Monthly Archives: September 2011

pamanner’s take on fear


a wonderful friend who recently posted one of my own creations on her website here, has decided to beautify my blog with some of her writing. in her own words, she is “a freelance writer, woman, mom, best friend, daughter, sister, auntie, and niece” and in mine – a star whose blog i’m lucky to have stumbled on!

so without further ado, here is a taster of her writing:   


she stood with fluttering in her
chest as ravine feathers floated
down swathing her in shadows
and obscurity 

she knelt with quivering in her 

throat as black tigers paced round 

encircling her with yellowed canines

and peril  
she lay with trembling in her mind
as sable butterflies winged their
way to her alighting on her with
faintest shivers 
then she slept soothed with silver
dreams and fancies flitting over

her bathed in moonbeams 

and transparency


© Pamela Rossow –>




sharp crimson of longing
spreads its tenticles
through the mileage of capillaries,
deep into soft skin on the nape of the neck;
makes itself felt in the first flush,
then – the second,
before electicity echoes painfully in the gaps
between the fingers.

she slips from his hands.

a human obelisk

i’m changing tides,
a river bursting seams;
i’m not afraid of standing still
if i’m the only one not moving.

i douse myself in you, my skin alight
with million dazzling shades of white
and nothing matters: time is swaying here.

i pause my beat for night on night:
we know morality is all there is to care for–

–and then you say mistakes can sparkle in the sun,
i need to run and leave you in my place:
a human obelisk.

92. the only one you remember

i knew for a long while that the summer was over and now it really is. i only vaguely remember the way it began: pavements covered in blossom, lounging in the field under the stars, watching sun setting above our heads.

there was majorca.
there, in the evening, i scoured every shop for a memento to give to you. i found a wooden statue, obscurely sexual, sensuous, expressive: two figures entwined in an embrace, their sleek polished bodies holding each other. the male form bent round the female: side view of him, the woman – face on.
you didn’t like it very much and i can’t say i blame you: you had enough trouble reading a spy in the house of love. of all her men, the only one you remember is allan: the one she married, the father figure in her life. what of the others?
 ———- a blank.

can’t say i agree.
i had a dream of the english boy night before last: his birthday party conjured itself in a palace. i was with you of course. then, somehow i was speaking to him. back to you, fawning over the flowers Y’s girl had. and then a girl attendant handed me a huge box of those very flowers. scribbled on the box was “i love you”. from him.

still, those are only dreams. and i don’t mind that.