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About the Poem

The poem is about the nature of beauty and how human beings tend to overlook those places where beauty could possibly be found. A great deal of the imagery has its foundations in Medieval Christianity.

A Few Visitor Comments

That was so true. it is hard to understand but all you have to do is read it slowly. it was wonderful!
I cannot express how deeply moved I was by this miraculous mosaic of humanity. Being myself an unabashed romantic certainly augmented my appreciation of your smoldering verse, but since I am also Medieval and Christian, I felt an especial bond to this veritable Magna Charta of desire. Your song flies with the grace of a buttress from Notre Dame De Paris, and it strikes the heart with the vigor and depth of bubonic plague. Bravo. P. S. Consider next time utilizing imagery from the Industrial Revolution? Only a talent like yours could harness the sensual power of early 19th Century mechinization.
Nich, you amaze me as always. Thank you. Thank you.


She sold seashells by the seashore
seven sheiks' sheep
in seven sleak sheets
on the shifty sands of
beaches, apartments,
and holy friar tenement housing.
But let's not mince words.

Her orant figure stood there
poised, ready
to take on the moaning wonders
of the cathedral sea.
the towering spires of
dihydrogen oxide
and rose from the salty earth,
sometimes Gothic,
sometimes Baroque,
and others as just
a shining obelisk of blue.

Like a Second Eve,
she was, as of yet,
But unlike Mary,
she could not conceive
by hoping for immaculate
Sometimes monks are useful,
and maybe,
just maybe,
one fractured abbot
would be willing to visit
her by that sacred liquid transcept.

She needed someone
almost as much as that man,
naked of holy orders,
needed to roll away
the granite sarcophagus
of her beauty, danger, and hope.

His tender satin touch,
not simply lustful as souls
of jealous imposition
would care to think,
rained down on her face
letting her know, distinctly,
that comfort and giggles can
be found
in cool, clear capsules,
not just
in those heated reposes
with leg and arm blankets.
The southern portals of faces,
quivering in anticipation,
can come to a pinnacle
with more than prurient desires
for bedroom panting.

may come in spite of
Hail Mary howls for
compassion and understanding.
But papal dissatisfaction
for an abbot and his unsanctioned
matters little
while swimming
in the quiet Eucharist
of a man and woman, sand
and cobalt liquor remuneration.

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© 1999 Nicholas Theisen Please respect the rights of the author and Passions in Poetry. If you would like to use this poem on your own web page, please contact the Author. Thank you.

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