I brought the rain

I want to hold you closer.

You smell of sandal wood

and  earth after a summer shower.

Because I breathe you, I don’t need the air

and I know how it feels to swim through stars.

In the muted night  we sing our song.

You give me a midnight choir,

I always bring the rain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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freedom

In the sweet summer

below the rusty fasteners of

an old swing I pump the air

with the  spindly legs of childhood,

dream my wide eyed dreams of whirling

pathways to the beckoning sun.

My heart leaps at the sight of a brilliant

rainbow and with small fingers I reach up

to swathe its colors over a blue palette  sky.

Now I know about life, the real truth of it.

Now I know the swing is just freedom.

 

little girl with freckles

Cartography

In this  hot and humid  night I doubt that  I am coherent.  Alone  in  bed  at two in the morning has teeth. When you leave I feel a visceral loneliness that I am certain is internal.  It always feels like April here.  I ramble on  about sunny meadows and how the wheat smells  of  lavender, tell you again about  the  painting that I am working on  and how it takes so long to dry.  I am acutely aware of the  momentum of  words and how I miss the  tender touch of your hand on my thigh.   My hands  are worn raw  in search of common ground but I haven’t the words to not betray myself after you have gifted me  your history.    Implicit trust frightens me.  I wonder how you  have such faith.   I consume all that you  give me  as though each secret could never be an infringement. When I  look  into your impossible  eyes  all I really want to do is  get drunk,  draw maps  upon your belly.

 

Shhhhh..

 

Pinterest Art/Photography

 

In Memory: “poetry can be an act of transparency to the forces behind it, beauty naked in the presence of truth”

Art of Quotation

“How little survives us but words”


Describing his inspirations as a writer, Mr. Plumly told a University of Maryland student journalist in 2009:

“You get a line, you get an image. There is a memory that won’t leave you alone. And then you go after those things. If that’s inspiration, then okay.”

Stanley Plumly, 1940-2019, poet


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Mooring

You are an ache, a throb,

a tremble in my heart.

The stroke of copper lightening.

I have etched you in my lines,

in margins I’ve swathed you

in resplendent hues of color.

Your voice is a tender quake,

your breath a hive of honey.

I am a gentle tug you barely notice,

a fleeting rain shower on a summer day,

the gentle wave washed upon your shore

where I have tethered my soul to yours.

Steve Hanks 1

 

 

 

Versatile Blogger Award

First of all I want to thank Watt at https://sapphire-sky-com.home.blog/2019/04/12/awarded/ for including me in his  nominations for the “Versatile Blogger Award”.   Most have read his blog and know how incredible his writing is.  Thank you so much Watt.

Per the rules I am to expose… tell you some things about myself that you may not know or care to.  Here goes:

My past times,  other than writing are:  painting,  swimming,  snorkeling, diving in the Florida Keys,  traveling,.

  1. My most adored poets are  Goethe, Rilke,  Langston Hughes, Pablo Neruda,  Dylan Thomas,  Anne Sexton and too many others to mention here.
  2. I love most genres of music,  contemporary, R & B, jazz, classical.  I am not a fan of heavy metal.
  3. I don’t have any vices that I can mention here.
  4. I work in the medical profession.
  5. I support the Susan G. Komen Foundation.
  6. I tend to be political…but not today.

As a rule, I don’t participate in Awards  but I am honored to join in here.   Rather than nominating  specific blogs I  would like to invite you all to tell us something about yourselves.  We would love to know.

Wilding

Across a velvet backdrop

softly glowing slivers

stream across the heavens,

tapers of candles that wax and wane

with the  out-breath  of sighs.

In a spectrum they plummet

streaking through darkness to

vanish over mountains or

plunge in to the sea.

You and I are stars,

tumbling spheres of unrest.

Stellar shards  held hostage to

the moon until the heat of night

inflames our primal hearts.

Come out…ignite

be the fire.

 

art by Karol Bak

 

Holly and I were wondering how Man Ray ended up with that name…here’s the answer…

Mystery solved.

Rethinking Life

Man Ray’s family changed their surname to Ray in 1912. Ray was nicknamed Manny but changed his name to Man, and slowly started to use Man RayRay’s father worked in a garment factory. He also owned a small tailoring shop outside his home, enlisting all his children from a tender age.

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later in the dark

Near the wharf I sit on the damp wall and sip my drink, let my mind slide into a slippery salamander of sea. The moon is a glistening slice of neon, her whisper carries on the wind, “moon child I love you too”.  Sinking further in I watch a velvet Osprey swoop my reflection from the silver waves where the sighs of lovers are lost in a monsoon. Old images flicker across my frontal lobe as I liberate sip by sip. That man with the golden veins doesn’t interest me anymore. Maybe later when my pearl skinned body breaks the surface I’ll bring him back again.

 

Photo by Westergren