Hers, a heart wild with
abandon. Reckless – not.
Arms just wide enough to
embrace her Atlantic, legs
long enough to take in moon
silvered walks near waves
colored by night.
A neck sensitive enough to
know a mineral caress,
fingers eager enough to
siphon gritty warmth and hold
smooth treasures gifted by the sea.
Hers, a heart wild with
passion where ocean
blurs sky.
~Pamela
Words, like knotted muscles,
tense. Wonder if you can feel the
letters jumbling together, backing
up in your throat.
What makes you think I towers
over me? A capital letter? Maybe
you forgot I have one, too. My
name starts with it.
Sounds, like maddened hornets,
rise. Do they sting as they leave
your mouth? Nah, not worried.
Got my antihistamine.
That cacophony, though. Man,
what noise – hard to hear over
pollution rushing through underground
sewers, levels rising.
You forget that my Atlantic is
bigger than your filth. Despite your
spills, it thrives. Creating life in abundance,
cancelling out shore lined trash.
Crashing waves drown out your my and
mine. Washing out to sea your selfish salt
tears and empty beer bottles, bobbing in
blue black riptides.
Treasures remain – handpicked shells with
sunset curves and fragile skeletons of small
creatures. Windblown hair of a tiny one and
a taller one. Even sharks lose their teeth.
~Pamela
They were solid-
sunlight and energy
wrapped up in liquid
until tiny flames
became infernos.
Burning an orange
hot, frenzy.
Until steam
smothering vapors
put out fuel.
Silence then
ash.
~Pamela
A veil blotting out
even sun specks gripped
tight by your hands
going lax—faint glimmers
then blinding warmth
swimming before
my eyes.
I see and feel day
leaving behind night and
your shrouds.
~Pamela
Her as oxidizer.
A crushing embrace
heated through.
Stoked by red hot embers
igniting an epic blaze, a light
up the sky bonfire —
eagerly licking up
fuel as greedy flames burned, singed.
Catalysts, flashpoint, then combustion.
When the heat simmered down, a white smoky
haze–aftermath still smoldering. He was
changed.
~Pamela
She danced to funk
writhing and swaying
to strong riffs and heavy
bass.
She moved to hard
rhythms still loose
laughing at intense
grooves.
She forgot about
everything and nothing
getting down on
offbeats.
You visit me when the rains come.
Sliding in through the rising torrents
beating my windows, in the water
swirling around my ankles.
You can’t help yourself.
There’s something about crushing
waves that are a part of you which make
her eat sand, another’s eyes red from stinging
salt water, one more her heart aching from being
crashed into again and again.
Your wake leaves behind brown tide
lines with dirty foam, crushed shells,
sand dollars in pieces.
~Pamela
e
v
o
b
a
hair fanned
b
e
l
o
w
slick curves.
C-D-E-F-G-A-B-C
C-D-E♭-F-G-A♭-B♭-C
gleam.
silver
tale
spins
d
e
e
p
d
e
e
p
e
r
into black-
blue.
~Pamela Rossow
In October, even in South Florida, there is a hint of fall. The sunlight glints through the trees more golden, breezes kick up, and there’s the promise of a reprieve from the humidity–even if we have to wait until November or December for it. Here’s to celebrating autumn whether you are gazing upon miles of open country with trees the color of crimson or you are strolling about a city center enjoying the crisp weather. Cheers!
In my sky at twilight you are like a cloud
and your form and colour are the way I love them.
You are mine, mine, woman with sweet lips
and in your life my infinite dreams live.
The lamp of my soul dyes your feet,
the sour wine is sweeter on your lips,
oh reaper of my evening song,
how solitary dreams believe you to be mine!
You are mine, mine, I go shouting it to the afternoon’s
wind, and the wind hauls on my widowed voice.
Huntress of the depth of my eyes, your plunder
stills your nocturnal regard as though it were water.
You are taken in the net of my music, my love,
and my nets of music are wide as the sky.
My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning.
In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begin.
