Cave People

In my nest of stones I have not slept. Upstairs the neighbors fight over how best to spend their time as it silently slips through the space between fingers.   As the last grains fall it seems reasonable to be present for those hours remaining.  The windows are dark in the townhouse across the way   but for a lamp shrouded in a rose colored scarf.  Stirred by the sound of an ocean breeze I imagine I am a pale warrior charged with the safety of sleeping birds as a cat passes by  casually eyeing them from a wire fence.  At last when  dawn  climbs above the ocean I can see deep amber on the shore,  the color of my lover’s eyes when aroused.  Those subtle  hues of gold  that glint and sparkle in my half empty glass.  I spend my  night rearranging decaying books,  drifting down smoke filled halls,  pillaging my mind.

 

 

a longing

I steer my boat

beneath the lacy moss of

cedar trees where a  lark  drapes

her song,  a spray of flowers, along

the whispering stream.

Beyond the shallows a wooden bridge

where we cast our secrets to the water,

goldenrod along the bank witness the

 breathless embrace of  lovers.

So blue were your eyes those summer days,

 how endlessly deep the longing.

art by Steve Hanks

Chameleon Lovers

Springtime bends the

hibiscus  and sweetens the

night where there is no weight

in air or flowers or the fire of

Chameleon lovers.

 

 

Negril

In the hushed silence between waves
sighs fill the night as stars come alive
and the breeze is a soft poem.
Nude in the moon light but for drifting
shadows the swirl in your glass keeps
perfect time with far off thunder.
I need to look away from your gun powder eyes
that lethal shot
before the fluttering of a thousand butterflies
betray me.
I breathe in the circlets of your cigarette and
the honey sweet scent of willing hostages.
As fragile as fireflies we escape to the madness of
our minds where all we have to do is live.

Liliana Gigovic

woman waiting

Lips wet with mist,  the breeze of a kiss,

water grass sweeping through diaphanous dreams.

The strains of  a sonata stream,

rivers of veins filled with bloods wildness

a song  blue playing with fire.

Tongues of lovers burn with allegory

celestial walls of silence.

Hear the firewood snap and hiss

the burning heat of need.

Has her awakening come to late?

Art by Liu

 

Unbeknownst to me this poem was picked up in October  and published at Bon Bon Lifestyle Webazine. Thank you  Bon Bon Lifestyle, and thank you Jonathan for letting me know.

woman waiting — House of Heart

 

 

 

 

 

Summer with Burroughs

Remember the summer

we were obsessed with Burroughs?

Anything familiar like  far off thunder

close enough to subdue  mad-paced hours.

Something  inciting,  a strike of lightning

the scent of combustion ready to ignite

everything electric that made us come alive.

Our hearts caught between whale song and sigh

spontaneous thunder and intermittent quiet

sporadic  as a summer storm.

 

Leonid Afremov  “Rains Rustle”

she doesn’t speak french

On sleepless nights

I stroll the left bank in black sequined heels

Eye lids heavy with smoky glitter.

Among the art I have found you
your essence travels through

my veins to settle in the pool of my heart.

 soft lights flicker their last warning in our dark cafe where

like willows we sway to long forgotten love songs

then you are gone a Modigliani reclining never hearing

Je t’aime, the only French I know.

 

Mark Spain Art

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

unruly lover

For you I will be

the sun who shines

without expectation,

a breeze that shapes soft

passages when you travel

uncertainty.

Let me be your madness

that sets  desire in motion,

the moon pulling tides

drawing you closer. 

When my words fail

my body will speak to you

Of air and flight, strings of stars

let me be the light you

return to.