spit, mixed with dirt – muddy words flow
As I hurried ‘round the bend
Of the wooded trail near my home
I came upon her standing there
In the pouring down rain
Her face turned up
Toward the clouded grey sky
I stepped back into the shadows
My eyes could scarce look away as
She stood there absolutely naked
Exposed
Alone
Vulnerable
Her arms spread wide
As if the cold drops
Could somehow wash away her
Every doubt and fear
Her every sorrow
Every shed tear
Her hair cascaded down her back
The water saturated her
As I watched from
My hiding place
I saw the soil at her feet
Turn to mud
Still she stood there
A scream suddenly burst from her lips
A howl of such great sorrow that soon
Became a sob
And down she dropped
To her bare knees
Her hands covered her face
Which dropped to her heaving chest
I longed to run to her
Cover her
How long she knelt there
I couldn’t say
Yet still I watched transfixed
But she finally collapsed
In a heap of long wet curls
Pale creamy skin
Heaving breasts and full thighs
Her sobs gradually subsided
Fingers dug into the mud
In which she lay
She began to cover herself with it
Rubbing the mire up her legs
Across her belly
Over her thighs and hips
Around her breasts and up her shoulders
It was as if, while I watched her hands,
I was placed under a spell
My feet no longer belonged to me
Yet followed some other’s bidding
I found myself standing before her
And she gazed up at me
Without any surprise
In her sad blue eyes
She reached for me
And I took her outstretched hand
She quietly undressed me
And I confess I didn’t fight her
She fucked me there in the mud
The rain pouring down
Over our moving bodies
Not a word she spoke
Nor sound she made
She took what she needed
I gave without question
And when it was over
My eyes drifted closed
But for a moment and
When my senses slowly came back to me
And I found myself lying in the mud
Alone
Naked
Wet
Satisfied
I found no sign of her passing
Nor did I ever lay eyes upon her again
At times I wondered
As the days passed by
Whether I’d really seen her
There in the rain that day
And yet scarcely one year passed
When on a drizzly day
I opened my cottage door to find
A young baby in a basket
With haunting, sad blue eyes
tara caribou | ©️2017
Art Consignments in Ninilchik, Alaska
Apologies for my apologies
Poetry by Charles Joseph
We Survived and Arrived - Now as Warriors We Thrive
Writer and Artist
a collection of short poetry from an autistic mind
Poetry, Photography, and Thoughts
The Lies in the Skies Exposed
"When I am writing, I am trying to find out who I am..." --Maya Angelou
Welcome to my tiny corner of the universe filled with poems that I have written.
Author | Freelance Writer | Blogger
livingforthemoon
Butterwell's Blog
... from a silent space
One of my favorites by you! ❤️
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Why thank you. I’m glad you liked it.
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Welcome my dear friend
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This is really good – so engaging & well written! 🙂
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Thank you! It happens to be a favorite of mine. It sort of wrote itself.
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My pleasure!
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Damn
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Thanks. It was very real to me as I wrote it.
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I remember this one. I’d say it’s one of your best. In my humble opinion.
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I agree. One of my favorites, too.
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The imagery is captivating!
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Thank you. I was quite swept away myself! Nice to hear from you.
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Amazing feeling when the words flow so easily. Good to hear from you too!
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Nicely penned and so very different from your present style of writing.
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Thanks Wayne. I wrote this last year, so that explains the difference in styles.
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Oooooohhhhhh I didn’t predict where you went with this and yet
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WAIT THAT GOT POSTED INCOMPLETE
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As I was saying before I interrupted myself, that took me somewhere new that I haven’t been reading your stuff before. It’s kinda haunting at first and then sensual and then really beautiful
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Ohh!! I love your reaction. I myself felt carried away as I wrote it.
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I feel like that too
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Well… I can’t exactly say I was expecting *that*.
Now far as your nature-driven, darkness-inducing, temperature-raising, pulse-quickening, gothic-pinaccle poetry goes, this one went above and beyond. The scenery, the darkness (oh, the lovely, lovely darkness), the rush, every action feeding into almost a ritual, almost some kind of worship you find yourself in (and the object of – worshipper and worshipped all in one) and the climax, the end result, the melding of forms to create the magick (with a hard k) of the night, of the earth and of rain…
In short, one of your best so far.
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Yes! This is one of my favorites. Something from last year. But I like to revisit it every so often because it felt like magic to me. And yes. A worship experience. The whole thing came from a conversation I was having about how much I love to stand in the rain naked. And from that….. this. My earthy magic revealed…
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Earthy magick indeed. You can smell the damp fresh soil (oh I LOVE that smell…), hear the rain, taste skin and radiating energy.
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YESSS!! Exactly!
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