...ascension

This image is called Shadow of a Man by BaddogLtd and I love the imagery with the poetry-- a wonderful combination to illustrate the ascension.

Phantom Ascension

Subtle panting beginning slowly in sleep
My head rolls to the side as my eyes flit in this surreal existence
Sensing the pending arrival of this mental invasion
Enter my mind and siphon my will to bend to his
I inhale deeply to become one with his scent before the ascension
Breathe deep, feel deep, love deep, he speaks
My eyes open wide as the bellow of his call reaches my ears
My mind denies but my body will not follow suit
Come to me, my Queen, for I am your heart’s desire
The burn is eminent upon your skin, my kiss will put out your fire
My arms move in response, opening wide to receive all his energy
My thighs part to let loose the warmth that flows from within me
The arch is a slow force—a deep uprising of my back refusing to be flat upon the sheets
Royally erect nipples point heavenward while the desire creates its own darkness around me
His phantom breath a warm and inviting tease as he traces his name upon my skin with his lips
Mine part, as does my will… promise you won’t forget how I make you feel
Hips grind in harsh retaliation
Lips crush away the pain and frustration
Panting increasing as does the flow of hot excitement reflected in my flex
Passionate moaning represented by my voice, I deny this is my cry as of yet
Bucking wildly as I rise to crescendo
Into my ascension

Queen Poetess B © Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved.

Fade to Black

once foremost, the transition to the rear has begun
it’s moving slowly…
slowly…
the light is dimming, there is no sun
it’s fading…
fading…
there is no more desire to step forward
retreating back…
back…
withdrawing from what once mattered
it doesn’t matter…
recede…
fade…
you’re fading…
…to black.

Queen Poetess B © Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved.

Word.

Nothing exists to counter my Word.
Word? Word! Word.

damn...
It's funny how consecutive letters can bring about inspiration
(I've learned to balance my concentration during this poetic intrapersonal conversation)
its been a minute since I've had my feelings in it
(this shit is never-ending so there is no end to begin it)
I got time in my pocket and there is no better place to spend it
than here on this mic...
don't ask me how I am doing
because I am not fine
so I continue to work through my pain as I cry through my rhymes
and I hate it and love it at the same time
pisses me off, yet excites me so
its chocolate covered honey baked ham
served with raw egg yolks
a perfect-disconcerted measure of pleasure and pain
but I can't have the sweet without the salt
cuz it wouldn't taste the same
and the bitter-after taste of its reminder would not be there to sustain
the hard earned lessons that are now burned into the brain
casting these sad images of this life like a video on repeat
and I can't run from my reality no matter how fast I move my feet in retreat
So I use my spoken words to inhale its life into my lungs
I open my heart and tune my ear to the song that is being sung
inside me (God-- can you hear it?!)
This birthing of my desire so rare; so hot that its cooling to the touch
I love how I am powerless to it-- my appetite insatiable and can never get enough
This thing is a love affair....
I don't think I ever loved something so hard that was so physically intangible
but living without Word is most assuredly unmanageable
wanting to abandon it all to be with it is a thought purely fanciful
but its better than living here in this world without feeling -- with out its Love
Word to me you're so healing-- gives me that feeling that keeps me reeling like no one on earth ever has
Lost in my pages left to secure and blanket me
I am comforted by your presence
but the correct combination of itself can be found
unlike the lips of the utterer

Queen Poetess B Copyright © 2009 All Rights Reserved

Trampled

this one is actually a little old. I wrote this earlier in the year and found it last night...

Unconsciously or uncaringly discarding her cares like waste

Unable to admit it; but always responding with reasons not to ­­­­

Always flipping but she's tired of spinning,

Waiting, staring at the time capsule trapped within a reflection

Time spilled upon the table and upon the floor into haphazard directions

Always second choice, second best or second rate

Viewed as wanting too much—she’s unable to be seasoned to his desired taste

Every struggle is a test? Or tested to see how long the struggle will persist?

But then new, more prominent entries are placed onto his list

Items like her shift down like the cells in Excel

Didn’t know breath was being held, so now there is the waiting to exhale

Thinking of her growth, thinking she will prevail

But in actuality, the plan in totality has failed

The car has derailed

Only reasons to distract

Ready to create and manipulate whenever the train is ready to switch tracks

So she will turn around and return to the top

Whether it is unconscious or uncaring, she knows it has got to stop

Be ready to address it with only the right reasons to

Stop the spinning and the flipping,

Because the mirror’s reflection is just You

Make good on the things you once planned to do

So that the many concerns will be reduced to a few

Know the character changes are for real-- not a sample

Show her that you're here, you hear, and who she is to you is ample

She’s tired of collecting dust like an old nick-knack on a mantle

Accept her as she is because the rejection leaves her trampled


Queen Poetess B © Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved.