Living libido loco....

Consumed

by want and mystery,

I am too warm,

overheated;

burning with need.

Living libido loco.

Fighting

against the confines

of my skin.

Tasting salt and succor

in the subtleties of

a waking dream.

Fantasy blurs reality

in the slippery darkness.

Tonight 

I am a construct

of 

my vivid memories.

Flame to tinder

Thought to fire

Heat to desire

And 

You.

You,

splayed before me,

eyes half shut,

a sheen of sweat

on your suggestive skin.

The flavor of your desire

(salty sweet)

rich on my lips.

Our scent by candlelight

(musk and want)

intertwining,

like

our agile bodies

beneath

the

Summer

sheets.

Consumed

by want and mystery,

I am too warm,

overheated;

burning with need.

Living libido loco.

Fighting

against the confines

of my skin.

© Tanya Anguita  

1998 -- Fridge Magnet Poetry

as luscious & raw
as peach petals
who would crush you

beauty must stop
to rob you of your
diamond hair

so take me love
  and read my skin
as a rose sings with need
in the delicate bed
   of day

© Tanya Anguita.

two-stepping moon

the moon was dazzling
as it two-stepped
into the high desert sky,

chasing us
across the paved dance-floor
of the I5 at sundown.

red tail lights,
like synthetic fireflies,
flickered in the distance
as the valley
unfolded,
all dark soil and ripeness,
below a peach dusted sky.

© Tanya Anguita.

Before the Exhale

when silence is comfort
when alone-ness is not loneliness
when stillness is an act of grace

this is the eye in the storm,
the pause before the exhale,
the quiet prior to the thunder clap.

now is the time.
this is the moment.

refill your cup from the well of peacefulness,
breathe in the sweet scent of solitude,
savor the soundless-ness of serenity

for tranquility,
my friend,
is fleeting;


and peace of spirit,
is a blessing from the gods.
 
© Tanya Anguita

Coming Back

i am coming back to myself
after what feels like
too many years
at the front of a war
i did not choose.

celebrating my homecoming
with loved ones,
over shared bread and laughter;

wine and roses
a feast for the senses
after fasting for far too long.

=====================

I am coming back to myself
after what feels like
too many months
of a solitary confinement
i did not deserve.

weeping with relief and gratitude
at the gift of clean air
and cool light on my skin

the sight of beloved faces
a not-so-small kindness that
enfolds me in its comfort
after tireless touch-hungry days
in the darkness.

=====================

i am coming back to myself
after what feels like
too many nights
lost in the wilderness
with no map to guide me.

enjoying again
the gently sloping landscape
of my confidence;

small mountain flowers
tucked gracefully
into cracks in the granite.

=====================

i am coming back to myself;
to the wild leanings
of my soul

frolicking
with the mountain goats in my fertile heart;
swimming
in the newly-thawed lakes of awakening,

the wind in my spirit
whistles a jaunty tune
as it dances through the alpine trees
that sway too and fro by dawn's light.

=====================

i am coming back to myself;
to the contented me
that i wear like a well-worn sundress

easy and soft to the touch,
smelling like Summer and satisfaction,
i accept myself,
with all of my faults and glories,
exactly as i am.
right now.
today.

=====================

i am coming back to myself
to the beloved me
that is like an open kitchen window
on baking day,

enticement in the form of
warm pie and completeness

sending the sweet scent of
abundance and welcome
wafting over the meadows nearby.

=====================

i am coming back to myself.
seeing
sunlight in the shadows,
windows in the architecture,
light where light hasn't shone for a long time.

=====================

i am coming back to myself
finding
empathy in every exchange
and love in every corner.

wakening,
from van-winkle-like sleep,
to the sensuality
that i feared dead.

embracing desire.

wanting again
in the still of the night.

=====================


i am coming back to myself
appreciating my strength
applauding my talents
accepting compliments
thankful
for everyone and everything.

=====================

i am coming back to myself

with gentleness as a mantle
with humor as my flashlight
with a truth i thought i had forgotten
with compassion overflowing my outstretched hands.

=====================

i am coming back to myself
with patience as my guide
with willingness my lodestone
with knowledge of my value
with grace;
owning my beauty

=====================

i am coming back to myself
with confidence
with integrity
with respect
with belief.

i am coming back to myself.
with love.

© Tanya Anguita.

A Ship Called Memory

cast adrift
on a turbulent sea of thought

gasping for air
as waves of emotion
CRASH
over the bow
of this ship
called Memory.

it is a dark and stormy night
on this ocean of recollection,
and i am,
once again,
lost in a squall
of reminiscence and regret;
falling overboard into the sea of sorrows;
drowning in the now-ancient ghosts
of loves ruinous and unrequited.

shall i

swim for the shore,
or let the raging waters
pull me under?

fight the seductive current,
or go, like a brave sailor,
to my fate?

if i

relinquish choice,
i will breath in the salty ache
that will lead me to my destruction

if i

release free will,
the cold words
that dragged me down
towards my not-so-swift demise
will rise up again to consume me

if i

accept as mine
the actions of another,
that left my ego bleeding
alongside the rocky shore of my now-torn sensuality,
i will never recover from them.

instead,
in the
all-encompassing ocean
of hurts unshared,

i pray...

for silence
for salvation

listening, listening,
as i drown in remembrance,
for the siren song
of the words i
most wished
to hear
all those pain-filled months ago.

there is a weighty silence
in answer to my prayer
as i sink
sink
sink
into the anguish
that comes from the past
yet seems to be
all around me.

i flail,
reaching out

for my equilibrium,
for my faith,
for the return of a
world turned upright again.

despair
-- dark and winsome --
winds itself seductively around my heart,
as resignation attempts to attach itself
to my fight-weary psyche.

my lungs,
filled with the stale air
of unsaid truths,
threaten to burst.

i hit bottom.

there is no light.

all is silent.

in the waiting stillness,
a small clear voice
sings truth;
weaving a safety net
with the sureness of its
gentle veracity.

"true love," it hums

"will not weigh you down,
or cut your soul to ribbons."

"true love," it croons,

"love that is
healthy, honest, and open,
is no anchor.
it would never drag you with it
into the deep!"

"true love," it reminds me,

"love that sustains, supports, communicates,
and is given freely,
is buoyant and beautiful!"

"true love" it sings with clarity,
"is a lifeboat,
waiting to take you on board."

reveling in that verity,
i kick against the hurt,
fight the sorrows,
refuse the plate of bitterness
in the overwhelming darkness
at the bottom of this muddied ocean.

Up, up, up
I swim,
towards truth and confidence,
towards honesty and kindness,
past the snaggle-toothed sea-monsters
named fear and doubt,
past the bleeding creatures from the deep
named insecurity-bred-of-cruelty and defeat.

Gasping,
I break the surface of my tattered ego
to breathe once again
the soothing air
of strength,
of beauty,
of grace,
of Self.

Praising
the sky,
the cool wind
in my sun-warmed hair,
and the lifeboat
that i now carry with me always
in my gentle, gracious heart.

© Tanya Anguita

The Storm King

The Storm King
is taking no gambles
at the Sky Lounge tonight.

He's a seasoned showman.
He's hired the best.
This dame gets top billing.

She's worth it.

His headliner tonight,
Ladies and Gentlemen,
is
The Moon.

Her evocative form
never fails to lull his critics;
She'll give them something
positive
to opine about
in the middle of his
bohemian cold snap.

She's a crowd-pleaser,
and This crowd?
Needs pleasing.

He can taste their
teased-by-false-spring
discontent,
like too much cologne,
on the brisk night air.

His Second-Winter Act
needs
Luna's Midnight Mania.

There's nothing like
her coolbright curves
to bring their
"NotAgain" grumbling
to a swift, silent
halt.

It's time.
He can feel it in his empty soul.

Smiling a bone-chilling smile,
he combs back rainslicked hair,
flicking an icy finger at the lights
and sits back to watch his audience
watch the show.

As the night theater darkens,
the music of the Cosmos
(the house band most nights)
gently swells.

Thunder
rolls out a riff on his toms
sending a low rumble through time and space.

It's like the Heavens
are holding their breath
as
The World goes quiet
with anticipation.

Parting the curtain of clouds,
needing no spotlight,
awash in her own brilliance,

She

sashays,
swathed in shimmering satin,
across the star-bright floor,
whispersinging songs of Love and Longing.

She's the brightest light in the firmament
and she's doing it again;
Effortlessly enchanting everyone in sight.

Seasonally disaffected patrons,
now moon-drunk and sloppy,
are bathing in her suggestiveness;
lapping up Illusions
like they can't get enough of 'em.

As long as She's on stage,
Hope, and Warmth, Sex and Summer
could
be just around the corner.

She's filling wishful heads
with breath-catching memories --

short skirts and skin-tight t's,
hot whispers on silent nights,
steamed windshields,
young flesh coupling on picnic blankets.

She's spoon-feeding them
the arch and tangle dreams
of youth unforgotten
with each and every silver note.

Soaking them in yen and yearning,
she's raising the room to a fevered pitch;
the underlying tension
so thick
that it is almosthard
to breathe.

Bolder patrons make their way
to the washrooms
in subtly groping pairs,
looking for urgentsweaty
release
in darkened corners;
against graffiti-ed stall doors.

She is caressing them all
with Moonsong;
Each gesture of her pale white hands
like a touch on their winter-hungry skin.

Wrapped in night lyrics,
sacred and profane,
they hang on her every growling hum,
clamoring for more
of her amnesia-inducing,
aphrodisiac Luna-cy.

The Storm King,
grinning as if canary feathers were peeking
out of his feral mouth,
can feel his plan working.

He's no fool.
He's played this right.

With a quick glance
to the business side of the house,
he notes that
Old Man Winter
has slipped behind the bar again,
unnoticed,
during her set.

The old bastard is smugly serving up
frost-y glasses,
while tapping his icy toes.

He's a dirty old man,
breathing his chilly breath
down each soft neck,
hoping to see
evening clad nipples
harden with his approach.

The cold son-of-a-bitch
just loves that.

Tonight though,
No one is paying Him much attention.

They're too busy basking in the unexpected
February Glory of The Moon;
reveling in the mythological heat
of her reflected beauty;
re-living the barely dormant
passions
of the almostspring
with which
they'd been so recently
teased.

That's ok.
Winter can wait.
He's got time.

Bright Lady,
Sing your Full Moon songs
from the Storm King's stage tonight.
He's got your contract
until the end of March.

Lull-a-By us
into voluptuous forgetfulness
before the cold rains return,
and the Storm King reminds us
that he's in Old Man Winter's employ
until the Vernal Equinox
releases him to Spring's
gentler care.

© Tanya Anguita

Random Limerick Penned on a Wednesday : )

The oft-humourous verse called a Limerick
Has 5 lines, some must rhyme, which is quite a trick
One rhymes first, second and 5th,
and the 3rd and 4th with pith
for a clever pentad with a verbal tick.

© Tanya Anguita

An Apertif to Insomnia

The Moon,
crisp and cool
in the Winter-clear sky,
is bright enough
to read my soul by.

Siren-like,
She sings seductively
through my veins.

Shining her light on my weariness,
she is the harbinger
of over-active thought.

She comes bearing a riot of the spirit
this January night
without the option to politely decline.

Ready or not,
She has Something to say.

I am ill-prepared
to honor the hidden words
hemmed into the lining
of Psyche's silken skirts tonight.

I am not ready to claim the truths,
woven into her delicate white petticoats;
embroidered there with the thread
of blood and consequence.

But she is alive in me.

Coy and coquettish,
She offers harsh queries on moonsilver trays
as an aperitif to insomnia.

Deep and devilish,
She delivers my discontent gift-wrapped;
neatly tied up with well-honed beams of truth to top it off.

She will not be dispelled.
There can be no peace.

All I want tonight
is sanity and slumber,
but Sleep,
my old illusive friend,
will not come this moon-full night
to comfort me.

She has hidden him,
once again,
in the ever-shifting pattern
of the stars.

And Sanity?
Well...
Sanity left me long ago
in a lovers' tiff
along the shores
of my oft-broken heart.

And I?
I am left alone
at the witching hour
to find peace with my unrest.

The Moon,
crisp and cool
in the Winter-clear sky,
is bright enough
to read my soul by...

© Tanya Anguita

tattered

you have abandoned me
without a word

your silence is a scream of disdain--
disrespectful;
a cruel coldness
on a winter night

godspeed wherever you are.
i wish you comfort

my heart strains to hear yours
over the rift in my soul,
waiting like a deaf hound
for the command that will never come

godspeed wherever you are.
i wish you joy.

my comprehension of your actions,
like the coat of a newly-shot dead man,
is tattered,
full of holes.

my hurts coagulate around each
open wound where the
smoking pistol of your unkindness
dug into my tender heart
right before you pulled the trigger.

godspeed wherever you are.
i wish you contentment.

i used to think you kind and beautiful;
incapable of intentional meanness,
gentle in your entirety,
and good

now i see i was mistaken

you are, instead,
gifted in the art of passive heartlessness,
a bard well-versed in the song of the damning,
who has left me
haunted,
removed,
sorrowful,
alone,
damaged and done.

godspeed wherever you are.
i wish you love.

© Tanya Anguita

The Moon Wore Red

The Moon puts on a little red dress
and heads out to light up the night.

Slinky in scarlet and sensuous,
she's flirting with the midnight stars,
shaking her winter hips
as she dances circles
around the Storm Cloud's
ineffectual minions;
laughing merrily
at their pathetic attempts
to cover her shining beauty.

A sultry smile lights her
half-shadowed face
as she glides across the sparkling floor
of the Mid-Winter sky.

She hasn't felt this sexy since 1648
and no one is going to ruin it for her tonight.

Sauntering up to the bar,
she orders a round of Longest Nights
for everyone in the Northern Hemisphere,
gives a Red-Dress-on-a-Solstice-Night-shimmy
and welcomes in the New Year
by belting out the 12-bar-blues version
of "Welcome Yule"
to her waiting fans
as she toasts their tenacity
after a long, hard year.

The Devil may wear a blue dress, my friends,
but tonight the Moon wore red.

© Tanya Anguita

Arrows of Clarity

Arrows of clarity
are hurled across the bow of a ship
called Your Resistance;
shot there
to pierce your bound up heart.

Darts of openness
are flung across the hull
in an attempt to crack the hardened shell
that keeps Love out.

Broken by brokenness,
what you want most is healing.

Throw your anger overboard!
It no longer serves you.

Release the coiled anguish
that is tangled,
like so much matted twine,
around the coral reef of your heart!

Extricate the venom of all-consuming hurt
that encases your willingness
like a shroud,
and spit it out
like the vile poison that it is!

Untwist the distorted,
pain-filled knot
that binds you to your fears;
holding you down while you drown in them!

Unravel the restraints
that keep you tied
to the cracked and crumbling mast
of the role of observer
which distances you
from any real feelings;
keeps you separate
from your life.

Find your honesty.
It is the life jacket that will rescue you.

Own your truth.
It is the lighthouse that will guide you.

Allow yourself to climb,
exhausted,
into the waiting lifeboat
of hard earned happiness.

Kick against the crashing waves
of your self-destructive habits.

Decide that you are tired
of choking on the the roiling waters
of your deepest sorrows.

Make obeisance
to any god that will listen
and believe
in your ability to swim.

© Tanya Anguita

Fat 'n' Sassy

Fat 'n' Sassy

The Moon tonight
is
Fat 'n' Sassy,
and
more than little bit
Smug.

She is
Full,
Juicyfirm,
Coolbright,
and
Beyond comfortable
with her
luscious,
curvy
beauty.

She knows she's glorious
in all her guises
as she struts across
the darkening sky
with the easy grace
of a well-loved woman.

A sensual swagger in her hips,
a secret kiss on her lips,
She rubs her
burgeoning October belly -
and winks at her sisters below.

With a stretch and a purrrrr,
she lets out a quiet hum,
full of the night's contentment,
and smiles benevolently
at the Autumn stars.

Wrapped in a cloak of clouds,
bathed in the first smattering of rain,
she Owns this October night...

and, Yes,

She Knows it.


© Tanya Anguita

diminished

broken down

diminished

i can not find my honor

i know only loneliness
in the isolating winter
that is my soul in pain

the absence of joy -
like a gaping hole in my heart -
consumes me whole;
spitting out the bones of my happiness,
leaving them in the unrelenting sun
to bleach into nothingness.

depression stalks me,
like a rabid predator.

mad with hunger and incapable of mercy,
i can feel its breath at my back;
teeth nipping at my flesh.

i am tempted
so tempted
to let it catch me
and rip me to shreds;

to relax into the awfulness
of its pervasive cruelty;

to give in to that perfect and painless sleep
never to wake again.

there is no light now
only harm and hurt
and the vague sense at my worst
that death might be better than this

but i can not
and i will not
give in to that morbid longing

for of all the acts that can be committed
that is not one of mercy
and
we do not leave
the schoolyard of life so easily.

© Tanya Anguita

louder than a promise....

silence speaks louder
than a promise.

action is
integrity embodied

you remember your love
in a vacuum
and forget it again
in the dust.

alone in this wilderness
called uncertainty,
i once again
hone my survival skills;
eating the mysteries
in the shadows
as a strange form
of sustenance.

no words can soothe me now.

i am wild and hungry,
strong and supple,
waiting for the fight
that doesn't come.

you have abandoned my hope;

left it like an orphan
in a reed boat
to float down the
raging river of
brokenheartedness.

so accustomed to these waters
that i can navigate them blindfolded,
i am still
incapable
of avoiding the rocks
of personal destruction
that stand
at the bottom like jagged teeth
waiting to consume me.

live your words
or do not speak them.

Do or just don't...

how dare you
feed me raw untruth
and try to masquerade
it as a delicacy?

why squander the air
it takes to utter
pretty lies?

don't waste your breath.

i'm saving my heart,
for something worthy.

they say that familiarity
breeds contempt...

tonight
i know
you
better
than you know
yourself.

© Tanya Anguita

Bed of Inquiries

in ghostly whispers

that come unbidden at midnight,

i hear echoes of your laughter

and, for an instant,

the distinct and present feeling

of a hand brushing gently

against my hungry skin

when Memory falls over me like this --

tripping on words unsung,

actions never acted upon,

phrases unturned --

i am left with a

dull dissatisfaction

and the need for closure

where there is none.

when does peace come?

where does solace rest?

how does longing become fulfillment?

my patience lies panting and tattered

on the side of the road,

exhausted by the questions that

run me ragged at the witching hour.

questions unanswerable

questions unavoidable

questions that haunt me

in the stronghold

of Nyx's darkened realm.

questions that,

like her,

are born of Chaos.

where and how do i find hope

for my unknown future

when 20/20 hindsight

is all that is afforded to me?

how do I approach my invisible destiny

with eyes wide open,

a blinder-free spirit ,

a heart unfettered by fear

a determination filled with willing gentleness?

in the dark-outside

the telephone wires hum

with the dreams and doubts of others,

the skies sing a hymn

with a chorus of stars,

the moon exhales

a quiet breath as she wanes

and I?

I lay silent in my bed of inquiries

with a pillow of active thought for my

restless head,

praying that the lullaby

of the cosmos

will sing me swiftly,

soothingly,

into the

loving arms

of Morpheus.

© Tanya Anguita

love is written

love is written on his body
in petals softer than silk --
a crimson proclamation
against alabaster skin.

fragility written on strength
strength written on fragility

a fitting tribute to
the jealous moon
who anxiously awaits
her due homage
in the late july sky

she is full tonight
and so am i.

praise be
to kindness

all hail
gentleness!

revel in
the openness
and celebrate
the realization

that sometimes

love
[in rose petals]
[filled with laughter]
[overflowing with grace]
[laid patiently on waiting skin]

is all that i need.

© Tanya Anguita

quixotic

tonight i cannot climb the turrets.
i can not navigate the maze.
i am no white knight on a charger.

i can no longer,
quixotic in the moonlight of my love for you,
tilt at your fears.

i am a girl in love
and tonight
i want to lie down beside you,
soft and warm,
without a fight.

we deserve love,
you and i,
and the grace that comes with it;
the simple comforts
and the great ones.

the treasure sought
is the hand held,
the soft look,
the gift of shared laughter,
the magic of passion fired by
conversation that never stops and
kisses with no end

i know this.
yes,
i know this.

i would like to know if you do.

i am tired of wondering.
i am weary of "why."

i am no longer strong enough
to skirt the landmines
that you carelessly strew about you
like so many stars
in a cold winter sky

i have lost my bearings.
i have no compass,
save for the lodestone of my heart
which always
and in all ways
points me back to you.

© Tanya Anguita (06/13/10)

The First Poetry Challenge - A Quandrant by Little Ol' Me! ;)

The poetry challenge was to write a "good" or "decent' poem that started with the sentence:

"I like big tits"

I'm afraid that I was a little over-zealous and wrote 4. I'm not sure that these are "good" per se, but they aren't terrible and I suspect that they fall into the category of "passably decent"....LOL.

Thanks to Laura Brueckner for the perfect image to accompany this madness! :)

If I tagged you and you aren't part of the original challenge it is because I thought these might make you chuckle! :)

=============================================

i like big tits;
firm and full,
soft and sloping,
rising from the torso
with stateliness and might

i like their boldness
standing side by side;
twin peaks
in an exhibition of
grandeur and grace

i like medium tits;
supple and sweet,
pleasant and pliable,
dancing on the ribcage
with perfection and form

i like their allure
poised proudly upright;
twin sisters
in a display of
delicious delight.

i like small tits
pert and perky
wee and wonderful,
ignoring gravity's pull
with fortitude and favor.

i like their defiance
sitting subtly staged;
twin jewels --
grace in action
arrayed against a womanly form.

i like tits
in all their shapes
and all their diverse sizes;
nourishing the body and the spirit
with dignity and distinction.

i like their beauty
pleasingly perched in pairs;
twin stars
adorning women's majesty
in all our varied guises.

======================================================

I like big tits! This, I admit -- medium and small ones too!
Tits or titties, boobies or breasts, are wondrous things to view.

I sometimes think I like them best
Spilling unapologetically from a too-tight dress.

Or bursting forth from the tantalizing V
of a t-shirt worn a bit snugly.

Overflowing from a sweater that fits?
What a perfect display vehicle for a lovely pair of tits!

When small and pert, it comes to pass
I visualize them in a crystal champagne glass
and toast their petite grace, so fine
with an expensive bottle of sparkling wine

A feast for the senses, pillows for our head
for the soul a gentle respite, and delectable in bed.

From birth, a source of nourishment, of comfort and fascination;
as adults they are the subject of unabashed temptation

Men envy us for having breasts; blessed are we that possess them!
We can stay home and play with them, and lovingly caress them

I'm grateful that all tits exist they are indeed divine
I honor their abundances with poorly crafted rhyme.

So exalt their feminine beauty with this fervent prayer:
Oh Heavens! I am thankful that women's breasts are there!
===========================================

Photo by Laura Brueckner

====================================

I like big tits I must confess; they're, by definition, grand.
And small breasts hold no less appeal, I'm sure you understand.
I find them gently comforting and titillating too.
I confess to my distraction when breasts come into view!
They fed us as an infant, and our ancestors before us.
To them we should be grateful and raise a joyful chorus.
In fitted sweaters, riveting; in corsets so amazing
In pretty bras, they give us pause and set our pulse a-blazing.
We cover them with lingerie; with fripperies adorn them.
We push them up, and strap them down, and hopefully adore them.
They jiggle as a woman walks, displaying female grace.
One cannot help but gaze at them despite a lovely face.
We want them and we dream of them from morning into night.
We can not get enough of them in all their female might.
So honor yours and treat them well, each month be sure to check them
Be thankful that you have your own; please frequently inspect them.
By all that's Holy, they're Divine; art devised by nature
Both ornamental and well-designed, regardless of nomenclature.
Breasts could launch a thousand ships, they hold such fascination
I like big tits. I like all tits! All Hail Tits! Celebration!

===========================================

"I like big tits" said a man from Peru
"But I'm fond of the smaller ones too
And those in the middle,
I too like to diddle
Hooray for all titties! Woohoo!"

© Tanya Anguita

under a full moon sky

under a full moon sky

silver starred night
a moon bright with promise
a bowlful of laughter
and you

she'll be full soon --
burgeoning with possibility,
and weaving secret stories
of maidens and madmen
stolen kisses
and silent wishes.

we cannot go wrong,
you and i,
when there is this gift
in the skies
guiding us to true discourse
and each other

lean back.
howl bright
at the Spring moon
so rich and fecund
in the vernal sky.

she'll have you thinking
there is magic at midnight
as we draw down the moon,
blanket ourselves in her radiance,
and wrap each other
in the fervent fascination
that comes with chemistry
and minds that meet and match.

I would not trade
these months
for anything,
nor that first conversation
under an
Autumn full moon sky.

© Tanya Anguita

© Tanya Anguita (04/03/10)