while I was thinking of you

my verses are

flames meant to melt the

chalice of your heart.

In the  white night

we cross the continents,

feel but never touch.

Our secrets too holy for the light

set the night on fire.

I am profanity in a sacred sky,

blasphemy of flaws to small to alter fate.

While I was  thinking of you

a fledgling fell to earth,

saved by the wind  on her

passage to life.

 

red head on a bench

 

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the wildness of dreams

When I look into your eyes

they are lit with bonfires,

the mystery of far off places,

a darkness I have never seen.

Shelter me  beneath the

span of your outstretched wings

while I   chant your name

across a golden sky,

the two of us alone in

the wildness of  our dreams.

 

Saatchi Art Artist Lia Melia; Painting, “The Second Coming” #art

Painting by Lia Melia

 

winter debridement

In my trove of words

is the refuse of middens

and passé cliches.

Lip stained stubs

in the bitter rinds of oranges

gnawed and tossed away.

Where are my similes of stars,

my metaphor of sea oats?

Those fluttering wings of

melodramatic birds suspended

in my throat?

They are buried beneath leaves

below the chafed trunks of trees

consoling lost lovers

grieving debridement.

 

winter debridement from Dreamstime

Dreamstime art

 

woman we are strangers

but I know your heart is a hive
of bees torn from your chest spilling
honey you have harvested for years,
trained  well, be silent be still,
demand they remain in the pit of your gut,
traitors before the door is shut.
They Stream down your face the second you
recall that cache, that remembered thing,
they  fall from your eyes for all to see.
Maybe you’ve just  had a bad day,
all those smiling faces waiting
at the crosswalk  and all you can
think of is what you’ve left behind.
Woman, we are strangers but  I know you
so well.

 

Nina Leen 1957

net of dreams

I dreamed you beside me

in a small fishing village,

our bare feet dangling

from an ancient  wall.

Stone  soldiers, eternally

gaurding   held back the

swell of the rushing sea.

By the  beacon of a distant

lighthouse sea birds flew over

only to vanish beneath its

woeful beam.

A shell at my ear  I held you,

gathered  you in silk arms of netting.

Losing  my grip you slipped away,

freed from the catch of dreams.

sea side