Nightingale Rapture

 

 

She of female colour

works a cherry path

tripping rainbow wind and flaunting a song,

the nightingale rapture…

A bountiful traveller, her bowl swimming,

a vagrant obstreperous kite.

This leonine hue, this invigorated sunrise, she is yolk.

Woman spills from her delicate fingers,

impolite yet forgiven as it falls.

She of 1000 clouds and velvet womb,

a mountain of compulsion.

SHE

a bolt                  of flesh                    silk

29 thoughts on “Nightingale Rapture”

  1. Ahhh…Silver artist of wonders….so so insanely beautiful…Love thas. The colours in the words are so bright my eyes are stung. Just lovely. xo

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    1. oh my joy to make your eyes sting…. i would love to read them like you are…yours a FABULOUS read, just brings so much life to them…not sure I can get my head around the technology though!

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  2. I don’t think I understood a word of this…but I LOVED IT! It is quite rare that a piece of beauty which causes one to think ‘eh?’ can captivate you so, yet the luscious colours and images seem so realistic it is so very difficult not to simply enjoy and find so relaxing this piece of poetry.

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    1. Thats wonderful, you make me smile…I know it is quite weird…but i think it is just about the way of the woman to enrapture and move….to sting… but in her feminine beauty get away with it… hmmm i am still learning from my own poetry! xxx

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  3. “Impolite, yet forgiven as it falls…” because impolite isn’t to be forgiven, but cherished.
    You are great, you impolite, fertile, great yolk of a poet!
    Thank-you for this feeling of triumph and of…well, stinging eyes..

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