I am Queen 

I am Queen 

Tonight, Send Me A Warrior King

 

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Tonight,
My enemy lies beside,
under the cover of night,
A little slice of heaven,
desire to roam my body, passion to clutch my throat,
lips wet with promise, lust never tasted so divine,
savoured like forbidden fruit, I bite with greed,
leave behind teeth marks
and a throbbing wound

Tonight,
send me a man,
a bold one,
a warrior king,
I need a fighter, someone who’s not afraid to sin,
a solider looking for a fight,
to combat under the sheets,
we will battle through to dawn,

Tonight,
is all we have,
tomorrow you can leave,
I’ll be finished with you by three,
we can be nemeses,
in the light of day,
but under the cloak of darkness,
you will be mine.

Tonight, you’ll stay.

@JCALVERT 2016, REVISED 2017

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To Wear Our Scars?

 

There is a scar
that covers about three inches of skin
on soft tissue,
just above your breast,
it runs a jagged line
it reminds me of a flower vine
creeping up your neck,
faded in time
a silver tattoo left,

Does it feel different on the tongue?
I run my lips across the serrated point
Quickening with every lick,
Each mark holds a depth untold
I feel a beating pulse within –
more than just a hollow organ;
a heart of its own
flowing in feelings.

This scar that is visible
carried upon your chest
weighing too heavy
for you to undress
like a photograph –
a moment never forgotten.
A permanent welt.
A visible form.

If the scar wasn’t there to remind you?
Could you forget it?

Thoughts

It’s been on my mind –the idea of a scar. We all have scars. Some are visible, some hidden and those buried so deeply, that we are ourselves are shocked to find they are there.

Does wearing our scars in different ways affect our-self?
Do we carry them for everyone to see?
Or hide them so deeply, that we forgot them, for a time.

Because even if we bury our burdens, they have a way of resurfacing.
Is it better to wear our scars?

WRITTEN BY J.CALVERT 2016

ALL PHOTOGRAPHS BELONG TO TALENTED PHOTOGRAPHER ANNA O.PHOTOGRAPHY 2015

Melted Tallow

The edges of the paper

burn

loosely twisted cord

smouldering in the dark

melted tallow

and vanilla plum

the heat overcomes

the smoked-filled room

washes down her throat

shadowing windpipes

suffocating her lungs

sickly-sweet intoxication

the script melts

ink and promises  

dissolve into night

black smoke left hovering

entwined

the words of her lover

lost

the oil lamp burns on.

J.CALVERT 2016

Wild Hearts

OUR WILD HEARTS

CROSSED AND STITCHED

RUNNING DOWN THE STREAM

ARCOSS THE JAGGED EDGES

AND THROUGH THE FERN TREES.

J.CALVERT 2016

Flowing like clean lines

of water

clear and abundant

in natures spring,

Languid against the flow of the river

In sleepy depths

of sorrow,

teeming with tomorrows promise.

She knows not where she is going,

her vision impaired

blinded by the glare,

of the highlights and the shadows

cast far and wide

across her tired eyes

The path

wild and overgrown

cherubs and ferns turn

inwards

and welt under the sun,

The wildness of her heart

crushed

unveiled

altered

outwards

feeling the cool grip of the river run.

 

 

 

 

 J.CALVERT 2016

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ruffled Wings

 

I’ll undo the little threads
Fitted to my skin
Unfold each softly twined strand,
Let my wings reside in flutter
Behind my shoulders
drawn
In shades of copper
trimmed with gold
The scent of lilies float,
over a pond of fronds
and branches fold
under slippers wove in silk
and ribbon ties loop
Ruffled wings
Of feathers and plumes
Windswept
In tangled array
Tethering me to this place
Like draperies unbridled
To reveal
The gentle pleats of flight.

J.CALVERT 2016

Vintage Stones and Flowers Bent

I went AWOL
For a while
Lost in the clouds
Under feathers of plush-downs
Quills and spines,
and buried beneath
a tree
and vintage stones
and flowers bent and overgrown,
It was a blissful place
of undergrowth,
Where I visualised myself
floating softly in a pond of peace,
It was soothing and calming
and my mind was at rest
But here I am
back with my thoughts stirred.

J.CALVERT 2016

Sticks and Stones

Elizabeth Rose sat on the edge
Her wooden heart
Sawing the grain –
Blood in the cut
Opening with a thread
The hem only bordered
by flimsy flesh
Elizabeth Rose dangled her legs
Over the rim
her red eyes weeping,
a dirge
for the dead
Sticks and stones left
Horse bones and ashes swept
Elizabeth Rose staggered to her feet
Shaking legs
Black smoke billowed
Around the fallen,
Her frame borne,
a walking memory
as she continues on.

 

J.CALVERT 2016

 

 

Grace

 

I’ll let the cool water

slip around my sides,

Taste the salt over thighs,

The stiches of the my seams

Little by little come undone,

Laced and twilled around the edge,

The water drips without a care

washing away the worries of today

Undoing the line of stitching,

holding my limbs in place

Allowing me to really see

my own face,

within,

To be confronted with grace.

 

 

J.CALVERT 2016

Inspired by life

and who we are

in each and every moment,

Realising and relishing

the beauty of ‘I’

The power of self belief.

Sandpaper Skin

 Abandoned by days last light
A castle wakes at the top of the hill   
The cloak of darkness a sinister sight 

Wrapped in linen and dove white 

Upon a ledge of dusk and sighs

I crawl across,

The strength of my bones 

Merely an outline of self

I swallow hard the lump in my throat 

My tongue of razor edge – 

Seeping and percolating 

Sandpaper skin

Baring down on plighted throne 

Of nettle and spike 

A thorn in my heart, 

My hands harvest the lines of a jagged path

Time, left me here to haunt

Alone- 

My silhouette now guards the fort.