Deep as the Mariana Trench
The finest opus of Nightingales
A paradise where birds
sip nectar from petals that
unfurl just for you
Let me leave my mark
Roses beneath the snow
Lovers
Caught in a mock sinners lullaby
Pexel.com
Mock Lullaby
She Doesn’t Speak French
On sleepless nights
I stroll the left bank in sequined heels
My Eyelids heavy with smoky glitter
Among the art I find you
Your essence pierces my veins
Settles in the pool of my heart
Dim lights flicker their last warning in
the cafe where like willows we sway
To long forgotten love songs
Then you are gone never hearing Je t’aime
the only French I know.
Mark Spain Art
“Je t’aime, Je t’aime (lyrics by Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin)
“I love you
Like a fool like a soldier
Like a movie star
I love you I love you
Like a wolf like a king
Like a man that I am not
I love you like that”
Temple Bell
Your eyes are the crescent
of a silver bay that circles my mind
in the deep mystery of sleep
your voice an invocation of bells
that once rung cannot be undone
in dreams I am your dancer
beckoned by your call
a charm on a well cut cuff
a link on a diamond encrusted chain.
“The Dancing Girl” by Noelie Ramon
Song of Seasons
Hold me in fleeting hours
while we are beautiful and wild
winged creatures of the night
sipping honeysuckle vines
sustained by the sun and rain.
Stay when summer departs and
butterflies flit at teardrops pooled in
the corner of my eyes.
Lie down with me in winter when
hoar frost coats the rose buds
and blue birds cease their song
tiny skeletons of hollow bone
indifferent to the cold
These 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.
Translation by Bernd @ neues vom Hutschi
Halt mich fest in flüchtigen Stunden den schönen und wilden, unser Fleisch ist voll und reif, geflügelte Wesen saugen die Nacht auf, Jelängerjelieber, die von Sonne und den Regen gespeiste. Bleib, wenn der Sommer vergeht und der Garten vom Lächeln nippt, das aus der Iris deiner Augen blitzt. Lieg bei mir im Winter, wenn die Vögel zu singen einhalten, winzige Skelette aus hohlen Knochen, gleichgültig der Kälte gegenüber. Für dich sind meine Lippen Blütenblätter, süße Erinnerungen an verlorene Blumen. Wenn du nicht zurückkehrst sondern weiterfliegs, wird mein Körper Schutz suchen unter den Flügeln zungenloser Vögel. translated by Bernd Huschenreuther
art by Steve Hanks
Gold Dust
From the train window
I can see miles of Pine trees
that seem to go on forever.
There’s a golden wolf howling
at the moon
chanting to the midnight Gods.
By morning Pine trees give way to
Palms and screeching Cicadas.
Tonight the moon reveals the belly of
the world from which we all come.
All that I have left is a photograph.
Tell me night-time dreamer why you
hold so many secrets in your heart.
When I look into your eyes
all I see is star dust.
Breathing air
When I am near you I become a glimmering
chimera of mirrors tempered of shell and sand
a cascading niagara plunging into deep pools of desire
where I am so afraid to fall.
Powerless to hold back I immerse in the irides of your eyes
as speechless as tongueless birds.
The current of tides tangles you in the succulent
mirage of my eyelashes. You and I are more than
the wispy smoke of clouds or an epoch of bones
but the breathing air of lovers rushing through veins
as gentle or fierce as the press of your thigh on mine.
A Different Kind of Love
There are times when I can see myself
through your eyes.
My pale face so in love
aching for the caress of a flaxen
haired boy racing through rolling fields.
Suddenly serious your adventurous eyes
sent yearning shivers through me.
I longed for your touch anytime and
kissed you opened mouth without
permission.
I adored your mock anger when you
chased me and the awkward way
you looked down at your hands.
Soon Autumn threw its shadow on
sprouting wheat, smooth and wet.
Now, I listen to the soft whisper
of your breathing through a half
closed door and know there are
different kinds of love
wild, ruthless, and unafraid.
Dust of Stars
A kingdom of sand castles
feathered sea oats and
wispy clouds
we are the wild rose
etched in the sand
The scent of your cologne
Hangs on the air
a stem from a wine glass
wedged between shells.
Our hollowness is the dust of stars
you remain my mystery
your lips the taste of
tequila sunrise
Summer with Burroughs
Remember last summer ?
We were obsessed with
Burroughs.
Anything familiar,
the sound of far off thunder
close enough to subdue
the mad-paced hours.
Something inciting,
like a strike of lightning
the odor of combustion
ready to ignite.
Everything electric
that made us come alive.
Our hearts caught between
whale song and sigh,
spontaneous thunder
with intermittent quiet,
sporadic as a summer storm.
Leonid Afremov “Rains Rustle”
While I Was Thinking of You
My words are
flames meant to melt the
frozen chalice that is your heart.
In the white night across the continents
we feel but never touch
too holy for the light, we set the night on fire
profanity in an infinite sky too flawed
to alter fate.
While I was thinking of you a fledgling
fell to earth
swooped up by the wind on her
passage to life
