Let go of your hold on reality and dive in for a magnificent ride with
The Blue Horse Wind. Prepare yourself to be beguiled in the fantastic orgy of words that flow from Anastacia Burns in her supreme worship of the intricacies of this universe we humans have made. From explorations of the interior world of a flower, the secret life of pumpkins and snowmen, to the divine play of the cosmos, Anastacia Burns' poetry extravagantly interweaves the sublime and the horrific until we submit to the play of the dark and the light, the yin and the yang, that exists at the core of all existence.A sample from
The Voyager:
Am I you,
are you me,
we who live above
the Village of the Dead,
where wrinkled
bleary eyed crooked trees
shed their starry manes. No, I have dared not travel
past to future
and back.
Have not stared
Death
in his eyeless eyes,
seen through his cavernous
Golem pool
reflections,
drank in these secrets,
so only you would know.
O my brother
fed the x-ray blast
of a dying star
so you need not eat
and do not grow,
I fade to know,
when will I die?
....
When the baby Bodhi
green dimpled twilight
whines
for his missing friend
of young
is old.
When the sapphire jeweled
heron
that waits
on one reed leg,
with crashing splash
spills the quick silver
darting fish
stored in her beak,
that glimmering
fish tail swish
scaling up
the never ending night.
And from
I, Lazarus (Homage to Bast):
I, Lazarus, bleeding roses, annealed by age, into shielding thorns. Supplication sustained, by the confluent voices, of the legs, sheathed beneath glittering double fish tail, spindrift salient mermaids. Siren soprano, luminous phosphorous rising, over the merciless, nacre reliquary, green sheen matutinal, nocturnal, cat's cradle rocking sea. Apace in each rip tooth age, sheltered by crannies and nooks. And the maverick candor of those graced with kindness; the boon of a magenta bloom, survives in every anemic age.
