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Axilea MU

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A Dress Against The Rain.
by Axilea MU
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Rated "G" by the Author.
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Recent poems by Axilea MU
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•  In Transit
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           >> View all 270

- a dress, a woman, a brighter world -

In endless rain,
Wet faces
Washed for social hygiene
Never to expose
Feelings of hurt
Records of human solitude.

Gray ablution,
Toxic illusion
Of instant cleanliness
In the bathtub
For weak bodies
With weaker minds.

Soaps and detergents
To kill the germs
Living on the skin,
Hours in the shower
To wash away wet dreams.

Water is missing
Yet keeps falling from the sky
Bringing on earth
Materials from the troposphere
And dissolving gasses
That stain my dress.

Acidic rain
That they would not even feel:
Polluted souls
- With links cut
From purity of instinct -
Can't feel the harm,
The loss of miraculous beauty.

Snow, mist and dry dusts
Keep falling on earth,
But where I live,
Inexorable rain
And clouds of condensed dirt
Fall on me.
I need to get away,
I need a new dress.

This rain is endless.

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Reviewed by Shirley Houston 7/28/2012
A continual cycle of new dresses to protect us from the pollutants that are ever present in the atmosphere and our souls though we clean our exterior it!
Reviewed by Lois Christensen 5/16/2008
Rains are helpful and needful but can destroy our clothes and hairdos and keep us from doing what we want to do on a day we need to be outside.
Reviewed by Dale Clark 1/29/2008
So very nice and what a powerful voice
you have. Just keep shining!
Reviewed by Poetess of The Soul Sheila G 1/18/2008
May the Sun shine bright on your soul again!
AWESOME well meaning poem! What a way to write it, I am astounded!
Warmed in the Spirit, Warrior Purple Lady Sweet Sheooxoo

STay Positive!
Reviewed by Liana Margiva 1/8/2008
Very nice. 'To wash away wet dreams' BEAUTIFUL!!!!!!!!!!!! Liana Margiva
Reviewed by Dark Knight 12/14/2007
send me your poetry all the time-loved this and your sweet spirit
Reviewed by Charlie 12/12/2007
Soggy, frumpled, and stumbling, she found her way to the blacksmith across the city. She took off her earrings, her necklace, her toe ring, and the treasure on her finger and gave them to the aproned man. Make me a dress, she said, that fits me to a "T". He looked into his palm, and then looked back at her, then smiled and set to work. The mist from his pail of water saturated her even more, but the mist was warm, and so she waited. His hammer sang out, and the bellows pumped oven-warm breezes over her. Sparks lit up the gloomy world around her. Then, finally it was over; he handed her the iron "T." She studies it a bit with deprecation, but politely said thanks and walked away. Upset, she flung the "T" into the sky-- another wasted treasure from her broken treasure box. With sodden dress, she gazed up at the ever-grayer sky and felt the rumble of the thunder from her head down to her feet. She sighed again. But then there-- there in the clouds, she saw a light-- two lights come thundering toward her, and heard the great, bellowing whistle of the speeding "T"rain. An arm reached out and pulled her in, and they sped away, a yellow arrow pointing forward through the streets. They sped away, collecting her belongings as they went-- her shoes, a coat, a child, her treasure box-- and then she snuggled in the folds of crocheted warmth, a little bedraggled head resting in her lap, and they slept until the warm welcoming of Saturday... ...and it's a true story too. --Charlie
Reviewed by stan nassano 12/12/2007
sometimes it does seem that way,endless,
Reviewed by Paul Berube 12/12/2007

Sometimes no matter how hard we scrub or how much detergents we use the purging is never enough. The mind is a wonderous gift and contrary to belief, it's not only elephants who never forget. Peace, Love and Blessings Always, Paul.
Reviewed by Felix Perry 12/12/2007
This is intense in it's sincerity and brave albeit sad outlook at the subjects world. Seemingly something or someone has made her feel dirty and unclean with a need to find some kind of absolution in cleansing. The beauty of her though shines with each line an undercurrent that grips the reader and wants to make them reach out and say come into my arms child it is not you who are unclean but the hands that once touched you...

Reviewed by blue soplain 12/11/2007
what a stunning allegory. ..
Reviewed by Sage Sweetwater 12/11/2007
Unrelenting and purification of one's soul through the dissolving of cardboard in the rain. Vowel rich, environmentally, psychologically and metaphysically bent. Rain and Muddy from building a dam in Africa to bring fresh water to the village people, I see you in a new dress, colorful African-prints dyed in fresh dye pots, hanging under a thatch-roof home built on stilts. A Dress Against The Rain is very cleansing, Axilea, mind, body, and spirit...

Reviewed by Amber Moonstone 12/11/2007
I surely hope that the sun shines on you very soon...
Much Peace, Love, and Light,
Amber "V"
Reviewed by Keith Rowley 12/11/2007
Sandie speaks true: you have a unique voice that teases words into manifold layers of implied meaning.


Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner 12/11/2007
Boy, don't I know it. Had it all Spring...and Summer...a break, and back to wet conditions today (along with cold to warm back to cold...and now they're calling for snow here--in TEXAS--on Saturday). Love the way this progresses...excellent, Axilea.

(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Reviewed by Sandie May Angel-Joyce 12/11/2007
Your writings are very unique, which makes it all the more interesting!!!

Sandie May :o)

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