God Spun

I am a constellation
pasted to a smear of deep sky or
some god spun leaf drifting
a wintry blue pond.
My tongue turns silvery around
my words, do not take them
for sorrow I have named them
peace.
Do not forget me.
I still need you to carry me
over the pierce of thorns
My hands are good for nothing but
a plea do not forget me
I am still here my hair a tangle
of stars.

index1

nothing has changed

When dreams pull me under
I call out across the ocean.
You meet me at  the shore
and there is nothing to  hold to
but silvery shadows that cross
and uncross in our slumbering sea.
I bend to you as fragile as  sea foam
tossed in wind rifts  you release
from unfastened hands. 
This is how I love you, a prisoner of repetition,
like endless waves you come and go.

 

 

 

art by Victor Bauer

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

The Sad Cafe

Autumn leaves have begun to fall.
Late October London is ablaze in hues of orange and purple.
On my bench by the river I daydream that I am an adolescent
reptile escaped from Kafka’s Die Verwanlung, laid back basking in the sun.

The air is layered in heavy cologne but men do not  interest me now.  I am content to casually observe.  To my advantage I know all about them while they know so little about me.  Thinking of you against my wishes, dying a little,  dead all the sweet hope of dreams never realized,  I imagine my earthly body padded, sat beside yours on a grassy knoll
breathing  the scent of lilac and the mossy green River Delta.

In the dark I am nude but for a shadow across my torso.
You are so near and to distract my self from this burning desire
I let my thoughts linger among the lines of Roethke’s “In A Dark Time”.

Years pass and by chance we meet at the sad cafe. I sway in your arms like a fragile birch in an autumn tempest. The halo of my eyes glisten recalling how we gave away what we never really had. We hold each other knowing that love has died and we with it.

 

art by Fabian Perez

 

What I’ve Become

You are my obsession

undulating waves of fixation

that can not be restrained.

What I know of you

I have learned through osmosis

the taste of ozone I  crave

like breathing air.

Beauty only knows to

be beautiful,  send me a

signal through the blackout.

Take  my hand and let

me land in your warmth

for I am shivering.

It is always raining here,

I am nothing but precipitation

slipping down your skin.

 

 

This is an entire album…you might want to stop it at 4:24.

By Fire

She is provocative

at times she is insolent.

Her concept of red

is nowhere near

roses.

Her house is

the hollow of bones

its burning walls stretched

beyond margins.

She has suffered despair

braved the triteness

of platitudes.

She is in search

of kindling

waiting to ignite.

 

The Strangers gather on the green choking on smoke and the scent of seared flesh. The sun is climbing down to meet the flames. As she smolders he dampens her gown.  Just before the wind whips up she is in Elysian fields.

 

The Deceit of White Oleander

Winter mists the window panes
with veiny tributaries that trickle
to the sill with a warm touch.
The trajectory of time trails run  off
down the mountain side an affirmation
of spring the honey-sweet deceit  of
white Oleander.
Remain here until the birds sing
our disparity, till reality overshadows
dreams and tears and dew drops blend.
Then we will part.

 

 

Image result for Painting of a beautiful woman with a pink Oleander

Art by Rae Williams at Pinterest

Interlude

I sigh, light my cigarette and turn to you.

Within this dream  I propose let us fly away.

Your eyes so dark

whip my mind into arousal and your

rugged hand  on my  thigh makes me

soft inside and everywhere.

You whisper that my  hair so near

and my lips a crimson darkness devours you.

Against waves of joy and sadness dreams are

always what it could be like.

Suddenly hares chase foxes and Roebuck’s

hunt hunters and I bury my face in your

chest and you shield me within  bleak arms

to not  see the terror  and we fly away.

 

Related image

art by Babylon Premium

 

 

 

 

Islamorada

This morning  I threw wide
that carved door of souvenirs.
The scent of sandal wood
filled the air and  missing
you was a stone bruise.
Tonight  I will walk down
to the shore,  that galaxy
of pearls and tumbling  waves
of frothy champagne.
The mangroves are filled with
flickers and blooms and the
sky glimmers with silvery mirth.
I could stay here until Spring among
the  honey cake dunes and not think
of you at all.

 

renesoto

google art