To The Masses Unfree by Serge Gurkski

Do not
corrupt the binds that hold you
but should you feel so inclined
do not waste what you do not have.
In altered zones of delight
I tumble through the days.
My lover comes and goes leaving me
lonely and politics is not soothing either.

I speak to America, You beautiful nation.
Beauty is not my friend
but the concept that governs is.
Read the lines on which your independence
rests you citizens of heaven.

The Congress, July 4th, 1776.

“The history of the King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpation, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States“.

“”Those who forget the past are condemned to repeat it”

…writer and philosopher George Santayana

A Little Night Music

Ice

Life is a flinch of the

eye and love is a phantom

hiding in plain sight.

A sculpture of ice,

a thousand crystal droplets

strewn across the sky.

Touched by the tongue of a

a flame becoming the sun,

tonight I need to start a fire

I’m as cold as the midnight moon.

Night Music

Blue Bird

When I spread my wings

I feel the pull of freedom.

I spread them wide and trail

my shadow the way birds do.

Your hands are elegant thieves

your tongue a web of lies,

in this desperate nest of chaos

When the veil falls apart and

daylight slivers through I can see

the slant of sky where you slipped in.

Night Music

For Pablo

When I found  you

I was not searching

beautiful and wild

our lids heavy with desire

we sipped Santiago raindrops

from our cupped tongues.

Tears of salt-rose fell from my eyes

at the hour of your departure and

my heart became a  dying bird

it’s wings unfastened and open.

 

Night on the Island

by Pablo Neruda

I have slept with you
and on waking, your mouth,
come from your dream,
gave me the taste of earth,
of sea water, of seaweed,
of the depths of your life,
and I received your kiss
moistened by the dawn
as if it came to me
from the sea that surrounds us.

 

Night Music

Intentions

I  wonder about your kiss.

Is it the taste of sweet oranges?

Now Spring  hovers at my lips and my

hair is filled with flowers.

For you  a crown of fern and twigs

plucked from  stones of a river.

Wrapped in the arms of a gentle breeze

I fear we will never kiss

still my memory loves you.

 

A Little Night Music…

 

 

 

 

 

*Sophie Zelman: Memory Loves You