Interlude

I sigh, light my cigarette and turn to you.

Within this dream  I propose let us fly away.

Your eyes so dark

whip my mind into arousal and your

rugged hand  on my  thigh makes me

soft inside and everywhere.

You whisper that my  hair so near

and my lips a crimson darkness devours you.

Against waves of joy and sadness dreams are

always what it could be like.

Suddenly hares chase foxes and Roebuck’s

hunt hunters and I bury my face in your

chest and you shield me within  bleak arms

to not  see the terror  and we fly away.

 

art by Babylon Premium

 

 

 

 

wolves

In the  state between sleep and wake

traversing birth and death

there is the faintest hint of earthy candles

macabre dreams interrupted by the

strophe of sonnets, a sensation of

spilling pearls like tiny moons falling

through my open palm.

At the boundaries I find you

not your spirit or  rose tinged snow

but flesh and bone.

I am sleeping less now

roused by the wing beats of boreal owls

circling an   ancient Cypress,

their knife edge talons entwined in sprays

of silky moss clinging to  knotty branches.

Fitful wind gusts burst through  barriers of

creaking walls vibrating my hemispheres into

consciousness.  A  celestial  tapestry of recollection

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 wheat and

his eyes are the color of the eastern sky.

 

wings thrumming

I drift on an opalescent breeze
dreams flower in my hair
They shed in heaps of autumn leaves
rust and gold and green
I am traveling far from childhood
where dreams were never welcome
against transparent skies
I cast my tattered shadow
A Mayan goddess taking flight
thrumming ancient wings

art by Karal Bak

Pagan Dreams

In dreams my

spirit guide is a Peregrine Falcon

with  wings open wide still

I never fly over  ancient

pathways of  amber  fields or

deep woods of amber resin.

Even in dreams  I concede

I am not is  a  bird but never

really earthbound.

 

art by Karol Bak

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 charme on your well cut cuff

a link on your diamond encrusted chain.

art by digitalina

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 are captive
in your hand.  

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.

 

 

when you go

When you leave I become

the sea gull begging salt from

from the briny air.

My veins are a winding tunnel

Of deep purple sea.

I channel you in the night owl’s

perpetual call  that  awakens the

Subconscious to the feel of

your phantom hand at the angle of my
hips.

At dawn 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

sheltered by your 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

 

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.