The Sad Cafe (VIII)

I’m awakened by the sound of laughter drifting through the window of my small flat above the Café. From there I can see the cobblestone streets beginning to fill with partiers, snow piling at the curbside. My clock reads ten PM. Sinking slowly into a warm bath, my wet hair has the scent of lavender and smoke, my skin the smell of yesterday’s perfume mingled with the haunting presence of strong cologne and the sweet scent of sweat and rope. At the mirror I brush my hair and pull it back with a silver plated comb, slip into smoky seamed stockings and my clingy black frock. Making my way past the crowded bar I find my usual booth in the dark fringe of a deserted corner, order a glass of red wine and wait.

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Denizen of Dreams

My dreams fade then return

where you are a denizen who

speaks in tongues I’ve yet

to learn.

Our dreams had weight yet

left no impression in the

the snow still our words turned

ice to smoke.

The memory of you vibrates

my hemispheres haunts my

nights where light and shadow

mingle.

Now I’m held fast

forever revisiting the dream.

Why did you have to be so beautiful?

A little night music

Birds of Paradise

Seeking pleasure in the darkness your fingers outline the etching of a hummingbird sipping from a carafe. There is balance in paradise. Indescribable beauty in the disarray of green parrot feathers. The moon pulls out the last breath of yesterday as your hands close around mine and I guide them where callous meets softness. Desire is a rage as wild as a shock of bursting hibiscus buds. The outline of Palm fronds divide like the chambers of a heart, the sound of waves break in our bones. Our throats are grazed by the winds teeth, our eyes are the color of Bird of Paradise.

Quietus

Love is a journey through waters and stars, through suffocating air, sharp tempests of grain:
Love is a war of lightning, two bodies ruined by a single sweetness”   Pablo Neruda 

Between wake and sleep

I feel the brush of your hand

cold as winters breath,

glimpse you in lightning strokes.

Listen to foot steps come and go

along corridors of departure.

Mists of yesterdays recede over

rivers of time.

So that you may see what is left

I’ve etched your eyes to mine.

Dismembered by scythes, conscious

fingers of stars glide over hoarfrost fields

or weeping willows sweep ice capped ponds

where my heart became a dying bird.

Mesmerizing Watercolor Art by Steve Hanks | Amusing Planet
Steve Hanks art

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

god of starlings

The Gods have

abandoned me

filled my chest with

starlings and a confection

of summer blossoms

I’ve fallen from my bough

into unplumbed depths

of swirling waters

my eyes have lost their

Gleam and sleep

has forsaken me

my tongue rendered

speechless as everything

that ever died with eyes

beseeching

let me dream

let me sing

Starling birds woman Klimt inspired portrait 8x10 print of | Etsy | Art,  Mermaid art, Spiral art

Mae Moon “starlings”

Of Liebe and Kreig

Your winter coat lies on the bed of a decaying forest
the silence is as hard as pounding hooves or soft as the moon rising
in your kingdom of stars.

Gurkski’s ” Il me faut t’abandonne”

“Come dusk is when my mind walks out

from where I fence myself in,

my dark room of nightly delights where

I encounter her, my queen of all things blue

and we fight right from the start

To make me love her even more.

I place the hands of my heart to gather

my hunting spirit, follow her footprints

into our forests of love and war.”

( excerpt)

Von Liebe und Krieg — Of love and war
Translation to German by Bernd @ Neues Vom Hutschi

NICHT BEREIT DAFÜR REISE ICH,
UM ZU ÜBERLEBEN,
DURCH ERINNERUNGEN, DIE SICH EINFINDEN,
OHNE EINKLANG.
DA LIEGT DEIN WINTERMANTEL,
WO EINST UNSERE RÜCKEN WAREN,
HALB BEGRABEN IM FALLENDEN SCHNEE,
JETZT VERROTTEN SIE ZWISCHEN ZAPFEN UND NADELN.
DER WALDBODEN RIECHT NACH BRENNENDER KIEFER
UND STILLE IST WIE DER KLANG STAMPFENDER
HUFE ODER SANFT WIE DER ZUNEHMENDE MOND
IN DEINEM REICH DER STERNE.


AUSZUG AUS GURKSKIS „IL ME FAUT T’ABANDONNE“


„KOMM, DÄMMERUNG IST, WENN MEINE GEDANKEN FORTWANDERN,
VON DA, WO ICH MICH EINZÄUNE,
MEIN DUNKLER RAUM NÄCHTLICHER FREUDEN, WO
ICH IHR BEGEGNE, MEINER KÖNIGIN ALLER BLAUEN DINGE,
UND WIR KÄMPFEN VON ANBEGINN,
DASS ICH SIE NOCH MEHR LIEBE.
ICH NEHME DIE HÄNDE MEINES HERZENS
EINZUFANGEN MEIN JAGENDES WESEN, FOLGE IHREN SPUREN
IN UNSERE WÄLDER AUS LIEBE UND KRIEG.“

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

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 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