A sole Dove

Deeper than the Mariana Trench
more rare than a conch pearl,
The finest cognac glowing in baroque,
Belle lettrés from the crest of a tree.

 

In my periphery I see you.
My breathing stops to listen
for sounds of our existence.
 

A sole dove swoops into
the crown of a tree
quiescent in a forked bough.
The cardinals fly in,
a brilliant male  and his drab mate,
nature’s biased humor.
Captivated  by his beauty
she watches him fly away.
Without the will to fly alone, the lone dove lingers.

 

metaphors of birds

Communing with birds

I open my empty palms

expecting metaphors to light

like fireflies on my life line.

From the back of my eyes

I can see the river Delta,

sweet green tarpaulin stretched

across the hemisphere and those

deep murky waters that reflect

a silver sky.

Fleeting memories disperse like clouds.

Just before sleep I sink deep

into illusory havens,

escape the boredom of life.

metaphorbirds

Metaphor and Allegory by Ju-Yu Chen

Solace for Lovers

In October the pines  ooze resin.

Lofty crows flit among  rusty leaves.

Wisteria once so pleasant choke the burdened trellis,

their summer petals decomposing on a rusty gate.

From the branches of evergreens huddled lyrebirds

sing  cantilenas,  create their finest opus.

Below the smokey clouds my hands reach

to the heavens awaiting downy verses to fall

like feathers to my  ears.

I remain unwritten,  a journal of blank pages,

abandoned by a woman feigning nonchalance.

Today my eyes are a  brooding storm,

shades of a  deep night without a dawning.

In the forest a nightingale sings her  song

somehow her soft refrain makes it easier to bear.

 

 

Turning

Feel the  changing seasons,

the tilt of the  Earth’s axis,

the days growing longer as

the night  desires to linger.

Summer seemed boundless,

the sundial casts long shadows.

I will miss  you with your

brand of ripeness,

August’s   lustrous brightness

inciting the senses with fields

afire beneath a summer sky.

Now its wheat is  stacked and

bound  in lonely batches.

Buried beneath autumn leaves

the earth  imbues the darker hues

starless skies of delft blue and

gray swathes  that cloak the dawn.

The ash of burning  locust wood

shrouds the wilting garden with

the musky scent of autumn ghosts

heralding the chill.