X70

. ….how then to feel this heart beat as if imprisoned in my chest, for I would live as variously as the flowers in spring (and still a flower be) ….or the hummingbird…or….or then a tree…. more than eyes to me would concede, free from a narrow, narrow world . . . .

for the girl whose eyes were sad, glistening lakes

You were quiet but visibly upset; our time was too short. There was a stirring in the autumn air. At first it appeared mere shades of green, but there were other distinct colours, explosions of browns, reds, blues, of yellows. Then, if only could I, with my too human heart, extract from this a generalContinue reading “for the girl whose eyes were sad, glistening lakes”

Because you said your favourite couple decided to call it quits, and this distresses you(for why give your all?)

An eye on the clock. Once half-hearted. I would have loved you. On borrowed time. And when I’m upon the moon’s harsh tiding, I will say I lose near nothing in its dying. Only one half heart. One eye lent to the clock. Though what dark foreboding seeps to the other side.

X59

On the first warm night, for I have known winter,  I walked through the
 door, with fear,  a thick coat, upon
 my back, in icy anticipation,
  the moon – a visage
, a blue glowing through the thickets 
and trees, the scented, soft black air -
  it was there then that 
I laid down my arms.

X58

I would, with an ecstatic soul, call it an embarking; through the womb of an old country, a ceremony of  euphoric roses,   red, silent, explosions, a blanket over now disquieted bones, the spangled skies, the glistening shores.

X53

For love would I my soul unsullied in its conception, the enormity that swallows you, trekking now again the fertile, black soil country, ‘neath the sullen skies, a back room, whole and of yet unspoken, forgotten and hidden, I’ve kept all my deepest desires… for only you

On Losing

In from some deep recess, tiding through cobbled streets, echoing, cavernous alleys, the blue moon silhouettes her. But from my soul ebbs strands of memories. Romantic notions.  Wanting.  Then Losing.  And so I do not welcome her.

A Year

I have wished it, at the sight of the trees – bleached white and stacked in unkempt piles and fit for a drowning. I have dreamt of a year of magical living, maybe in  some slow, abandoned seaside town, thus to the whims from the sea… lend myself to every fleeting, wondrous sensation.

grace

You stand there, across from me, or maybe you’re on the back seat. I scan your face, your eyes, your lips, and your ears, the ploughed earth, the sowing seeds of  enraged words, for yet was I to learn the beauty of grace

X38

She surprises me, every time she does it. This no sombre treading. From point A to point B. There is the skipping. And the jumping. The wildfire gaiety. Up all around. The roses that spring. The world has yet earth-bounded. Dancing in remembrance. If only for a lifetime. A youth.

How a Day Becomes a River

A knife. The sharp daggers of surprises. The bitter pills of disappointments. Flushed red. The fluidity, that curves, that rushes over the harshest of stones that would knock me from my elated perch. The twists and bends, and all life’s wondrous possibilities, there in my love’s eyes – are all the ways a day becomesContinue reading “How a Day Becomes a River”

3am

. 3am, rose like a mountain Pure blue Gloaming, The Tropical breezes, the cool nights Lapping, the kissing waves Of memories. Will my  Soul – shorn of flesh – know its way, Over oceans, Rivers, Thorn and  burr-filled Meadows, To my Birthright, my mothers’ Home.