Saturday, April 27, 2013

It's National Poetry Month - welcome poet David Russell

David Russell

STEPH: How long have you been writing poetry? 

DAVID: Since the late 60s

STEPH: What style of poetry do you like to write? 

DAVID: Free form

3. What are the themes of your poetry? 

DAVID: sensuality, politics, geology

STEPH: Who is your favorite poet? 

STEPH: Ben Okri

STEPH: What is your favorite poem.

DAVID: Coleridge's Christabel

STEPH: Share you share a poem or two of yours with us.


He, muscles taut, off springboard thrust
Resilient in buoyancy,

Slow sweep to surface, breathe.

She, lithe, with back-stroke rippling, Firm breasts cresting mild waves,
Thighs, ankles, near-straight, undulating,
Her back held spirit level,
Plane ideal Eyes closed and face serene in sensual thrall.

All there was foretaste, nuance,
All chaste - the changing rooms demure.

Warm evening's loose allure drew both
To unintended rendezvous,
A mutual friend's, both wished to stay away.

The place had room enough; their glances met -
Under two spells, all garments turned diaphanous;
Morning's disrobing kindled thoughts,
Fed impulses, hands touched.

One soft-shut door the cue;
Now lips met eyelids, cheeks, each other, clinched.

Her hand pressed on his crown, massaged
Through long-held breath; Tongues, lips were coiled, half-melted;
Squeeze of waist, they sank To tender press of thigh, of hips,
Drew back face to face, eyes' pools immersed:

"You're fleshed just right; a young girl's form;
Would you undress?"

"I saw you in your trunks; you're lovely; stay with me."


Brief promenade, waists linked again,
Fast heartbeats deepened footsteps with suspense;

A whispered, tiptoed entry.

Pause for bathroom, care assuaged;
Last clothed embrace.

Heady the quivering ritual!
Each other answering,
Matching that morning's
graceful bathing strokes
Each touch of shedding nurturing the fires,
Each pull of buckle, lace, so lissom
In counterpoint iwith one soft lamp.

Aglow, with ardent youth restored,
Deep torso, shapely limbs
Emerge as sunrise, sunbathed, fresh;
Full muscles toned by swomming's lathe,
Crescendo's throbbing, Two beauties, one revealing,
Beholder and Beheld!

She, supple, haunches swung, Tights loosened, Down wardrobe obstacles!

He seized waistband elastic, swept
To open freedom, took the hand
That edged towards her bosom, up her arms
To ratify surrender, clip; asunder,
The final black cascade.

Flesh, bone and muscle interlocked
Shoulder to shoulder raised, clutched,
Borne to couch;
Breasts, armpits, cupped caress
Of tender skin over those thrusting orbs.

Now passion's tide makes each wave overlap;
Slow motion's generation;
Two sighs, one lunge, a soft rotation;
Slowing, near-stop; resume, deepening breath
Floating four full diminuendos.

A moment of near sleep; Sure premonition of fulfilment;

Now second wind's tornado
Sweeps through exhaustion's trough
With power of ether's depth beyond their bodies;
The sluicegates yield; one mighty flood In fusion melts volcanoes!

Brief satiation's lull, unveiling heavens;
With dawn's beams, morning replay,
Enhanced in fulness;
Two strengths, by first flames tempered,
With delicacy pure plumbed ocean's beds.

On dressing gowns, warm-robed, unrobed again
To plunge into the other end
Of water's hot communion, splashing laughter.

A placid walk through petalled glades,
More smiles, more kisses;
Then wistful looks, and hints of jealousies,
And thoughts, as if to say
"Let's not detract from this perfection".

At length, fond waves and distances

David Russell


The First Adventure

That shadowy entrance, subdued glint, spark of eyes!
You trod all cultures with your classic grace
Of posture, figure, profile

The breathy touch, so tentative,
The answering squeeze

All beams and tiptoes as we trod
Unspoken message:
“The dream’s come true”

The curtain nearly volunteered
To close itself.

I was poised to give the word;
Fired by our kisses, you took it from my mouth

Each garment spoke surrender as it fell
A flower-show of fabrics
Adoring those limbs which they had covered;
Warm air on new divested skin
Near liquid in its heady density

Our bodies new-revealed, dreamed up
A gallery of art-figures,
Our mounting breath
Kindled their animation in our honour

Those facing entities suffused with mutual nourishment

The rising sun the backcloth of our dual climax
The bathing epilogue
The farewell walk
A froth of blossom round our tender steps

That fleeting perfection was the purest art
Framed in an idyllic memory.

David Russell

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