I’m going to miss you

I will be on hiatus from HOH for a while. Take very good care of yourselves and continue to amaze the world with your gift of creativity.

 

 

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the life cycle of a rose

House of Heart

Erect on a tall stalk

wrapped in veiny leaves

heavy with the burden

of viscous dew

for the  love of light her

corolla lifts upright

a broad faced still life

anchored to the earth

she tracks the sun blindly

through the violet sky

At dusk she combs the air

with  sweetness

retreating  at twilight into

pearly pools of the moon.

 

 

RosePink

Photograph by Heart

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Karlsbad

You’ve  been gone a while but I still miss you.    I knew you when you were stealing bottles from your best friends bar, there never was a lock you needed a key for.  Browsing my photographs I found you on Karlsbad bridge, a cigarette in one hand,  a brown bag in the other.  You are  wearing a wrinkled  tee shirt beneath a  green jacket that reads Universität.   Your eyes   glazed over,  you are  on your way to  or coming from a high.   Remember that recital when you choked on your words and  how I joked   you were my warm up act,  everybody  laughed, even they loved you.   Then with no warning you left me behind when I wanted so much to see you fly.

 

 

google artpowerless birds

By Fire

Strangers gather on the green
choking on smoke and the scent
of seared flesh.
The sun is climbing down to
meet the flames.
Soon her ashes will smolder
on the ground.
She is burning slowly as he dampens her gown.
For a moment,  just before the winds whip up,
she is in Elysian Fields.

 

Sandalwood and lavender

When dawn became morning,

with the graceful arms of a ballerina,

she tossed bread crumbs to finches and towhees

gathered at the feeder.

 

It was sad to find her flowers

puddled in raindrops  soft as

fawns eyes in a multi-hued garden

of potpourri.

 

She wiped  drying wax

from the  night stand and replaced them

with tea lights that held no memories.

Silk scarves were  cached in the armoire

but for one  she kept tossed across the night lamp.

 

The hours seemed to pass so slowly.

Still the room blushed with moon-glow

and the scent of sandalwood and lavender.

 

 

.Image result for art by Mark Spain

Mark Spain Art

 

confessionals and currency

A Sheer scarf covers the

lamp on the night stand

slivers of moon light slip though

the  French doors

reflecting off walls of burgundy

and  egg shell limbs caught

in loose binds.

She is the red of womanhood

her breasts alert gazelles

guileless eyes are  the shade of currency

her mind has become his confessional

and there is no sin grave enough

 

 

 

Sand Castles

A knife blade of coast

line  separates us,

the stagnating scent of mangrove

fills my nostrils and the sediment

of time seeps ashore to sink

slowly into porous sand.

 

 

If I could I would take you high

into velvet skies where stars

form a swaying Ferris wheel.

 

Be a comet in my palm until

the night surrenders to the sun.

At low tide I build our castle

in my cove of madness where

again and again I watch their walls

wash out to sea,

this home I have constructed

where no one lives.

 

photo by Heart   DSCN0856

Simulacrum…

Who could resist…not I.

My Sword and Shield....

So in love with the world was he
that there
at the end of all things
he could not bear to accept that all
would be lost

So he gathered the deepest blue of the sea
and set it within her eyes
he took the smell of a spring rain
and set it within her voice
he collected the stars from the heavens
and placed them within her smile
he pulled the moonlight from the roof of the world
and placed it beneath her skin
And though it scorched his hands
he seized the sun’s fire
and set it within her hair

and when the great yawing black
had finished
and all the remained was dust

we gathered upon the edge of creation
and we found her, there
and we remembered
and her name was
Love

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Like an Animal

As the fog of dream lifts

I feel the tinder of your skin

on mine igniting a raging flame.

Your eyes seek out the savage

in me.

 

Here we are still lovers

where like a starving animal

I devour you  with weak bites

never completely consuming

you.

 

 

pixshark

waiting to inhale

 

Confined to that  intricate labyrinth,

your translucent limbs wore me down.

I dreamed of honey and coconut milk,

of transparent lids  and fingertips

sucked into fragile rose-bud lips.

Captive in barriers,

imprisoned in shifting walls,

falling through  nautical twilight

hope cast its shadow on us.

Happy Mother’s Day