The Blue Horse Wind

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.