You open to me
a little,
then grow afraid
and close again,
a small boy
fearing to be hurt,
a toe stubbed
in the dark,
a finger cut
on paper.
I think I am free
of fears,
enraptured, abandoned
to the call
of the Bacchae,
my own siren,
tied to my own
mast,
both Circe
and her swine.
But I too
am afraid:
I know where
life leads.
The impulse
to join,
to confess all,
is followed
by the impulse
to renounce,
and love--
imperishable love--
must die,
in order
to be reborn.
We come
to each other
tentatively,
veterans of other
wars,
divorce warrants
in our hands
which we would beat
into blossoms.
But blossoms
will not withstand
our beatings.
We come
to each other
with hope
in our hands--
the very thing
Pandora kept
in her casket
when all the ills
and woes of the world
escaped.
-- Erica Jong
Middle Aged Lovers, II
The First Time
by
Justice Putnam
footballfridayafternoon
momanddaddownthehall
intheirroom
mustbequiet
orwillbefoundout
whyispleasure
suchdoom?
(Fullerton, California)
Cupid and Psyche
by
Justice Putnam
Alabaster wings
And a passionate embrace
A kiss and then
The longing.
The mind swoons
In erotic dream
Angel-like
And electricity.
(Montmorancy, France)
Compulsory Surrender
by
Justice Putnam
Slow thoughts
Slipping into the stream
Sunlit crystal memory
Sliding
Moving
Feeling her firm breasts
With my tongue
Kissing her firm lips
With my fingers
Moaning
Crying
Laughing
Gasping the words
Of whispers and
Silhouetted
Silent intent
Greens and reds
Before my eyes
Her eyes pleading
Penetrating to my soul
Her head thrown back
Hips quivering
Wet
Could any journey
Be more real and now?
(Mill Valley, California)
Testament
by
Justice Putnam
Angular lines and dark hair
Feline eyes and crimson lips
A scent of the Oranges
Of Hieronymous Bosch
The music of her Heart
The ecstasy of her Touch.
The fullness of her Mind
The sky of her eyes
A warm breeze
On the hills
At the end
Of Time.
The coolness of her breath
And the sweetness of her kiss
Can change a world at war
Into a Universe of bliss.
So why oh brothers
Why can't we see?
That to simply know her
Is to know infinity.
(San Francisco, California)
The Truth Be Told
by
Justice Putnam
I would worship
Your beautiful feet
Massage each tired
But receptive toe.
I would press and knead
And rub
Then kiss
And worship
Your feet as though
Your feet are
The pinnacle
Of Beauty
Sent from Heaven
And should be
Exalted so.
But I really
Should tell you
What I really
Think
And I really
Must confess
I only worship
Your beautiful feet
Because I worship
Your perfect breasts.
I would worship
Your breasts
As I kissed
The small
Of your back
I would worship
Your breasts
As I touched you
So that
I would worship
Your breasts
As I kissed
You on
The lips
I would worship
Your breasts
As I caressed
Your smooth
Round hips
I would worship
Your breasts
As you lifted
Them to
My face
No greater
Honor was
Afforded
Any man
Any time
Any place.
But as I’ve worshipped
Your breasts
Not as some
Timeless Art
Or some primitive
Fetish carved
In a Burmese
Valley
Or found
On some
Distant rampart.
As I’ve worshipped
Your breasts
Without any
Sense of Time
I found I worshipped
Much more than that
I worship
Your Heart
Your Soul
Your Mind.
And though
I’ve never
Kissed your feet
The small
Of your back
Or anything
In between
I must admit
To being
A little weak
I must admit
What I
Really think
And I really
Must confess
I still dream
Of kissing
Your beautiful feet
And I still worship
Your perfect breasts.
(Berkeley, California)
Ruined by Light
by
Justice Putnam
I was hanging in the night
Like some exotic fruit
On some secret tree
I was blowing
Or maybe drifting
In the cool hands
Of air that pressed me
Every leaf consented
To song and dance.
I lived among the poets
And the Atlas
Our sister fell easy
Like an Empire
Of Emotion
Into the encasing
Of our arms
We would rule the road
Often
Two of us
Would think
Of one woman.
I crossed the crying
Land of her hair
Low great sorrow
That was its length
Hollow long day
I know the slaughter
Of her perfect dream.
And the mad Greeks danced
Enflamed rooms
Illiterate
We proclaimed genius
Insanity was our revolution
That turned our anguish
Into kisses.
Knowledge may rule the world
But knowledge of her
And her wild cat expression
Of men wailing
Lost inevitably
I watch the air
Capture the room.
(Ann Arbor, Michigan)
An Oil Lamp Turned Low
by
Justice Putnam
Warm breath blessed
Etched against
The palace of her skin
Burn in that grace
Embraced
Cradled in her
Soft fragrance
Like a slow boat rocking
Or the steady yellow flicker
Of an oil lamp
Turned low
See her
Kneeled over
Feel the dance
Of her small cries
Forgotten doors and windows
Between the moon and time
Her open eyes
The smell of her hair
An oil lamp
Turned low
(Bastia, Corsica)
© 2007 by Justice Putnam
Fleur de Sel Musique
and Mechanisches-Strophe Verlagswesen