Dancing On Paper…Samba#2



I was a cool breeze blowing against your palm frond, palm wine memories. An oasis that breathed into your spoken riffs and drumming hands as the colors of day shifted into night across the bedroom walls. 




Head back, eyes closed, sun massages my face and neck, lime squeeze, ripe papaya, cool on my fingers.  With a tickle on my tongue, I samba over the rainbow, with a bossa nova twist.  




Smokey nights of candle light flickers and perfumed oils, with tender touches and wet whispers spiraling to pray with the frankincense and sage. The voices of Jon Lucien, Terry Callier and Khadija Nin arise in chorus. Serenaded on our journey to ecstasy we greet another sunrise bathed in each other’s embrace.



In the ancient African tradition, before a ceremony, ritual, or in some cases even before eating a meal, a libation was poured (usually on the soil if alcohol or a plant if water) which acknowledged all those ancestors who have come before and all those yet born. It is said that the original libation was from the womb of that original woman who brought forth all life, all creation. In the spirit of that tradition, and in honor of my own sacred libations, I wrote this poem “Original Libation” in honor of the sacred waters that nourishes life, love and lovers everywhere~ Tricia


We wrap ourselves into each other creating some kind of new yoga. Every curve fitting like pyramids. Thirsty tongues lick wet skin in a moanful prayer of gratitude. We taste from the inside out. My sweet to your salty, my Oshun to your Shango. Your rhythmic tide makes my oceans rise. My well fills with elements yet to be named as Oshun anoints my rivers of spiritwater. You drink from my lips my sacred amrita, sweet yet spicy. Quenching your fire, nourishing your spirit. Yes, receive me, let me water your fertile ground bringing forth your muse. My spiritual warrior, weary from the hunt, search no more for you have found your fountain of youth, and it is ever flowing.


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One Response to Dancing On Paper…Samba#2

  1. Sometimes as a writer you never know where your inspiration is going to come from. If the thought stays with you, then you know you have something to work with…mull it over, let it marinate, but most importantly pay attention and write it down, right in that moment of inspiration. One of the poems above was inspired by the simple joy of listening to music (Brazilian jazz) while sitting in my car with the convertible top down, eating fruit. Simple yet so sublime, and yes the essence of what tantra really means…to use every moment of our breath in appreciation and gratitude.

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