Storms

I am touched
by a storm
the tongue of a
fire that burns
away sleep.
A tide crashing
into millions of
crystal droplets
becoming the sun.
My heart is ripe
like summer fruit
sweet juices flushing
tingling veins.
There is a storm circling
the pit of my stomach rising
to ache in my throat.

13459S

Steve Hanks art

Poetry and Tea Roses

I will always disappoint you

my verse is no where near roses

pigment stained and tear smudged

overflowing with sudden downpours

a spiraling monsoon that can

not be held back with the tenderest

of sighs.

I tell lies lovingly

each line a litany of devotion

or a buzzed serendipity.

I will fall in love with the sleeved

heart of every poet.

Save me from obscurity, give me a purpose

sugary rose petals or the embryo

of a pearl washed ashore.

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Let Me Hold You

Separated by borders and ideals

we seldom speak.

In another time I climbed

your airy mountains

melded with desert colors

crossed your mighty seas.

Tell me we are still friends

that our dreams can still come true.

Don’t turn away let me hold you

take this sorrow from you,

we’ve seen enough death.

We wanted so much to be strong

but we knew there would be tears.

astrophotolab.com

For Pablo

When I found  you

I was not searching

beautiful and wild

our lids heavy with desire

we sipped Santiago raindrops

from our cupped tongues.

Tears of salt-rose fell from my eyes

at the hour of your departure and

my heart became a  dying bird

it’s wings unfastened and open.

 

Night on the Island

by Pablo Neruda

I have slept with you
and on waking, your mouth,
come from your dream,
gave me the taste of earth,
of sea water, of seaweed,
of the depths of your life,
and I received your kiss
moistened by the dawn
as if it came to me
from the sea that surrounds us.

 

Night Music

Losing June


By morning I have renamed us 
when I speak a thousand thrumming
 wings escape my throat 
those crimson wounds you have 
christened with your hands
a forgiveness I can believe in

I've etched your voice in memory
so not to forget the glossy sound
of humming wings when you speak
Your eyes orbit above me
brilliant satellites so that I
may dream free of shadows.

I've pared us down forgotten what  I knew of love and when I try to speak  a thousand wings catch at the cache of my throat.   

 

Night Music

 

 

 

 

Estuary of Flowers

I step back from the light
into the dark

my wife rocks
herself to sleep
in my favorite chair.

 

On the beach

I want to fly but fall like

a silent prayer.

My limbs are an anchor

as I slip beneath the surface.

Once struggling palms lie flat

as gentle waves rock me.

Seaweed strands of hair mingle

with the sigh of my breath,

I grasp the hands of my

companions,

my only thing of value.

Everything beautiful is here,

all that was lost.

Birds chorus to the stones that

mark the  resting place of a

thousand warriors   in an

estuary of flowers.

art by Abel Tasman

 

 

whir of days

Come the days when we

reach back into seas of

pinpoint diamonds where like

globes of fire we spun through

glimmering heavens yielding

only to the pull of hearts.

Now the dew falls from our eyes

Not from  the sky, the tide pulls

outward and mountains lose

their foothold but a new sun

is rising and we are touched by

the tongue of deepening wisdom

and   burning indignation.

 

 

 

 

 

saudade

There is a need for
lips pressed the press
of hands seeking.

Here in my
straight back chair
hold back the firestorm
with your elegant hands
and with your lips
claim the hollow
at my throat.

Scatter  silk like
autumn leaves.
Allow me to fall
like  the ripe flesh
of sweet fruit.

 

artist: Lu Jianjun

Desperate Garden

Near daybreak eyes begin to close.

My mind steps down into our most

beloved poem

*In a dark time the eye begins to see,
I meet my shadow in the deepening shade …

Below  in spectral gardens

A raven sits motionless on the branch

of a skeletal tree greedily eyeing a

tiny lark all feathers and bone.

In the state between sleep and wake

I traverse birth and mortality,

a faint hint of earthy candles sweeps

the orb of my celestial dreaming.

Sensations of  pearls like tiny moons

fall from my open palm  into infinity.

And you,  whose sigh is a strophe

of sonnets, waits far at the boundary,

not spirit or  rose tinged snow

but flesh and bone and sinew.

Now  I am sleeping less,

roused by the wing beats of Boreal Owls

circling ancient Cypress trees,

their screech a fist  with knife edge

talons erupt through feathery curtains,

breaching my seclusion.

Dark traces  vibrate my hemispheres as

lofty breezes lift me  a spectral mist vanishing

over the valley to a moonlit hillside of sweet lea.

An ivory wolf lies beside me.

He is the scent of ripe wheat fields and

his eyes are the color of the eastern sky.

 

*In A Dark Time by Roethke (Stanza 1)

In a dark time, the eye begins to see,
I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;
I hear my echo in the echoing wood–
A lord of nature weeping to a tree,
I live between the heron and the wren,
Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.

A Different Kind of Love

There are times when I can see myself through

your eyes. My pale face so in love,

aching for the caress of a flaxen

haired boy racing through rolling fields.

Suddenly serious your adventurous eyes

sent yearning shivers through me.

I longed for your touch anytime and

kissed you opened mouth without

permission.

I adored your mock anger when you

chased after me and the awkward way

you looked down at your hands.

Soon Autumn threw its shadow on

sprouting wheat, smooth and wet.

Now, I listen to the soft whisper

of his breathing through a half

closed door and know there are

different kinds of love,

wild, ruthless, and unafraid.

Image result for Art by Rob Hefferan

art by Rob Hefferan