A poem for Beneath the Surface, by Parisianne Modert

Ode to Rufia

by Parisianne Modert


Dreams, o Rufia dreams, craving sea-snake foramen, palatial undertows, cosine-sin fanning.

Swaying seaweed, Bermuda tri-nesting plate-tectonic scissored oyster-pearling, rem-promiscuity.

Interregnum princess, slippery dreamscape, undulating, sea-fluted, accarezzévole nocturne.


Awakens, o Rufia awakens, yawns curling, pallet rising, moans puffing, somatic, lustful soufflé.

Isthmus distant nape, dialogue-eyed tidal drain, blinking concave, naked incensing tabernacle.

She glides her esurient lips, buoyant kissing hologram, dawn’s dewy-glistened-nectar hothouse.


Listens, o Rufia listens, this mermaiden cantillates her urgent, siren, shrilled chanson.

Her quaking, damp cave, quivering secretions from consorting, ruby-mouthed poisson.

Crying enticement desires, unfolding, her ripened-cape damson, soirée incantation.


Sees, o Rufia sees, dolphin nosedive her starfish’s suckling orifice, cavernous pinnae.

Caressing tipped spout, backward rippling, teapot-steamy well, grabbing, clinging, releasing.

Funhouse mirrors, titanic paroxysm vision, fantasy osculation, delusional ovulation rendezvous.


Sings, o Rufia sings, sanguine, seafaring trough-notes, sounding eros-gasped bliss.

Mulieribus curving swells unfurling, crest pulsing, voluptuous peaks, lip-glossed miss.

Awakens with rolling, pleading, pulling from depths of her parapet, covert fissure.


Tastes, o Rufia tastes, salted spraying sailor’s, drowning mainmast’s mainsail winnow.

Rigging webs, pelvic net-casting, subterranean squid-swished, tentacle tingling, coral reef.

Primal alluvium, docking yearnings, moaning nymph fantasy, fruitless gardened precipice.


Screams, o Rufia screams, climacteric spatter meridian, Amphitrite womb-swollen daughter.

Electric eel, nerve synapsing, ping Poseidon’s trident thrusting, virginity vanished opprobrium.

Sunken Atlantis spiral castle, utopia undersea, Rufia sighs, bubble-spume, cuddling abyss.


Caresses, o Rufia caresses, semen-silt-viscidity, after glowing, phosphorescent femininity.

Symbiotic explorations, new world queen, radiant pearl jeweled, her clam-shell crowning.

Ocean flowers, synergy petting, o, Rufia, underneath her resplendent, sea-weeded garden.


Loves, o, Rufia loves, taboo hearted pulsing, her submerged, inverted serpent resurrection.

Dream unencumbered, awake natural, listen blissed, see truth, sing seduction, taste life.

She silences screams, folding her blossom petaled florettes, amour’s incandescence halo.


So, Ode to Rufia, shadow, subterrestrial seductress, unbinding temptress, guiltless, dark id.

Crashing, o, crashing, Rufia lifts her finite looping spasms, inked waves, conjuring, freed lid.

Beneath she is replete, o, enchanting goddess, Rufia illuminates her fervid plum, sea-orchid.


12 thoughts on “A poem for Beneath the Surface, by Parisianne Modert

  1. Parisianne Modert says:

    My dear Rufia and I wish to thank our Editor-in-Chief and the good people of A Word With You Press for publishing “Ode to Rufia” as written as well as the offered digital artwork. The T. S. Eliot quote was chosen as a dedication to honor Rufia’s “Beneath the Surface” birth.

  2. Parisianne Modert says:

    As fair disclosure, “Ode to Rufia” is an intentionally offered only for publication poem . She has NOT been submitted as part of the “Beneath the Surface” competition judging or critique by any member of A Word With You Press or any other reader.

    I thank all of you in advance for each of your discerning sensitivities in regards to the vulnerablities “Ode to Rufia” reveals. It is both an honor to be published so faithfully and be part of A Word With You blessing community of fine writers and poets.

  3. Michael Stang says:

    You have really done it this time, girl. Even though I must beg ignorance to understand a word of it, I am not that clueless and recognize master strokes. I often think about how you write, every word its own universe, and attempt imagination of the process. All I can hope for is a beam from heaven to enlighten my cave, a finger pointing at the moon. You are exceptional.

  4. Parisianne Modert says:

    Thank you Michael. I deeply appreciate your very kind words, but have vowed to restrict my comments for now.

  5. Laura G says:

    This is an ode to openness, vulnerability, and unabashed passion, all “beneath the surface” of the sea. Water is often thought of as deep and emotional, and that is the tone of this poem. I’m impressed by how even in English, the look of the lines and the music of the words reminds me of French (and this is coming from a French girl)! It’s as if you’re creating your own language. The talents of the authors to merge moods, colors, music and words does not go unnoticed. You truly have synethesia and it is wonderful to share it with the world so we can see what goes on “beneath the surface” inside you.

  6. Parisianne Modert says:

    Thank you Laura. This poem contains English, Math, Latin, French, Italian, Symbolic and invented dashed words which are my nature to play with in combinations, but “Ode to Rufia” isn’t about the sea at all.

  7. Stef says:

    Reminds me of Gertrude Stein in a lot of ways; for me, I didn’t get much sense of the sentences; it was more of being carried on the waves of the words themselves that lend the most beauty.

  8. Parisianne Modert says:

    Thank you Stef for your insightful comments. One of my closest beta listeners/readers also mentioned “Ode to Rufia” had a Gertrude Stein style. Perhaps it is time I start reading her. I will confess that the 1967 album, “Days of Future Past” by the Moody Blues was my influence for the structure of the stanza order.

  9. Parisianne Modert says:

    Research showed “Ode to Rufia” is not at all similar to Gertrude Stein. If readers liked my poem, may I suggest W.D. Snodgrass, Galway Kinnell, W.S. Merwin, Robert Lowell and Charles Baudelaire; although I believe my experimental style in “Ode to Rufia” is a combination of classical Greek, modern French and post modern American poetry with a pinch of modern Irish stirred in the caldron bosom of the sea.

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