the Sad Cafe (V)

The room is stifling with

deflowered souls.

The sad cafe tends to its ghosts

but we are more than grateful to forget.

There are no secrets among these

desolate lovers disfigured by life.

We inhale circlets of smoke

that linger in the air and taste lips

dripping desire.

The night arches its back

to drunken angels so we dance

beneath stars that meet us halfway.

Andrew Atroshenko Knowing painting - Knowing print for sale

“Knowing” by Andrew Atroshenko

Tender Places

The small lake shimmers with light

reeds rustle beneath

the feet of a fawn

leaning forward her pink tongue

curls backward

spattering the sweetness of life

into her nose and eyes

spotted ears pull sideways

heeding the sigh of the forest

the breath of a breeze

the kiss of sunlight transforms

autumn gold to green

beyond the edge of the wood

fall collides with spring

in  tender places of the wild

Do No Harm

image © Joan Eger

The Woman in the Mirror

is A child that looks out

from eyes that weep diamonds

or liquid fire spills from the curve of her lip

burns trails down her cheeks

those voices inside roll in on waves

of ocean-like silence from the pit of her belly

(is that possible?)

cold clouds rain down from some god-forsaken

depth that like the tender touch of heartbreak

pleads come and rest.

Photographer unknown, public domain

Persuasion

Drawn by the pull of possibility

I am at war with resistance

tempted by persuasion and the

dynamic momentum of hands

on taut shoulders

the gravitational press on tangled

knots and willowy limbs that succumb to

a black spell night

your kiss is kindle igniting

the perfect fire

Come dawn I am a periwinkle

at your pillow

tender petals bending to what

is golden.

61 Figurative Paintings By Kazakhstani Artist Andrei Belichenko

art by Andre Belinchenko

Interlude

In this dream I turn to you

light my cigarette from the glowing

tip of yours.

I propose we fly away.

Your dark eyes whip my mind

into arousal and your elegant hand

on my thigh turns me soft inside.

Your breathing is a sigh against

my ear that whispers my hair

and crimson lips so near devours

your resistance.

Against waves of longing and desire

dreams are always what it could

be like.

Suddenly hares chase foxes

and Roebucks hunt hunters and

to shield me from the terror you

hold me within bleak arms.

We are light breathing

sweet molecules into the night

It would be easy now to fly.

Related image

Babylon Premium

Sweet Bird

After you left I jogged  along the shoreline past the carnation houses  along the jetties where scattered surfers waded hoping to catch the last waves.  A haze veiled the shore and vanished in the rain.  Globules of salt encrusted my eyelids and each breath ripped upward from my belly tearing through my lungs. I sank down on the damp sand behind the old seafood restaurant. Unearthly howls carried out across the waves dissolving into the sea.

I want to believe that the ocean is a froth meringue not a murky depth where in heavy boots you wade past that place where you lose your grip and the rush of saltwater fills your eyes and mind but not the air.

Sea gulls swoop and squawk,  perfect black angles against the sky. I open my book by Tennessee Williams whose writing I abhor but the edge of its cover was leaning out as I passed the bookcase, Sweet Bird of Youth.

*So I close my eyes softly
’til I become that part of the wind
that we all long for sometime”

*Stevie Nicks

The Riches

From the window

as quiet as  as a river I can watch

the moon shiver in the breeze

through the fronds of palm trees.

Hibiscus wave like  children

their mouths move  silently,

hands of garland reach out to

one another.

I am grateful for the sweet

drape of your eyes that like

fluttering wings of birds lift

the shawl of darkness where in

the light  prismatic butterflies

breach their  chrysalis and

vanish in the arching sky.

These are the riches

the golden sunlight passing through us.

denizen of dreams

My dream dies then returns

where you are a denizen who

speaks in languages I’ve yet

to learn

our dream had weight yet

Left no impression in the snow.

That December we

spoke in stutters still the heat

of our tongues turned words

to smoke.

You appear on the back of my eyes

etched into walls where light

and shadow mingle.

Why did you have to be so beautiful?

Now December holds me fast

forever retrieving the dream.

Night Music

Beside the River

Remember the cabin among the trees hidden like rabbits resting in nests of autumn leaves?  Beside the window that looks out on the river there is a writer’s desk  with printer’s ink and fresh flowers kissed by the sun  in  the sill.
Do you recall the sweet days we shared  among redwoods that spoke to us?  The memory evokes such nostalgia for that ache, that fierce crushing devotion. I left a heart shaped basket of seeds in the arch of a tree for the birds to scatter, etched our names on its bark.  I will always  remember you and the cabin by the river,  the sultry nights I would dance for you, sheer layers floating  to the herringbone floor.

GoGreen Roulotte | Canopy & Stars

lament

A young birch sways

like a new-born giraffe

its limbs lean out

over wilted grass

and ocher vines bind

a sightless sentry

whose eyes never flinch

but guard eternal.

The silence of winter

stacks on solitary bones

until May winds stir

the crowns of trees

flush with suspended

birds

powerless to fly on.

art by rick nilson