cautiously we walk on
a snow swept sidewalk.
Safe inside, your arms shield
me from the chaotic traffic.
Steadfast against you
I fixate on your impossibly sexy voice
discussing *Down and Out In Paris
as I surreptitiously slip into the
mind of left bank female poets cultivating
anarchy in your adventurous ear.
At our favorite café you order tea
and hot cocoa for me with thick cream
that you lick from my dripping lips.
The cosmos cease to exist and
we dissolve in the windows prism
disappear into a nomadic world
art by Tom Soillot
*Down and Out in Paris and London
by George Orwell
Poetry and Tea Roses
I will always disappoint you.
My words are no where near roses,
ink stained and caked with clay
though I have scrubbed them bloody.
My lines overflow with sudden downpours
that inflate into a monsoon
a swell you can not hold back with
the tenderest of sighs.
Still I beg to be saved from obscurity.
I tell lies lovingly,
each verse a litany of devotion
or a buzzed serendipity.
I will fall in love with the sleeved heart of every poet.
Give me a purpose , a wilting tea rose
or the embryo of a pearl washed ashore.
World Poetry Day is a time to appreciate and support poets and poetry around the world. It is held on March 21 each year and is an initiative of the United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization (UNESCO).
In that hour before dawn when the stars still hold on to the velveteen sky, stealthy specters rose, pulled on layers of clothes and quietly slipped into the low lying fog. Silently father let the car roll down the driveway signalling me with a fingertip to his lips to not make a sound for fear we would wake the sleeping who might want to intrude on an adventure for two. The purring cat of an engine hummed down the deserted highway to a slab of pavement leading to the bay. From there the air was filled with the scent of Gumbo Limbo and salty mangrove drifting through our windows. Parking between two boulders we walked to the craggy shore. The sky flamingo pink, the waves so far away, the tidal land came alive with trifles of tiny seas where a bug eyed Hermit Crab hurriedly dug his hiding hole. Provocative anemones waved fuchsia fingers at lilac colored algae where a Starfish tiny as a tear waited patiently for a finger to regrow. Sea gulls waking with the sun signaled us to move along. In the full light of day we sat silently on the sea wall, the sound of crashing waves pounding in our ears.
Photo by Brocken Inaglory
If I should return to your provenance I would bring one last offering. Those words you loved, that you spoke a thousand times or wrote just once. I would place them near, let those tender verses lie down beside you.
A trampled path winds
its way through the
reaching arms of evergreen
to a misty wild wood where my
heart lies down with yours.
White tail deer nibble goldenrod
lift the veil of solitude.
Spring showers and wild flowers
flourish here where
April lives forever.
image © Joan Egert
when I was just a shy girl
and you were a blonde haired boy
we raced through wheat fields chasing.
Suddenly serious your adventurous
eyes made me shiver and your hands
stroked my body for no apparent reason.
I yearned for your touch anytime and
kissed you open mouthed without permission.
I adored your mock anger when I made you
find me and the way you looked down when
I caught you staring.
Autumn threw its shadow on the sprouting
wheat where we lay naked smooth and wet.
Now I always knock before I enter your
reading room and you softly close your book
and pull me to you.
We are still intrigued by summer love,
fierce and tender and unafraid.
He doesn’t know why she hurts, what she is thinking, he is not adept at examining those fine points best left in the pit of her belly. Her thoughts are dangerous bells, once rung they can’t be silenced. For him the final line is the closing, for her it is profound sadness.
The heart can fall like a suicide
spiral down like the shade of
cold as petals on an icy lake
a flowing grave of dreams
an echo chamber of pain
Let my tongue flirt like
a butterfly among
rather than polish my scars
debride my wounds.