All posts by Diana

A little here a little there, with at least one foot firmly placed. Otherwise my motorcycle might tip, tight? Finding my mid age art groove thing in the blogosphere. Poems, photography and more. Grateful for every second of my existence; of the journey. Seeking tranquility and connection with the tender souls of the world.

Interlude

i linger in wistful reverie

lacquered luminary layers of mind

and to the clashing soundtrack of the sea

i contemplate

the possibility

of we

.

my gaze falls into the apocryphal azure

of our mutual sky

what if the answers are there….

on high

in the random scatter of the gulls

or in splintered fragments of shells

sifted in fingertips…

in prolonged silences

vacuum distilled defiances

in eyes dampened by distant reminiscences

of

you

.

Bound

gently rest these craven chains

on furtive marks of ferrous stains

and arching ribs are stepping stones

for fingertips

so curve the bones

conceal the gossamer undertones

..

loosely clench the cuffs of steel

bound we stifle what we feel

bound and mute, lest we reveal

the reticent ramifications

of self imposed fortifications

such redolent ramparts of stale repress

 a crestfallen Delphic fortress ..

 

The Bride

I wait, betrothed to the earth

the desolate dolomite cliffs

jagged peaks; tectonic shifts

my wedding veil…the alpine mists

.

consummate with rhythmic tide

so heedful of the hesitant bride

gentle, soon the waves subside

cleaving to the cave inside

.

decades pass, and fiery gust

shall scorch the fields to barren rust

henceforth shall I only trust

a matrimony of decay and dust

The Weathervane

i can promise nothing

i am a rusted weathervane

atop a crumbling church spire

spinning with random gusts

tethered tenuously by tangled wire

..

the shingles below marked by ferruginous stain

a sparrow shelter…a splintered domain

frail fledgling filoplumes gather

in the shadow of a chicane

..

i know not which way I will turn

aligning east, yet… how I yearn

to be free of memory’s corrosive burn

as sunset’s halycon hues

will my flaked metal

suffuse

..

 

Still Water

i came upon a wayward stream

and plunged therein

to choke a dream

and with intent to suffocate

and conscious self obliterate

lest ruminations fulminate

my flooded lungs did then deflate

i rise face up, in silted shade

my skin dissolves near everglade

becoming perch for dragonfly

in bloated state

my dream did die ..

 

Masks

i know not this language that you speak

a diffident dialect

of muted mystique

a dyslexia of consonants

mélange of vowels unique

i lay my head on hollow expanses

to listen for pulse or anemic answers

lulled by your dwindling bright

surrendered; betrothed to sanguinous night

of blood pooled and clotted

lest mine flow, besotted

by shifting shadows

in morning we find us

shivered and listless

flint hidden, embers blown

masks lowered

together, alone…

The Selfish Writer

i have discovered my difficulty

with reading you

for I am a writer

intently gripping the quill

and despite your florid attempts

you cannot alter the will

of my cursive compulsions to beguile

 

frequent attempts are made

to enter the frantic foray of your words

my inner computer jumbles with errant code

and with no service centre to call

  a hyperkinetic cursor marks my disquieted mode

 

for I am a writer

curl your fingers by my pages

gorge full the entrancing phrases…

 

now enlightened with my intentions

i revel in my frantic detentions

auguring your

ambrosial

attentions