sw poetry

rural goddess

frost on grass
like glass
crunch beneath my soles
offensive calls thrill me
crush into my mind & heart
pretend to admire
but insult

snowdrops grasp their way
through frozen soil
hidden back from world
old dust strong walls embrace
do all these guys look for love?

at dawn and dusk
yelling chimes of fleeing creatures
breaking in death hunt by foxes
the snakes at the pond awake
old nightingale, barn owls singing
in this choir bizarre
a nocturnal lamento

tissues breeze unused
mansize height
through pillow mountains
and sleaky duvets
therein I let them in
from time to time

a bouquet of daffodils
always starts my season here
open her yellow eyes
a gustav klimt pinned on the wall
stares at me
and flowering pass by
as my long turn run comes to an end

through winter bitterness
and arctic nights
only david cameron denies
the burglars human rights
and Portobello Road becomes reshaped in fall
a great Big Brother en plein air
I ll only cross then veiled at night

Landy throw his art into a bin
how senseless must he feel
the ugliness thats fits to him
where s the point of all these matters
cant see the bottom of this void
it is the vacuum itself that hurts
highlights the celebs triteness streaming out
to feed the deaf and dumb
to let the palestine beside
trapped like mice
guarded by the big paranoid cat
and absent gods
a hopeless piece of life

lets wait for spring
and let the shades aside


another kind of beauty

deepen my love in life
I think
peppered with fragments of colour
unexpected kindness
I receive
glides over my body
a gentle kissing
a longing for pleasure
to lay your eyes on

the beauty of a hotel room
and anonymity even more
surprising to find such colour
there, another kind of beauty

charmed with light a green grass bottle
a wine of yellow
gleaming on a sidetable of woodgrain
so rich that it looks like pheasants feathers
the colour of banknotes

gleaming white spermologic
skin blushes red pulsating blooming flesh
a showering gold
a glimpse through black lace and sparkling silken pants
a china-red string
shimmering porcelain skin shiver in your hands
propells me on the runway
to the point of no return
a dark blue night sky enfolds me in its arms


a short conversation

„Thank you ….“
„Well done, good girl …“
„Cu soon.“
praise, where praise is due not where expected



the impact of recession
this bitch fucks
when she wants to


all texts ©Ariane

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