Golden Lady

 

Golden Lady

•

golden lady in sensuous silk
a beauty sure to mesmerize
sculpted by a master’s hand
so seductive as to scandalize

a stare of comely crystal blue
floats above a ruby pout
spellbound by her magic eyes
she holds your soul with no way out

her tongue tip teases her top lip’s edge
like a supple paintbrush flowing
her smile will fire and hypnotize
then wrap around you knowing

you are now her helpless captive
quite hopelessly addicted
in the velvet grip of this smoldering waif
is she an angel — or is she wicked

• • •

rob kistner © 2011

• linked at Magpie Tales

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image by Bert Stern

18 thoughts on “Golden Lady”

  1. I was just this morning listening to a photographer talk about what we cannot see in a photograph. So many photographs of Monroe, like this one, show a kind of party-girl side and yet what we know of and about her now is not what we see in the images.

    Your poem speaks to the dazzling beauty that seemed to hold men spell-bound. The image of the “velvet grip” is especially nice.

    You mean “angel” in that last line, although “is she an angle” turns the meaning of the poem in a way I like.

  2. Bravo! The images in this poem are deliciously seductive.

    “stare of comely crystal blue
    floats above a ruby pout
    spellbound by her magic eyes
    she holds your soul with no way out”

    So visual. I love this.

    Namaste……….cj

  3. Dear Rob: “is she an angel” Yes, I’d like to think so..since I dont believe in evil only separation from the presence of love. And since when is seduction a crime? And considering she was “sculpted by a Master’s hand”. Contraversial is this seductive poem!

  4. Wasn’t it Jung who said there are women who are votive luminaries, who reflect back, like the moon, the entire spectrum of a man’s yearning? Eve, Helen, Cleopatra, Marilyn Monroe: visages of the goddess within: we are helpless because we are captives of our own thrall. They are captives too, finding it so difficult to separate person from persona. Not with us staring with such abject reverence. Angel or devil, but crowned so by our own desire … Brendan

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