Song of Seasons

Hold me in  fleeting hours

while we are beautiful and wild

winged creatures drinking from the

night  as honeysuckle

is sustained by the  sun and rain.

Stay  when summer departs and the

garden sips at tears pooled in

the irides of  our eyes.

Lie down with me in winter when the

birds hold their song

tiny skeletons of  hollow bone

indifferent to the cold.

For you my lips are   petals

reminders  of lost flowers.

If  you do not return

but fly on  to distant gardens

my body will seek shelter

beneath the feathers of tongueless birds.

House of Heart

Song of seasons

lily’s world

When she was young
she would run to the fountain,
swept up in the lyrics of
a misty waterfall.
Held beloved in a never changing world she mined a treasure all gardeners strive to grow,
lilies poppies and marigolds.
With time the sky darkened and the earth grew cold and no arms waited at the waterfall.

Photo by suswiss

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

 

 

because I love you

I know I love you

because when I think

of you my heart feels full,

a pond choking with water hyacinth,

their hungry   roots reaching deep

into the beds of yearning,

overflowing walls of longing

where I am so afraid to fall .

Because I love you I forfeit

my privilege, allow my heart

to drown in you  as though you

are liquid.

 

 

Vincent Van Gogh

the lethal dose

There are days  shadows course

through me like a breeze,

pressing deep into my life line and

the air is the scent of a stale satin pillow

where I refuse to lay my head.

I don’t fear  those intrepid ghosts,

I embrace and release them with

failed  gravity or the force that once

held the cupped hand of my lover.

The sky was alive then with every shade of

blue and the clarity of Windsor eyes

where I longed for space.

Desire is a stranger,  a lethal dose,

 encountered beneath a sacred mound.

art by Laura Makabresku

confession

this is not meant for you
though you were there.
I am what I have always been,
an elixir of words.
I will not erode like the sand
or patience if it ever was.
Washed up on a restless shore
I knocked and you opened the door.
Now, like the pearls beneath my feet
I carry no burden save love.

borrowed from 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.

Resa and the Rock Star

Remember back when you were a rock star

and I was a hippie angel?

How comfortable we were with  our

heart  and souls bared.

Do you remember now that you are so far

away that night in Eden when  you came to me

and I came to you and the rest of the world

slipped away?

We held on to one another,  made love and cried

decided never to speak of how every time

the lights went out you rushed to me,

so tender, coming and going.

Young and in love, we named that month Sextember,

yes, it still matters to me.

Do you remember our anguished goodbye?

Neither do I.

 

Resa and the Rock Star

Dedicated to Resa @ https://artgowns.com

soft as pollen

Insects large and small flit

through the  lemony filter of dense canopies.

In hushed whispers we point to a clearing

where a roe fawn nibbles at pine needles.

Soft as  cotton clouds brush the crowns of ancient trees,

below a  hanging mist  clings to  blonde foothills.

You pluck a  marigold to tuck behind my ear,

a golden hand print left on my thigh.

I wind a garland of fern  around your wrist,

close enough to run my fingers through your hair,

carry your scent back home with me.

 

 

Deborah Gryka  “Turtle Woods”

 

I apologize ! I found that the comment section was turned off on this.  I have gremlins.