http://i271.photobucket.com/albums/jj127/musemongersmotel/Sashas%20stuff/yukuprofile.jpg
Angel of Shadow
- Name: Sasha
- Gender: Female
- Location: Auckland NZ
| Total Posts | Last Post | Last Seen | Joined |
|---|---|---|---|
| 26578 | 11/08/09 14:23:46 | 11/08/09 14:23:46 | 10/21/03 |
| Visitors Now | Visitors Today | Most Visits | Total Visits |
|---|---|---|---|
| 0 | 2 | 70 05/01/08 |
6253 |
My Poetry
Rustic
Long the days burning…
summer licks the skin golden,
hungers for that wet kiss of sea
that haunts in refrain,
it sings to the shore, of
white horses
that rush the altar in worship
sunflower moments, melt slowly…
we catch the drops
of ice-cream
that fall vanilla sultry
to our bare parchment,
chase the setting sun…
her fire falls…to meet our own
we walk in autumn poetry,
a lattice of flesh
and thought
spilling…
the pulsing wind runs
like fingers through hair
to tease…touch…
spiral henna like
we are the quickening;
our voices
cinnamon & cloves
to the dusking hours,
we taste the crisp scent
of nature's garment
in the biting air
our words drift as leaves…
rustic in their language,
sanguine in their swirling,
they burn
with eloquence
and fall at our feet
© Sasha '09
Girl Interrupted
Girl interrupted; the label carved to my insides,
a tandem reality, censured blossoming.
Sentient spirit...faded before due time,
threadbare as the hand-me-downs
I would proscribe to the depths of the closet...
if only I could.
Opaque tights did little, against
the biting voice of Winter; it relished
whipping its tongue about my flesh,
knotting my long hair, burning my cheeks,
I loved how it made me...feel.
More than a passing fascination;
this new state of being...
I wore numb well;
not enough to draw attention,
just enough to survive.
I slept with curtains drawn to the night
while the moon held my secrets between her pearly teeth
and I'd pray she'd not speak before dawn,
lest they should all fall out...
yet there was something holistic in my fractured days,
the burn of melancholy fingers that pried open my nights.
Forgive this irksome indulgence, but
this needed to be written...
to eulogize her...my girl interrupted.
© Sasha '09
Waiting to Ignite...
In this silent sojourn, I reacquaint my
knees with the earth, in
nebulous recollection
of that first dusk...in his arms.
Wistful; I am
wet with precipitation, recall the drift, of
his words, beneath the
yawn & stretch of the early bright.
Time holds me breathless
here, like a single
ember...waiting to ignite. An oneiric
call to...being,
amative in my longing to
gorge those distant words, sway in their
exquisite falling...we
danced like flame, then.
Beyond the cage of dream
I wander each satin fold that splays itself to our
ruins...a
demure blush of poetry, a
saffron dusting of thought
illicitly splashed to the
naked breath of day, I am a
grateful poet. Incense on the altar; I strike a match, let the
scented smoke...free me.
© Sasha '09
An Acrostic written from the Title of the famous poem
"I know why the caged bird sings"
by Maya Angelou
Opus of Days Death
black become the
ends of days, I
call to flesh...the moon; her soft
ambient whisper
undermines the darkness that
spills to all
edges of night
I
cannot, will not deny the
opus filtered through scrim
until I am awash in the
lilting composition of
days death
now, the wild dusk envisaged; an
opening of eye and mind...wings spread
to catch the breeze
sublime in flight, I dip and swirl
to stir the buttermilk sky
of all imaginings,
playful in my skin
feather light, free
of the haunting of memory, the
raping of spirit
dawn; the dream's
end, as first light draws from my lips
a call to flesh...the sun; the golden
touch, the kiss to curve, the
heat that sparks...my muse
Sasha '09
An Acrostic written from the title of the poem
"Because I Could Not Stop for Death" by Emily Dickinson
the poetry of rain
she is the raging summer
the hot wind
that tangles his hair
the burning kiss
that dances the upcurve
of his mouth
he is cotton candy clouds
that stretch and yawn
drifting across her
waking form
a dappled spill of morning
to her scorched skin
and we foolishly await
the poetry of rain
in the quiet discomfort
of their humidity
while we pray for sunshine
that doesn't burn
© Sasha '09
Photo by Samantha GK
Used with Permission.
Bled to Grey
I held you safe my melancholy child
aloft, for you should feel the graceful sun
on fallow soil my feet prepared to run
to race you through the woods, pick flowers wild
crackled leaves and kindling loosely piled
our laughter bled to grey, rendered undone
remember innocence when we were one?
the shine fell from our sky; the gods beguiled
it turned our skin to grey, threadbare and old
but from the sullen earth each twisted tree
still dared to reach; invoking warmth of gold
intrinsically our heart...purple and free
remained the place we sheltered from the cold
my melancholy child; the core of me
© Sasha '09
[Poetic Form: Petrarchan Sonnet]
I held you safe my melancholy child
aloft, for you should feel the graceful sun
on fallow soil my feet prepared to run
to race you through the woods, pick flowers wild
crackled leaves and kindling loosely piled
our laughter bled to grey, rendered undone
remember innocence when we were one?
the shine fell from our sky; the gods beguiled
it turned our skin to grey, threadbare and old
but from the sullen earth each twisted tree
still dared to reach; invoking warmth of gold
intrinsically our heart...purple and free
remained the place we sheltered from the cold
my melancholy child; the core of me
© Sasha '09
Where I Breathe...
My Friends
Angel of Shadow has 170 friend(s)
Kia Ora
I am a 47 year old, very proud mother of 2,
living down-under, in New Zealand.
Poetry is my passion, and I have been blessed
to meet, get to know, and learn from some
of the most amazing people, over the years.
For those special connections I have made,
their souls, hearts, and poetry, have touched
my life in the most deep and profound ways,
and I am ever grateful.
Arohanui
Art by Sasha Walker
living down-under, in New Zealand.
Poetry is my passion, and I have been blessed
to meet, get to know, and learn from some
of the most amazing people, over the years.
For those special connections I have made,
their souls, hearts, and poetry, have touched
my life in the most deep and profound ways,
and I am ever grateful.
Arohanui
Art by Sasha Walker
My Poetry
My deepest thanks to ALL who left me such wonderful comments on my page, over
the past 18 months...I have really enjoyed reading them all, however, in all honesty I just don't have the time to reply to you all, anymore.
Thanks again, everybody.
Sasha xxx
Thanks again, everybody.
Sasha xxx
Sorrow's Pearl
Calico weeps
swallowing laughter
and time, as shadow creeps
yet dares to cling to breath
gasping from behind
cracked glass, it seeps
shadows unfurl
the sepia rose,
whose thorns anchor, then curl
brazen in their language
humid in release;
sweet sorrow's pearl
once was a dance
tattooed to this floor,
love throws a backward glance...
lost to a limping sun;
it leans lemon 'gainst
their stale romance
its echo flaunts
the grey, fading song
in dulcet tones it taunts...
love is jade...and jaded
teased by an ill wind
sweet sorrow haunts
© Sasha '09
Chase the sun, home...
I flounder, wear the grey
of stalking sentinels; they tower
and smirk...their stone coat-tails
swallow my feet
the city
will not mourn me;
it pulses
in my rear view...
I breathe deep
and chase the sun;
blacktop snaking toward...life
home peels back the corporate layers;
bleeds gold across my eyes, draws fire
to country skin, runs fingers
through limp hair. I kick off
city boots, to feel
dirt underfoot,
drink freedom
from the
air
© Sasha '09
Photo by Samantha GK
Used with Permission.
A jagged pill
In quietude a haunting gaze
evokes the weathered cafe haze...
shadow thick as syrup clung,
in stolid tincture to the air,
thoughts swelled behind his jaded stare,
the journal held his words unsung
they fell from tongue like polished chrome,
shone stark inside his seasoned tome.
The lambent glow from candle bright;
an intimation in the dark,
a kindling to call the spark...
gazed long through glass; tomorrow's light
muse mistress night sleeps in the still
a jagged pill, a writers plight.
© Sasha '09
[ Poetic Form: Jeffrey's Sonnet]
Photo by Richard Moss
Used with Permission.
Comes the Storm
As Gaia crests the clouds ignite
the dusting light a dirge of day,
by thunder hear the clamor bright,
ornate the ire of her sway
A burgeoning quixotic smile
elucidates what comes our way,
the promised storm a lonely mile...
ornate the ire of her sway
Her spirit rumbles discontent,
in darkness she'll no longer play,
farewell the night in pained lament,
ornate the ire of her sway
As Gaia crests the clouds ignite...
ornate the ire of her sway.
© Sasha '09
[Poetic Form: Kyrielle Sonnet]
Photo by Samantha GK
Used with Permission.
One little girl
Innocence captured summer days,
splashed them bright, 'pon canvass, bare.
Ambrosial opus; nature sways...
paint brush by her favourite book,
stoic easel, worn leather chair...
one little girl, one cozy nook.
Within the long winters gloaming,
the villa on Transition Lane
echoed, called the girl to roaming...
rainchild dressed in sepia veil
flower in hand, 'tween pages plain,
lovingly pressed, as thoughts set sail
Within the long winters gloaming
innocence captured summer days
© Sasha '09
[Poetic Form: Cornish Sonnet]
