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A story so real...South of Heaven, West of Hell...why Sage Sweetwater is the storyteller who will have your heart.
South of Heaven, West of Hell
they came
from another
place, like I, where
Indigos were taught
how to cry, emotion
pouring from the lavender
aura hovering over rows
of trellisses, where vintners
gave us vintage prose, Cabernet
and Rosé, Bordeaux and the château,
old house on 69 acres, they came from
another place, like I, where Indigos were
taught how to cry,
I came
from the
third group
who accept
the Bible as folk
memory transmuted
into myth, allow no dupe,
we of the third group of Evil
Tines, the fork Devilish and
maligned, Pussy refined, we ate
sweetmeats with a forbidden object,
a two-tined gold fork the church opposed,
I would always be of the cast of outlaws and
gold mines, Alchemical Revelations, leaching
close to wheatfields, the vintners artesian well,
woman to woman sexual relations where they
each fucked me south of heaven, west of hell,
far from the rattlesnakes dying from deception
in crater pits, pock marked from contusions and
abrasions,
from Dillon Reservoir
to Utah's slickrock wilderness,
red blaze, Bryce Canyon and Zion,
coyote, fox, and mountain lion graze,
these women desire to climb me this century,
etched cuneiform a's and j's, thirsty archer
and watered horse, sandstone and clays,
remorse, bleeding bows and arrows, buffalo
and vaqueros, the petroglyphs on the rocks,
a valid religion,
they came
from another
place, like I, not
Yellowstone, where
Indigos were taught
how to cry, the country
is wild, for mustangs, for
women and wolves, ravens
and wolves communicate, such
observations about fate, nature
and women can only be made in
these places, of sage,
where they
each fucked
me south of heaven,
west of hell, and as I
age, wisdom pours like wine,
and it is now that I understand
women, and why vintners gave us
vintage prose, Cabernet and Rosé,
Bordeaux and the château, old house
on 69 acres, they came from another place,
like I, where Indigos were taught how to cry,
silent wings, the eagles ate toxic meat set out
by ranchers to kill wolves,
I...
Copyright 9/9/09 Ms. Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist
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Reader Reviews for
"South of Heaven, West of Hell"
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| Reviewed by Barbara Terry |
9/17/2009 |
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This is a very soul stirring and mind grasping piece Sage. It it is as entertaining as it is tomake us all think. Of course I wouldn't mind a nice Bordeaux while in the groans and throes of passionate lesbian adventure. Thank you for sharing this erotic adventure South of Heaven, West of Hell.
May the Lord Jesus bless you, and those whom you love, and who love you, and be with you always, and at your side constantly. With much love in my heart, joy to the world, peace on earth, & ((((((((((MANY WONDERFUL SISTERLY HUGGGGSSSS)))))))))), your little sister, Barbie. |
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| Reviewed by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado |
9/9/2009 |
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Another classic tale, a la Sage Sweetwater; whatta ride! WOW! Great job; brava, Sage!
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :D |
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| Reviewed by Regis Auffray |
9/9/2009 |
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I will simply echo Jerry's words because he has eloquently stated what I feel when I read your "stuff," Sage. Thanks for another great "ride." Love, peace, and best wishes,
Regis |
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| Reviewed by D. Vaineo |
9/9/2009 |
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Sage, Your poetry is filled w/descriptions that fills ones' mind...
Great read!
Always,
Deborah |
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| Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader) |
9/9/2009 |
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When you read Sage, get ready for an explosion into the stratosphere for a minute, only to be dumped back into the gravity of the earth and a world which resonates with wisdom and poetical mastery. When you read Sage and grasp her soul there is really no where else you can go, you have found the ultimate storyteller, the somatic sage, the primitive Indian healer, the supreme psychic, the willful witch doctor, the unruly lesbian and boasting braggart of her own right, the talent personified, the deep Colorado canyon filled to its rim with knowledge of the ancients with an eye toward the future.
Sage Sweetwater, The Ultimate Soul . . . |
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