentless
and always
only for me.
– matt at shadow of iris
stare
eyes
The third daughter
in large family;
a plain child
and later –
an even plainer woman;
her sole attraction,
large, striking eyes
that drew the whole world
into them;
deep pools of passion
that no man
could ever resist.
– matt at shadow of iris
eyes
in the distance
In the distance
a castle up on a hill
dark clouds
an approaching storm.
A suspect arrested
on connections to
flower peddling
an accomplice
to fraud.
Falling flower pedals
one by one
lifting into the air
a swirl, a swarm
time
coming at you.
Raids on four florists
yield arrests on shopkeepers
secretly dealing
in castles in the sand
and pies in the sky.
Small skeletal winged lizards
hold the overflowing ripples
of your velvet dress
as you take
one step away
from the open window
doors closing
and locking
behind you.
Concrete credible inconsistencies
suggest souls getting down to business
tilting towards windmills
and weaving red ribbons
into computer breaths
that exists only in flickers
in a world insubstantial.
You wear the crown
jewels
a mouth recently kissed
lipstick smeared
and pale skin
so translucent
I see
each vein.
– matt at shadow of iris
in the distance
[Inspired by the work of David Stoupakis.]
a kiss
A chess board
each square, a glossy shape
cream and ebony swirls
of mature nude women
each sleek and beautiful
searching their way back
to a fetal position
and in the center
where they meet
a kiss.
– matt at shadow of iris
a kiss
[Inspired by the art of Fred Wiedmann.]
she came to me yesterday
She came to me yesterday
as a vision
as a dream
as something I couldn’t
put my finger on
she told me things
whispers in the dark
about love
about the nature of the universe
secrets about myself
so many
that I began to grow scared
and angry
and I held back
because I couldn’t let go.
Pain in a nebulous world
control that means
letting go
a clenched fist
a world holding us bound
so little we know
so little we trust
a thousand voices colliding
commands unheeded
freezing on a point
over the edge
of eternity.
– matt at shadow of iris
she_came_to_me_yesterday
last year’s rain
An iconic silhouette
panniered
and conically corseted
court dresses
of exquisite silk
and gentle patterns;
two ladies that have stolen away
into the early morning mist.
Powdered white faces
white as china
soft as cream
under fashionable wigs
dusted with flour
worn high in a roll
with rouge lips
carefully crafted
to convey
just the proper amount
of sensuality;
their warm hands had clasped
and their eyes had met
with such force
that words had been an excess.
They had thought the flowers
so beautiful
pink roses, scented with delirium
amaryllis, sweet enough to eat
cherry blossoms in full bloom
and irises, potent with message,
a gift of substantial meaning
from one tender heart
to another.
They had thought the flowers
so beautiful, that is
until the bugs had begun
to creep out
buzzing flies with bulbous eyes
and sticky tongues
that flit out licking everything,
droning bees that bobbled about
and grew angry quickly
when you swiped at them,
whining mosquitoes
that left just a drop of blood
on your skin
after they had pierced it,
and creepy crawling things
long and slender
with a thousand legs
each touch a prick
as they scurried up your arm
and onto your back
where they paused to listen
to the growing din
of insect noise,
a murmuring that said
to every organism
rhythm, form, and duration
varied expressions of thriving life
formed around
limits of an inward order
phantoms breaking free
from last year’s rain.
– matt at shadow of iris
last year's rain
[Inspired by the work of Ray Caesar.]
pandora
They say
the lame god molded the clay
into the likeness of a woman
fairer than the earth had ever seen;
and the bright eyed goddess clothed her
in delicate robes that
human hands could have never knitted;
the divine Graces put a necklace
of shimmering pearls around her neck
and they sparkled like the stars at night;
Time put the sweet fragrance
of spring flowers into her hair
and even into her private parts
so that men would be drawn there;
the goddess of wisdom
taught her wit
and how to lie enchantingly
so that none would want the truth;
and the goddess of love
taught her how to talk and move
with such allure
that she would be irresistible;
they called her Pandora
and they gave to her a box
with the explicit instructions
that she should never open it,
but they winked among themselves
even as they instructed her;
finally, they sent her among men
in the hope
that she would save them.
– matt at shadow of iris
pandora
murmurs and shrapnel xxii
An old brass bathtub
an oblong reddish-brown bowl
on four short black legs
gently curved piping
that winds like tree vines
from the floor
all the way to the spigot
which curves bird-like over the tub
enough extra piping leftover
to twist, root-like, above
where it supports
a small withered potted houseplant
a cactus without needles;
viscous and the color
of midnight
black oil
pours from the spigot
into the tub
which is nearly full now;
a woman with long wavy hair
and eyes
the same shade of black
as the oil
sits in the center of the tub
in the flesh
arms curled loosely round her legs
her firm round breasts unhidden;
she stares out
in your direction
staring right through you
right through the entire universe
into the soft nothingness
that surrounds us all.
The minister of energy supports
the takeover and endorses a process
that will create a permanent submission.
– matt at shadow of iris
[This poem was inspired by the work of Esao Andrews.]
