from the “Shibari Series”

I don’t know.  Perhaps I am just too tired to evaluate this whole issue of the binding, etc. right now.  I do know that my thought processes have been interrupted, my attention span disrupted with the news (unexpected) last night of the status of “Seasoning”.

I’ve heard from a lot of people about the poem “Shibari”.  Some are practicing shibari experts, some are not, just curious about the subspace issue, others more interested in the power exchange.

Right now I am shifting through the emails, and later will come up with an entry, trying to cobble the different opinions and points of view on this event.

So, I will do what I usually do when I am full of doubt and confusion.  I will post a piece of work and avoid ( in this case) or probably complicate the questions.

Lady Nyo….and thanks to the usual suspects…

FROM THE SHIBARI SERIES….#1 included in “A Seasoning of Lust”.

Japanese hemp coiled about the torso, creating diamonds where there was once only skin, looping back upon itself, over and over. Breasts now defined by a rope cut-out bra, while waist, love handles, now enclosed in more diamonds, thighs entwined.  Added turns and thin jute split my cleft with a hard caress, the large knot on the bottom shifting upward. It would tease in mid air.

Dance comes from the earth, through the feet, up and out, giving shape to song. This time I would dance in flight, the pull of ropes challenging gravity, compounding my efforts.

Movements liquid and extreme startled me, the kikkou and hemp anchored me in space, my first taste of freedom in the ropes.  Suddenly I felt the sting of a whip and I jerked out of time to the beat. I fell deeper into the dance, determined to continue.  Again the whip’s sting and I faced a split reality: pain or pleasure. I went inward, deep into the music and rhythm, where movement was birthed and pain banished.

I flew, hollow bird bones filled with joy.  Cradled within the ropes I spiraled up from heavy earth.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008, 2009

“Shibari”

SHIBARI

I kneel on the tatami
fighting my fear
mouth dry, hands moist
and see him slowly
rip long strips of
linen for bondage,
a step towards the
darkness within.

Strong hands tear
tightly woven cloth
threads loosen and trail
my thoughts do the same,
Floating in nothingness.
His face expressionless
a mask of solitude
his eyes dark with purpose
assessing my readiness
preparing a ritual
that beckons freedom.

With the rent of
resistant linen,
my body echoes
this seductive sound
from the bottom of my throat
to my sex
I vibrate with sharp need
while watching his hands
both tender and cruel
ligaments strain
warming to the coming weave.

It is what I crave
to give myself over
no decision mine now
he the complete instrument
of my dark liberation.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2009