Pagan Dreams

In dreams my

spirit guide is a Peregrine Falcon

with  wings open wide still

she never flies through ancient

pathways  filled with wood

and dark  amber resin

even in dreams she concedes

she is  not  a  bird but never

really earthbound.

 

art by Karol Bak

The Gold

Nights while you sleep  my lips are so close I can draw your breath in like an infant at its mother’s breast. I  run my fingers down the curve of your spine leaning in to inhale your scent.  I have entered that golden part of you, immersed the sea that claimed me in oceans of fiery sunsets.  When our hearts grow mute we will know we we  have drifted too near the sun.

 

art by Karol Bak

She’s Not A Lady

Winter does not empathize
with withered branches
or displaced birds fleeing waves of
of frozen breath.
Her howling wind is a laugh out loud and
she hasn’t the grace to cover her mouth.
A tease of holly and evergreen
flicker at the curve of billowed thighs,
glistening folds of hallowed mounds
drift in other worldly sighs
ensnared in her exquisite binds.

art by Karol Bak

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 .

 

 

 

art by Karol Bak

 

She’s Not a Lady

Winter does not empathize
with withered branches
or displaced birds fleeing waves of
of frozen breath.
Her howling wind is a laugh out loud and
she hasn’t the grace to cover
her mouth.
A tease of holly and evergreen
flicker at the curve of  billowed thighs.
Glistening folds of hallowed mounds
drift in other worldly sighs
ensnared in her exquisite binds.

 

 

Karol Bak

 

like birds

Lying back on  clouds capricious birds tweet

into my  ear so I open my  empty palm

expecting metaphors to light  like songbirds.

From here I can see the river Delta,

dark green tarpaulin stretched across the hemisphere.

Murky waters reflect  gray skies and  past

memories  flow by with  fleeting clouds.

Just before sleep captures my mind I consider

metaphysical nonsense.

You  say I am your guardian  angel and

my breasts your confessional.

We Suspend above the boredom of life

sinking in ruins of  madness.

 

art by Karol Bak