as the petal of a flower
giving in to the breezes
bowing to the pleasure of water drops
succumbing to honey bee
lifting to light
shivering as luminous object
rising out of the mud of shadows
grateful to the full moon over my simple garden.
I dream like my easy shadow
stretching from effortless sunlight
playing across surfaces before me
drawn as the first thirsty man
opening mouth to water
reaching open palm as a cup
to hold what wonder I can drink.
– DG Dal Ponte
©2014 DG Dal Ponte; all rights reserved
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Fantasy is my lifeblood when I am alone.
Do you think it is possible to be jealous of a fantasy within a fantasy? Another way. How would you feel if your dreams betrayed you? For example, your fantasy lover within your dream commits your fantasy with your best friend in the same dream. Dreams decay upon the jealous whimsy of fantasy, intoxicating the soul, like kissing the ghost of a ghost’s best friend and believing we have something to hold. You awaken with a sense of relief, but shaken nevertheless. Left to the vagary of the moment. I feel utterly alone when I have thoughts such as these. As if there is no substance on which to hang my hat as I pull on my persona and go about the day.
Do you believe our fantasies are born within the expectations our parents have of us? Even the sexual fantasies. — Rob Sterling
a fluid pirouette of the soul
does its delicate swirl
like slow water melting thin ice from below
thin ice hidden beneath deep snow
where subtle layers meet
as if kissing the ghost of a ghost
hand in hand along the skin of the dream
dance on the tip of a toe
if desire desires it so.
— D.G. DalPonte
©2014 Rob Sterling; all rights reserved
©2014 DG DalPonte; all rights reserved
In that space between knowing
the wet of the raindrop and its ride down your skin,
the breath in and its release,
the question and the pause,
the last pulse and the new –
in that space between
where you were and where you will be –
between the lustrous and the dark –
as a beam of light between two faces
©2013 all rights reserved