Wednesday, 19 February 2014

One Author's Submissions

Songs and Things Similar

I borrow the voice of the gilded lark
To sing my heart, mad passion free at last,
Send words the fly, fly piercing deep the dark.
Wake tender flame, this moment never passed.
I reach into your close heart, you feel me.
I breath your breath. We hang on golden air
That seeps around our one. One can be free
To drown: I sink into your eyes. But there
are beaky eagles circling on frail mist
who yet rejoice in gravity of sighs.
The balance shifts. Regret those moments missed
In precious past. You always were the prize.
So look back, dear, before you do depart.
For you I hold a mirror above my heart.

"What is done in love is done well." - Vincent Van Gogh

The sink stains blue as murky water drains
through five faux-horsehair brushes.
They fall on fading terrycloth,
thickest to finest, soldiers lying prone.

As water spills from tap to plastic cup
I glance back on the portrait still undone.
A seam of swelling sweat breaks my skin
from seizing seas within my chest.
The cup, empty, quells no storm.

I add passion and a hint of yellow
to my palette, adopted other hand.
The bare wood floor holds folds of red,
the heaps of cloth I've traced to last.

A crimson slash born of my trembling hand
becomes a curl of silk dress-ribbon.
A figure emerges. The brushes bloom.
I look up from my growing canvas world:

You wait in the shadows, poised as clay,
your red gown burning in your blush.
I carry your image into a canvassed heart
with the secret softness of every stroke.


Rain-kisses blur the air,
a gentle smacking
falling from immensely
higher down.

Our four duck-yellow rainboots
squeak a conversation
about life, about rain,
and we listen loving above.


Tea, cocktail of goodness
and a pinch of orange.
We warm our hands
on steamy cups
then warm our hands together.

No comments :

Post a Comment