Temple Bell

Your eyes are the crescent

of a silver bay that circles my mind

in the deep mystery of sleep

your voice an invocation of bells

that once rung cannot be undone

in dreams I am your dancer

beckoned at your will

I am a charm on a well cut cuff

a link on a diamond encrusted chain.

ballet

art by digitalina

Desperate Gardens

Near daybreak, my eyes 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 …

I look out upon our desperate gardens.

A raven sits motionless on the branch

of a skeleton tree greedily eyeing the

tiny lark all feathers and bone.

In the state between sleep and wake

I traverse birth and mortality,

the faintest hint of earthy candles

sweeps the orb of my celestial dreaming

a sensation of  pearls like tiny moons

falling from my open palms ,

and you,  whose sigh is a strophe

of sonnets, waits far at the boundary,

not a spirit or  rose tinged snow

but flesh and bone and sinew.

Alone  I am sleeping less,

roused by the wing beats of Boreal Owls

circling ancient Cypress trees

their screech a fist of wind with knife edge

talons erupt through feathery curtains,

breech my seclusion,

dark traces that vibrate my hemispheres.

A lofty  breeze lifts me over the valley

to a moonlit hillside of sweet lea.

There  an ivory  fox lies down beside me.

He is the scent of ripe wheat fields

his eyes are the color of the eastern sky.

*In A Dark Time by Roethke

 

tumblrimage

 

 

 

to get to you

In this dream  my arms
are the branches of trees
and you are my  nourishment.
Cut me down to a boat.
My  spine a sturdy keel,
my hair  the unfurled sails.
A lighthouse is my only lamp
for the stars have fallen into 
your hands.
If the sea does not capitulate, 
red sails   cast into a cleft 
too wide  for me to cross,
I was trying to get to you.

 

Art from Getty

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

when you go

When you leave I become

the sea gull begging salt from

from the briny air.

My veins are a winding tunnel

beneath a deep purple sea.

I channel you in the snow owl’s

perpetual call  that  awakens the

sleeping night and the phantom of

your hand at the linen across my hip.

Your shirt hangs  from a closet door

in the buttery sunlight and I become

so small I could slip inside the lining

of your chest against the warm skin

where I long to be.

 

 

art by Anuraag

 

 

A Winged Bird

I am who I have always been
a shiver of soft reeds beside the river
or the cascade of  waterfall.
Gypsy crows rise  to a soft dawn sky
gathering their kind they circle
back for me.

 

I can scarcely  bear the

splendor of the world,

it’s wonder humbles

the wisp  of me.

Minutiae of eyes and ears

and speechless tongue

Stunned by the promise

of a  red sunrise.

Elegant trees  lift up

their mighty arms,

grand  gods in prayer,

host to creatures

large and small,

a cornucopia of life

fills their noble crowns.

 

I want to sail across the sea,
this tiny fleck that is me,
a winged bird   bearer of
no possession,
fragment of the universe.

 

 

fine art America

 

Translation by  Bernd Hutschenreuther

Ein geflügelter Vogel sein

Ich vermag kaum, den Glanz
der Welt zu enthüllen,
ihre Wunder schmälern
noch meine Winzigkeit.
Details von Augen und Ohren
und Zunge, stumm,
erstaunt vom Versprechen
eines Sonnenaufgangs.
Vornehme Bäume erheben
ihre erhabenen Arme,
mächtige Götter im Gebet,
Gastgeber unzähliger Geschöpfe,
abgezupft in rot und grün,
Füllhörner mit Nüssen und Beeren
zieren ihre edlen Kronen.
Ich möchte das Meer durchsegeln,
winziger Fleck, der ich bin,
ein geflügelter Vogel, Träger
keines Besitzes, ein erfreuliches
Fragment des Alls,
einem jeden sichtbar.

Deutsch: Bernd Hutschenreuther

 

Wolves

In that state between sleep and wake

traversing birth and mortality

there is the faintest hint of earthy candles,

macabre dreams interrupted by sighs

the soft strophe of sonnets and the odd

sensation of strung pearls  falling like

tiny moons through my open palm.

At the boundaries I find you

not your 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,

their knife edge talons entwining knotty branches.

When sleep intrudes fitful winds  erupt

feathery curtains, vibrate my hemispheres.

A  swift breeze lifts  me over  the

valley to a  moonlit hillside of sweet lea

where a silver wolf lies down  beside me.

He is the scent of golden meadows and

his eyes are the color of the eastern sky.

 

Pinterest

 

washed away

Firelight dances through the bistro,
We lean in close and when our eyes meet
the rain storm streaming down the
stain glass window reclaims us.
Swept away through sea caves,
caverns and seal black maelstroms
we ride the darkness,
diving deep we take what we need.
Thieves, we steal only from ourselves.

Wolves

I am sleeping less,

roused by wingbeats of Boreal Owls

circling ancient Cypress,

gripping knotty branches with a  clutch

of talons .

When I  close my eyes fists of  wind

breech  my seclusion, erupt through

unbound curtains of dark recollections

that  vibrate through my hemispheres.

A soft breeze carries me through the

valley to a  moonlit hillside of sweet lea.

A silver wolf lies down  beside me.

He is the scent of golden meadows and

his eyes are the color of an eastern sky.

 

 

Heron

Some nights I must draw a line,

a demarcation  where dreams

and   subconscious bend perception

to  shape reality.

In my  savage dreams I peel back my skin

press bristles of  feathers through my bones

take to the sky on a fury of wings

searching for you among our harem of clouds.

 

 

 

wings1

art by Karol Bak