Emerald Dragon Archives

And Isis kisses

The breasts of Jodie

Each kiss like planting

A small blossom on

A still small pond and

Jodie strokes her hair

And runs her finger

Down Isis’s back

And outside two cats

Fight and a railway

Train sounds and the bed

Rocks as their hot love

Making takes off and

The shadows on the

Walls see...

It was the kiss of kisses. If Rodin

Had been around he could have made it a

New work of art for a world to see. Her

Lips were moist and warm; he felt them press soft

Against his own; heard the moan; sensed her breasts

Nudge. This was nothing like what his father

Had once said of kissing, something different,

Nothing missing. He sensed her fingers touch

His neck; they slid slowly down, then up. He

Martha remembers the Ebony

Crucified given to her by a former

Boyfriend to encourage her to let

Him fuck but she never did but kept

The Christ tucked in her handbag with

Purse of coins and handkerchief and

Tampons and candy bars and a pack of

Cigarettes and plastic lighter she liberated

From some store in Tipperary and as the

Boyfriend lay on her bed trying to get his

...

I sit and watch the rain pour down

and marvel at it’s constant sound,

it causes my mind to relax

and ups my consequence to the max.

Though it pours so constantly

it never seems to bother me,

because i know it’s nurturing

not just my mind but everything.

The sound of thunder and a lighting strike

are strangely things i seem to like,

they feel as family as the rain

even though different as jo...

Come in Miss Broston and sit down or lie

On the couch over there if you wish I

Don’t mind whichever is best for you and

You wander into Doctor Freudbank's room

With its blue walls and framed certificates

And bourgeois paintings and sit in the black

Chair opposite his desk that reminds you

Of the big desk in your father’s study

Where he used to sit most days and if you’d

Been a bad gi...

You know those tickles way down inside?

The ones which anticipate time?

I have those tickles today.

Thoughts of "beginnings" play.

They don't come often.

But when they do...

writing spews...

from me

...

You oughtn’t to use bad language, Anny

Says, appearing out of nowhere, a small

Bow tied in her long blonde hair, Momie said

It wasn’t good. You say, I never use bad

Language when I write poems about you.

She comes closer to the PC and stares

At the screen. Is this poem about me?

Most of it, you say, gazing at her small

Ghostly hand on the arm of the swivel

Chair. Her f...

Hold that pose, he said, and she did and she

Was most surprised that he allowed her to

Keep her clothes on and not have to pose in

Some seductive or pornographic way

Or fashion as he often termed it, which

Reminded her of Mother’s words before

She had left home years ago, always keep

Your dignity Wally never let men

Take advantage of you because you’re a

Woman, but she had let that gem of word...