Elisabeth Riba: Poetry

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Come to me, my beloved, for tonight you are mine.
Like so many gone before,
and the myriads to come after,
I have chosen you.

I run one finger down your back,
tracing your spine through the flimsy jacket.
You are so cold. I pull you to my breast.

I am the hunter, you are my prey. So Nature has ordained.
I am the fire, consuming, absorbing, destroying, that I might endure.
I gulp down life in mighty draughts. I feast, yet savor every morsel.
I hunger, I thirst, I burn, I lust.

And I shall cherish the memory of what you give me.
All that you were, all you contain, shall be forever preserved in me.

You have no choice. This is the moment you were made for. I am your destiny.
Your jacket flutters to the ground.
I draw you close, open the covers, and let the words flow.

The initial idea and metaphors in this poem came to me in 1991, after reading four Anne Rice novels in one week. At the end of an afternoon, I had a steno-pad page full of random lines and fragments. In June, 1994, I compiled them into this poem.

Pay what?

Will saying "pay attention"
Really aid in my retention?
Or do you merely mention
It to remind me to be nice?

My mind may often wander
Off to thoughts of which I'm fonder
And creative tasks I'll ponder.
Pay attention? What's the price?

Written in 1994

Sonnet #1

My characters they plague me and they haunt.
Though pleased by their verisimilitude,
their voices fill my waking dreams with taunts
distracting me from other things. So rude.
My mind drifts. Was Pygmaleon so vex'd?
That sculptor brought his truest love to life.
If he could do it then who might be next;
Midwifing an ideal husband or wife?
I've sufferred many a year's labor pain,
And scribbled notes are all I have to show.
I can't make them evacuate my brain!
Yet sometimes I dearly wish they'd just go.
And so I'm left to write this plaintive verse:
Sweet Galatea -- was she boon or curse?

November 14, 2002:
This is still a first, rough draft. I've now got three characters inhabiting my mind that aren't giving me a moment's peace. I've been wanting to write a sonnet for a few weeks now, and this gave me opportunity. It doesn't say quite what I want to say -- the blessing and curse of creativity -- but it's a start.

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