I feel my creativity bubbling in my soul. Until now it hasn't been allowed any release. I have spent more time indulging my wants than I have exploring my gifts. Now it's time to taste the world in a different way.
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Ann Jensen Poems
Holiday Inn neon. The odor of overpowering humanity. Fast lights through the curtain
Vision filled dancers whirling round, seeing nothing and experiencing all. Full tapestried skirts belling out a pervading odor of sweat.
Here's to Man
Live and breath the flowers of the night. Never seen. No one to pick them.
A cry...As from the black wings of a moth Picked up in the sticky fingers of a child. Unstirred dust,
Whiskers Whispers Whiskey
Whiskers trailing down my belly. Whispers behind gleeful hands while passing through the halls.
Curled lips A territorial snarl Demon be gone...
Moon for Women
Soothing rays. A subtle caress. An elusive moon behind clouds of misconception
Why? Why? Is the cry in the night. The howl of alone, far away. Padding through the wilderness of night-smell. Panting for air.
Comments about Ann Jensen
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Holiday Inn neon.
The odor of overpowering humanity.
Fast lights through the curtain
Illuminating cracks born of violence and love.
Children cry and lovers moan.
Hookers call to lonely men.
I am calling.
Are you lonely?