12 New Multi-Media Poetry Videos by Dee Sunshine posted on You Tube:
http://www.youtube.com/user/sunshinepoetry#g/u

More information at:
http://www.thunderburst.co.uk

You can now download free e-books of my poetry and also a free e-book of my novel from Obooko.com.

If you tried to lay an apple on my head
I might attempt to tempt you
To bite the bullet,
But these never were
The arrows of your desire.

Wherever the woman in you resided
I cannot untwist

Angel in white, you are too luminous. I want to see something red, like period blood or secret flesh. Something to show me you’re human.

Great Spirit that is all we are
Whose myriad names contain
The recognition of our oneness
And the continuation of our will
To live in love
Here, as in the beyond.

We are forever sustained

She parades into my dreams: her impudent pudenda, an open,
intricately carved flower. Bees and stinging things live within,
waiting for the soft whisper of invitation. She is...

She was hands and claws groping, harsh
in the neon back room, her flesh
sweating sugared wine and cheap perfume.

Tell me what you want, she said,

Cigarette smoke hunkers round the angle-poise,
a vile yellow fog thickening the air, congealing
your thoughts: you want/ you do not want,
the words slowed to meaninglessness

Furlong deep in dog mercury cuckoo florid earth,
orange tipped, the swimmer, smeared in dolphin grease,
burrows, scrabbled & scratch-scraped, down
down down
gulps fairway breaths, rutted,

The angels play kettledrums for these dead men:
smiling, sad as colonels handing out medals,
medals for dead men,
medals for warriors who went forth
and multiplied their gift for death,

1.

In the dark aftermath of returning to ground,
our eyes gouged out and our mouths parched,
nothing made sense but blindness and thirst.
Stumbling, raw-tongued, we followed

1.

Below the concrete and the flowers,
below the snow and the tubers,
below the moist earth,
below the corpses of broken birds,
below the lava flows and Dante’s infernal lament:

She wears her hair like a halo, a James Joyce madonna,
her Irish eyes spitting fire. Sat opposite is her nemesis,
a perverse shadow-form of the self made manifest,

1.

Andiamo! Ho le ali. Andiamo!
Let's go! I have wings. Let’s go!

The chalk is ingrained in the grooves of my skin,
a rainbow of pastel dust muddied to iron ore,

1.

Andiamo! Ho le ali. Andiamo!
Let's go! I have wings. Let’s go!

The chalk is ingrained in the grooves of my skin,
a rainbow of pastel dust muddied to iron ore,