Mildred Tremblay (75 y.o.)
from her new 1st poetry book "Old Women Comes Out of Her Cave"
Nanaimo, BC, Canada printed in Crone Chronicles - No. 44 (p. 5)
These are the generations
the women of miracles
who gave birth without vaginas
beginning with Mary, ever Virgin
whose body beneath blue folds
was hairless and dry as plaster
without entrance or exit
without the dark cave
surrounded by bush
where the cuntalini lies coiled
right up to and including
Elizabeth R., a long line of tricksters
achieved this wonder
tabula rasa between the legs
O obliterated vagina
O unknown, untasted word
O poor lonely body part
today
let's talk about you
let us look closely
gaze into your wild glistening eye
take your picture
for the TIMES: Vagina Honored
Cuntry admits they exist
admits God made them
admits Jesus knew about them
Vagina Most Holy every day
let me put my hand down
to say hello, I love you, dear orchid face
dear squishy scintillating slit
dear lickety lickety split
dear buried treasure
folded into your soft cloth of rose
let me remember each morning
to praise you Vagina, O Regina Vagina
seated so snugly
on your throne of thighs
O thou curly headed queen
O thou honey suckle rose
O smart cookie
and thou, dear clitoris
I myself deeply regret not bringing you forth
all those years in the closet
I might have mentioned you
to my member of parliament
to the mayor and council
introduced you at parties
called out your name
at matins and vespers
I might have encouraged you
to sing that song
you know by heart
the one that maketh me
praise creation, that sendeth me
galloping on the horn of plenty
that spinneth me off the wheel
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
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Shawn R. Seelbach
To taste a woman, oh what a sinful pleasure. Be forewarned that I do not mean this in the base or crude sense that so many of you are want to embrace. The pleasures of the flesh are without purpose if they are not accompanied by the drinking of one another's souls. That joyous moment when the primitive boundaries of flesh melt away and leave only the higher self to be shared in the most intimate of ways. Like it or not, once you have tasted a woman in such a fashion you are forever joined. How many can one person be a part of? How many people can be a part of one person? How many times can the soul sustain such infusions before being diluted and washed away like yesterday's sweat or last night's tears? Can loneliness purify the tainted soul? Can it renew passions once faded or like innocence, is it gone forever? What does tomorrow bring, and why must we always look forward to it? If you can't welcome the morrow or even revel in the now, then cherish the memories. . . .
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