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
Remain here until the birds sing
our disparity, till reality overshadows
dreams and tears and dew drops blend.
Then we will part.
Art by Rae Williams at Pinterest
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
to prune but wilted petals
wave provocatively from
dried shrubs here among the
famished flowers and the fading sun is
pleasing on my bare back.
Sticky tongues of desiccated lizards
flick the spidery veins of elongated
roots plucked without mercy from the
Dew drops glisten on scars and nicked
fingers bleed from circumcised petals
sheathed in thorns.
I know it it is too early but the languishing
garden screams out for structure,
the need to be in control again.
Art by Jill Martin
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
A young birch sways
like a newborn giraffe
its limbs lean out over
wilted grass and ochre
vines wind a marble sentry
whose eyes never flinch
but guard eternal while
winter snow stacks on
solitary bones until May
winds stir the crowns of
trees filled with the wails of
wingless birds powerless
to fly on.