-
The light trembles behind thoughts, that fly polymer.
Bring exacting.
|Away|
from anything of me
bridges of death
send ghosts to
quivering brows.
I am the cocoon
nine times deeper in sand.
statements only in innocence
compares with you
|unknown|
the speak spin hurt
at a life long |dream|
Hot energy washes
the fascicle tendons on nerves.
part in hard waters slaying the heart.
verbalize something
meager words hold so much
to drive you away.
not realizing the
life long journey and
pride in your heart.
you brought me
through the fog’s interlace
neurons explode.
the might of the loss
passes away along the
road to silence.
mire the water
slip down. the deep
earth’s skin cover.
my pearls on you
circling. circling
|down|
summer’s breath wavering.
The year of 2010, July 24.
ne bottalico♥©
ladyO€
~musingsilence~∞
Month: June 2012
She Is
Collage 8 inches by 11 inches on paper.
Primitive dreams
Did you lose your way…
along the passages through the cliffs?
Falling, falling, lips brushed cold Midnight night skies,
to the warmth of Gauguin‘s light.
Pressed iced glass colors Calmness washed absent
Flight, from civility Bohemian magic
Rediscovery in Pressed fingers pulse beat
The rhythm of paced breaths the pearls dropped …
spilling on to floor stealing the shimmer of pale moons.
Bending images back
Into an Iris penetrating….
nike e. bottalico
Breathing of Iris
The Breathing of Iris series will contain thoughts and imagery primarily of the Flower of the Iris or the Iris of an eye. Or perchance other thoughts…
An Iris is grown from the root of the “rhizome.” The rhizome or roots is buried into the soil or mother earth. An Iris is used in perfumes, and has medicinal properties. An Iris is also used in essential oils made from the flowers — used in aromatherapy and can be used as sedative medicines. Once the dried rhizomes were given to infants who were teething (Ahhg!). Some brands of Gin use the orris root and iris flowers (Bombay Sapphire© and Magellan gin©) for flavoring and color.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iris_%28plant%29
The Ritual
Magical center breath, heaves and a sigh…
The uncanny Fades
the shapeless draft of paper smudged
tiraboleiros swings,
smoke drifts and floats,
the small surprising clinks of the chain…
palm leaves dried from past Sunday’s
collected the liturgy sung,
not in flat sad words or flat earth noise
but the lilting of voices so pure only the children hear
the piper play and bagpipes echo.
“The breathing of Iris”
nike e bottalico
AKA — theladyo€© or ~musingsilence~∞
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