Love lies in..
every gossamered
corner of
objects
and memories,
once owned.
Shadows
of yesterday
you thought
you overlooked.
Veins touched
by the soft glow
of an evening
longing for
impossibilities.
Wine half drunk
brooding into
the dissection
of maybes’.
Eyes that never
met to spill
volumes of
if onlys’.
Sighs dissipated
as cold smoke
into the wind
and fire
of tomorrow.
The weathered marks of yesterday’s
sorrow summers have
left an indelible pattern to
long for something
Forever.
Little droplets of jewels
kiss the leaf tips a little longer
yearned and adorned in
another life.
Telling fairytales of the
untouched trials of
a damp, damp heart.
Frost numbs, and sunshine blinds (which do you prefer?)
Stood in the wet grass
dazed, squared, and still,
skin of a strong, dry bone memory upon,
a jaded rose quartz,
bare and labile flesh amongst the weeds,
in an overgrown backyard,
reminding, remaining, and
remembering
a young girl in the
wild woman’s art.
Nubile dreams of an unborn woman.
Fair feet that dance through the weather.
Thick and thin veils of rain you
Caress the skin of clouds you fall
from, (upon).
Magic and sweat percolating
your balmy disguise.
Tender breaths freeze in lines,
still smokes of passing time.
As the sun shines,
on a golden cascade of inimitable ribbons.
Travelling bandwagons of the North.
As the teeth of your memory melt,
Into her honeydew mist and the
Sweet sorrow water pulp of
Yesterday’s forgotten promises and joy
rest on your tongue.
Never cry a river, while you await a paradise,
The silhouettes which fleet now
Only within your reach to see ever,
As much as you seek forever.
Never truly anybody’s, never truly there.
Where Gods are lesser creatures and myths walk
miles.
And the mist of rising dawn unleash
The argent face of morning fields.
Your lips that held the secret of her navel
and a night,
that was held together for your desires,
by the wings of seraphs.
Shroud stitched in the corners with
the whispers of the oracles
that will never blight.
I am fascinated by Georgia O’Keefe’s paintings. Sensual portrayal of flowers is indeed the essence of art for me and in a way observing the birth of life on this earth. I try to photograph flowers in my own humble way, inspired by her work which those who know will know.
Just sharing a few lines of my own poetry here tonight. Hope you enjoy!
Woman
Woman.
Like an instrument.
Play her right
She is a melody to the ears.
Play her wrong
She is a nuisance to all.
And if you don’t know how to play her
Don’t bother keeping her.
A thing of beauty,
A joy forever.
Untouched and unowned.
Unaffected and unmaligned.
Woman.
Like an instrument.
Play her right
She is a melody to the ears.
Play her wrong
She is a nuisance to all.
And if you don’t know how to play her
Don’t bother keeping her.
A thing of beauty,
A joy for forever.
Untouched and unowned.
Unaffected and unmaligned.
Hey Miss Moon
Miss Loony, Lonely, Marmy Moon.
You remind me tonight of a woman,
I once knew.
Tales of her beauty
Far, they flew.
Such sheen she lay on the sky,
Of a thousand lovers hearts.
Someday, one of them got
A little too close,
And all his eyes saw and lips knew
Were your pits and scars,
And dents and blues.
Like a sad hag tossed out of her hut
You sat in your gloom.
Maybe that is why you want to be alone.
To shine on your own.
Never to be touched,
Never to be owned.
Only to be gazed and gaped at by
Those who want to hold you,
Their own way.
To keep all your belongings
Large and small,
Silver and gray,
From going far and
Astray.
