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.

Harem of clouds

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

In search of your harem among the clouds .

 

 

 

wings1

art by Karol Bak

 

Common Ground

He doesn’t know why she hurts,  what she is thinking,  he is not adept at examining   those fine points best left in the pit of her belly.   Her  thoughts are dangerous bells,  once rung they can’t be silenced. For him the final line is the closing, for her it is profound sadness.

 

 The heart can fall like a suicide

spiral down like the shade of

midnight deserts

  cold as petals on an icy lake

a flowing grave of dreams

an echo chamber of pain

Let my tongue flirt like

a butterfly among

wildflowers

rather than polish my scars

debride my wounds.

 

 

 

 

like an animal

As the fog of dream falls

I feel you.

The touch of your skin

calls to the savage in me,

ignites a raging flame.

Here we are still lovers

where I devour you

with the weak bites  of

a starving animal,

never completely consuming

you.

 

image from Art Express…Steve Hanks Art.

Because tonight I am weak

Satellites of eyes orbit my dreams, cellophane specters inhabit this space of detachment. Here tongues are no longer foreign and  truth is the language I hold to my lips. Without fear  my mind dances gently into the night that folds softly into hours

 

art by Lu Jianjun

 

 

in the dark

From the fog I can  hear the sighs

of lovers lost in the monsoon.

Images  flicker in my frontal lobe,

that man with the golden veins,

he  doesn’t interest me now as

sip by sip I liberate  my mind.

Later when I am  cocooned in the dark

I will bring him back  again.

 

Carousel

Birds soar high above the ice chiseled cliffs,  roil  over  ancient forests at the moss covered foothills of  Mountains.  I hear the voices of ancestors,  perverse whispers of hate and grudges,   they are witness to our deception. They  know the gaps in our souls are filled with the same  darkness as theirs.  When we once again come face to face  they will  tell us how the hours passed so quickly.  You are that bird whose wings beat the air senseless, rainstorm eyes protest  a dream unlived. That perfect blue honey of desire you washed away in golden brown.  Swoop down, I miss the sound of you. Tell me how to survive beginnings.   Save me from this carousel,  my arms outstretched not knowing I am still  spinning.

 

in my favorite dream

I walk beside you on snow swept sidewalks shivering from too much life.  Your fingers wrap around mine as my hand clings to your shoulder shielding me from the chaos of rushing traffic.  Snuggled against you I am captivated by your impossibly sexy voice discussing note worthy events that fill your day.   Surreptitiously my mind slips away to desirous play where you sip honey from my swollen lips releasing urgent butterflies from my rib cage. At our favorite café you order tea,  for me,  hot cocoa brimming with frothy cream that  your eager lips flick from mine.  In this realm all cares  cease to exist past  the prism of our window where  in the soft glow  snow flakes dissolve into a light drizzle and we softly fade into  a parallel world of lovers.

 

 

 

 

In This Dream

Between sleep and wake we

fall like stones into a silent lake

traversing birth and mortality.

Water pearls drop from  unfastened palms

tiny moons slipping through fingers.

Deeper I find you in the  iris of cat eyes,

not your spirit or rose tinged snow but

flesh and bone and sinew whose sigh is

an ancient strophe where we do not die

but flourish with the  sprouting seeds.