Sunday 27 April 2014

Resuscitating Ophelia

                                                       Ophelia, by Odilon Redon

I gather her - limped hair & pale bones
Out of the water,  bedraggled as washed-

out page, skirted & flamed
by love's complicated twists & turns -

I brush the wild flowers from her cheeks-
Scrap away dead leaves & tangled roots-

Gently, I press on her lips- sip this brew
Stirred with orange & yellow seeds

Mixed with tea leaves & sea-
weeds,  stained with effervescent salt-  

Hovering pollen dust swells
Into pools of blue sky-  

Open your eyes & hear the murmurings
Of cinnamon trees, of red-song birds

There's a place for your dreams, sacred
& untouched by anyone but

Beautifully shaped by love & will

There is the garden
Where you can run freely & be

My hands will guide you, a step at
a time, until your voice grows stronger

Again,  Love is madness
But you are braver than you can imagine-

War & peace, ink & sword 
Your hands can birth & hold them, fiercely as sun-

There's a murmur, I hear -
There's another beat, I see you

Rising once more,
My beautiful daughter

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Play it again
& The Art by Odilon Redon
and Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~

Saturday 26 April 2014

Intimate dusk

the night's spell lingers

after we are joined ribs & hands

intimately, your name still on my lips 

scent of musky leather & spicy jasmine- 

this is the charm

as we knit a reunion:

there is seeding & watering of roots,

each raindrop, a caress that dares me

to risk & fall further into your

beautiful nakedness-

warm as soil, bronze & startling luster

I'll always remember -

Touch me, I am parched -

you spin this raw canvas

the bluest-purple sky I have ever seen - 

my wind-song,      

electric as samba drums-

refrains an evening star, pearl-luster & opulent-  

cover me with mad pollen of spring

and let your mouth seek me

as it was -  your first kiss 

turning me pink-petaled under late April sky-  

The radiance of the morning

dazzles because you're here


claiming all of my heart-sewn words -

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Thanks for the visit ~ Happy weekend ~

Picture credit:   here

Thursday 17 April 2014

The other face of Midnight

I don't see her often, a whiff of shadow
in mirrored wall or pale afternoon sun

But come night, she's a secret to be unfolded- 
Something parched, something incomplete

Oozes out, become threads & ink 
Her fingers lift to charcoal the empty page

Blurred by moonlight,  she fetches a storm
underneath the quiet sky & labels it-  Rapture - 

The red moon is all hers, 
There's electricity in her lush ebony hair.

Where the path breaks into different crossing
There she runs to see what's coming next, next-

Come morning, there is body she inhabits. 
Numbers. Efficiency.  A box within a room.

That is what the world wants to see. She complies
by dropping a token in the metal box . Only her belly  

grumbles from this subway train chase 
with its door chimes forever opening & closing -   

Seeds.   How she loves beginnings. Every first
stolen kiss, a stab of memory lingers like dewdrops.

Desire.  The quick inhalation of passion.
Warm wine.  The bleeding of hours, sweet as tangerines.

I sometimes forget how she writes,
what she dreams of, but she lingers faint as I'm right here

By candlelight, she creaks to life,
awash with wild asterisks & stars I couldn't number -  

Her pulse grows stronger,  every season is an awakening
We disappear across the page, a duet of shade & light -   

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Self-portrait by Brian Miller ~ Thanks for the visit ~

Thursday 3 April 2014

half-awake, half asleep

Everywhere is rain, colored of iced tea
And I'm sinking, half-awake, half-asleep

My one hand cuts thunder,
while another hand turns the door closed

My one eye is weeping willow tree,
while another eye wants to get rid of bees

My lips insist in replaying each word you said
while my tongue lingers over your name:

a sweet fruit, melting of dark chocolate -
embers of long kiss, sweat from your brow & back -

There is madness in having two moons
speak in broken proverbs & torn sentences

All words are lost in translation
Except this fevered war on nerves & bones  

I curl deeper into this woman, foolishly
believing she can tame a wildcat of a man 
The cold strangles my throat, I want to escape
But I'm in limbo, floating in your perfume

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub  - Emotion in Poetry Hosted by Claudia 
and Poets United - Midweek Motif - Fool for Poetry - Hosted by Susan C.   

picture credit:   here