Artwork, Poems & Etc. by Mark Price       buy prints | art gallery | poetry is | thoughts on art | bio | talk to me

                                         Libidinous Urges

You Know That Dream?
On The Shore

Other Collections: Secret Name & Gentle Urgings of a Vaporous Dream & Transformations & Goodbye to Arcadia
You Know That Dream

You know that dream,
where you’re out naked, exposed

          to other’s who are clothed.
I was talking with a woman

          who had an open face and frank eyes,
          the kind you confess to,
I told her of a dream
          where in a city square I stood
          with nothing on.

‘Oh yes, I’ve had that dream so often

           it’s become an old friend,’ she said
and described to me this dream:

A room dim lit with flowered walls
           papered in poppy’s blooming,
           writhing vines on yellow,
a man began to appear through the wall,
           and she wearing only a thin shirt
           was otherwise bare,
she tugged the hem on down
for modesty’s sake,

only to have it ride back up again
exposing the breadth of her hips,
thighs as soft as warm milk
creamy to her toes.
He was a gentleman though,
           emerging, he took off his pants
           not to be overdressed,
then they were walking the wide paths

           of a city park, happily arm in arm
under the arching boughs

of tall swaying trees.
All the others who walked along
           were clothed in shadows, concealed,
dark silhouettes on a
           verdant field,

except one man who naked, carried
           a terrific peach as big as a giant’s head,
dangling forth in long strides, eschewing
           the path, he walked the grass,
he could have been her father or her uncle,

Or he looked somewhat like me, she said
            searching me with honest eyes
            asking; ‘what did it all mean?’
There was little I could say though
             her open eyes had stripped me bare.

            end      back to top


In Arcadia of ancient golden days
the women smiled with resplendent gaze
on men who loved them, in candor they told
their heart’s content and lived by nature’s ways
their pleasing forms; beauty that can’t grow old
but will dream away as dreaming will flow
into a vast ocean called long ago.

On its shore dreaming man plans and plots
numbered days swiftly pass untying knots
that he will tie up again as he grumbles
“too soon I die, for what?” until he spots
naked Aphrodite, who turning circles
through the wood, is sweetly scented, a misty rain
falls, she claims him to cleanse him of all stain.

but he is swollen at the sodden root
and destined from his naked hip to shoot.
Aphrodite will turn herself away,
though he howls in pain his ardor is moot.
Its Adonis she would have cradle her sway
but his virtuous lips did not long for hers
dying he left her where a sullen heart stirs

Adonis’ silent body, hard and gray,
no shadow of beauty left as it lay
on ground wet from Aphrodite’s tears shed.
The lovely goddess weeping brought dismay
to Olympian gods unused to dread
Zeus was glum to see a goddess cry
but had only advice to tend, “mortals die,

loss, hard grief to bear but tears in torrents
from your pretty laughing eyes, is nonsense
you weep to stop time passing, you shudder
no fear of death but dread to be past tense,”
with raised hand so spoke the lord of thunder.
She wanted what she feared most, to be alone,
so said, “let me be,” in a commanding tone.

“Shut up, Zeus, I am older than you
from your mind the others grew
but I am ancient, by way of Cyprus
I came with grace to lord it over you,
you’re a fool if in me you allow your lust.
Mortals don’t die but through me, live and live
again and again, this is all I have to give.”

Arising from her love, laid out by chance,
the goddess was poised in the classic stance
on one leg solid the other knee bent
toes to head a perfect sway but eyes askance
the gods looking on did fear her intent.
“My every pore open tastes my love,
I see him around, below and above.”

the goddess with open arms did tremble
all her being began to dissemble
soon her perfect form was light rain falling
and Olympus where the gods assemble
was lost in clouds to memory calling
to a dreaming man on a watchful shore
under heavens peopled by gods no more.

         end     back to top

On The Shore

On the moon lit shore lovely naked girls
danced to the delight and consternation
of young men looking on, one who boldly
moved into the moon’s light, naked too,
watched and wondered as the lovely girls
circled and swayed, they moved with languid grace,
tracing figures in the sand with their toes.

One stood out and stepped towards the young man,
her arms raised to encircle the moon,
drawing him to her until turning
she joined the others gliding to and fro
along the gentle water’s edge, slowly
they moved into the shadows and were gone.

“How can this be?” the naked youth exclaimed,
“she is gone too soon, with my heart I think.”

He brought a flute to his lips and blew
a soulful complaint, longing notes were heard
lilting along the rolling waves,
playing alone by the water’s edge, he swears
by the lovely moon with every note blown,
what he swears is not spoken, only felt
as it is seized by the encircling wind.

A great fish washed ashore, he flips and flops,
up to the young man, “These notes your playing,
so sad and true are dividing my heart
between what is and what was, so mournful
you blow, what could you have lost, being young?”

The young man stopped his playing and answered,
“my heart’s been lost, that’s all, it’s in the dark now,
slipped into the shadows, beyond moonlight.”

The fish was silent a moment scowling,
then bellowed, “my young fool, you’re not too brave,
sitting mournful when it’s action you want.”
with that, the fish thrashed his great fin three times
and began to arise, changing as he did
to become a young man, in look and stature
much like the other, “come my friend.”

He grabbed the others hand and pulled him along,
into the deep shadows until they came
to a place alight with the kindled fires
of longing, smelling of sickening rose,
here the lovely naked girls swirled around
in a mad, maddening dance, their fair white
skin glowing red by the of light many fires,
screaming, their laughter derisive and wild,
their smiles, longing caresses and their lovely breasts
were for the delight of demons and beasts.

The young man looked on in terror, appalled
though something did stir in his lower part,
the other spoke up with advice tendered,
“why these qualms now, are you not a monkey
with your tail out in front, go find a girl
wild and young, who’ll delight in your stiffest
part, enjoying your company. Be what
you are and stir the pot for another?”

To this advice he could not yield, “go away!”
he quietly said, the other just flopped
to the ground and became a hissing snake,
and wriggled away, back to the sea alone.

One who’s beauty stands out above the others,
approaches, her open eyes and vibrant lips,
her hair that swept her shoulders bare recollected
the one who swayed his heart away, he wouldn’t
look at her, not here, the light was bad.

She looks him up and down, square, then reproaches,
“what bothers you boy, is my look less demure,
my caresses less soft or my eyes less alluring
that I have been in a demon’s bed, where
I did it with a tiger then a baboon.

“Come sweet boy, you should be a man with me,
oh, I admit this love is not ideal
and to your high mind crass and alarming
but as to your lower part, you’ll find
my lower part charming, wherever she’s been.”

The young man answered, “under the moon’s light
you’ll have my all, love for you is all I have,
leave this unnatural hell,” was his plea.

“Unnatural hell? or love’s marketplace,
but for you I’ll give it up for free,
with me you don’t even have to be nice
but you can love me if you like it that way.

“Or would you have me made up like a doll,
covered in lacy white, binding your fortune
to a virgin bride, who you gently unwrap
with care and concern for my virtues’ sake.”

“I wouldn’t cover you in lacy white
I’d have you as you are for our love’s sake.”

“Then have me as I am, come to my bed.”
She took his hand and brought him to her side,
he came to her sadly but held her close
his hands spreading down the sway of her hips
as her arms encircled he kissed her mouth.

Along the length of her bed she stretched,
close by her side she smoothed a place
for him to sit, then she took up his flute
and kissed the mouth piece, then she softly said,
“you should know your love is returned,” her eyes
on his, “press this to your lips and sweetly blow,
swear to me what you swore to the lovely moon.”
He breathed a long clear note with closed eyes,
as dawn’s first light broke across the rolling
waves from his flute one pure note floated away.

              end       back to top



All Poems are copyrighted by Mark Price
Comments, praise, criticism or threats click here

All Images, Poems & Stories are Copyrighted Comments, praise, criticism & threats remit to: Mark Price