Old Joseph-Z has now rehearsed the bald assertion he has made with frequency that here on DUP there is no one who wants, or feels the need, to †read my ďoverlongĒ critiques of his attempts at verse. He says, within a kind of hissy fit, that they are all off-putting screeds.
So please, I wonder if youíll take a little time to write and let me know just how you feel about these churlish claims.
Post here upon this page (or on the one where Joseph spews disdain on my critiques**) some words that...
What I see at night in dreams is often without any God touched gleam or tinge of heavened happiness.
Nor is the fibrous substance of my visioning the things I did throughout my day.
Itís often (more than not) a conjuring of longing, heart wrenched thoughts about the things that never happened in my life that never came to me, that is to say, theyíre mostly moving images of deprivations deep and harrowing.
THATíS what I have dreams about when I have gone to sleep.
There is within your eyes a certain light -- a glimmer sparkling like a cometís trail within the growing darkness of a Summerís velvet dusk, the sapphire star that graces clear skied evensong and calls the postulant to prayer, the warming gleam of crescent dancing candle flames within the alcove of a darkened room that animate and golden glow the night: They are now hushing me. They that make me still and gladly powerless and soar me through the spinning heavenís heights.
I want you rushing up my landingís stairs, I want you banging down my door to let you in. I want you fevered for the sight and smell of me. I want you running down my hallway in a streak of terrifying eagerness † to squealing leap on me spread legged † to hinge and cling and concentrate † yourself around my hips I want you burying your face against my neck I want you captive chaining up my arms in yours, I want your fingers vicelike, crucent, †in my hair I want you grasping hard my wrists, † and stretching out my arms † and...
You demanded to be stirred and ravished, swept along by words, to dark voiced be undone enclosed and won, and then with poetry become all sinew strummed.
Remember that you asked to have your name low murmured out and dulcet mouthed adoringly.
Remember when you close your eyes and, breathing hard beneath my voiceís rush, its warm enringing blanketings, your heart dissolves, and you are rendered wet and pliable; Remember, when you're spent...
The open ďyesĒ to me within your eyes, its quiet thunder, how can I speak of it? Against the sly light there, I have no words. Iím sundered. But seeing it, I now begin to know just what the ancients felt and gave their voices to when they, starlit so long ago, gazed upwards at the swirling glories of the night and then cried out in longing awe as they were filled with wonder.