A branch’s tale

I sit amongst fallen leaves

achingly curled dry into final poses

over scattered shrivel of scarlet roses

the sun warmth now diminished

as my own

 

what of the diurnal promises of spring?

when I bent proud

grimacing through hail storm sting

just to feel the graces of your summer

 

resplendent in my naïveté

with buds this passion was born

till branch from tree

was

torn

The Human Ark

Two by two they came

up the ramp of a fleeting life

the bitterly disappointed 

the blissfully burdened

the ardently amorous 

fingers entwined, twisted to intricate puzzle form

some with arms swinging with metronome unison

without touch

others looking behind with an uncertain air

halting momentarily

with slight domino sway

 

We stand on the pier 

contemplating 

“Should we pack anything?”

you ask

 

“No, we have all we need”

 

Then slowly up the gangway 

leaving our wide eyed unicorn

motionless on the shore

The Frail Seasons

Oh

but you are exquisite!

 

You

are the rich sweet of jasmine flowers

scenting my spring morning

the unrestrained warmth

infusing a parched midsummer noon

the faded golden of autumnal dusk

reflected in

soft gasp swoon

 

yet

 

your heart belongs to winter

and to her

you shall be wed

with shards of iced desire

adorning your nuptial bed

 

The Pool

i’ll cast the words to find you

in yonder starlit pool

and when you find them sinking

no longer I … the fool

 

collect them all

with a butterfly net

stuffing ripped pockets

before we shall forget

 

for upon tomorrow’s fickle wind

emotions are swallowed

and words

rescind

Stale

I awaken early to marvel at the dawn

but I hesitate by the window

will there be a fusion of exquisite hues

much like your chameleon eyes

crack’d crimson red nestling the hill

and

permeating valleys

heralding a “sailor’s warning”

 

and there before me

your bloodshot morning gaze

a mélange of tousled locks

and

stale alcohol

a glass on the marble top night stand reminds me

 

and the beautiful dawn

becomes a figment of the mind

the raven call now forlorn

from joy left behind

 

for there is only tumbling cloud

when the curtains part

the sky drained of all colour

and my heart drained of all purpose

Inert

as colour leaches from the world

diluting swirled in nearby stream

under layers of grey reflection

a heart lies inert from a wayward dream

 

she revelled first with the promise of spring

danced under tsubaki blossoms bright

then watched the solitary seagull soar

on many a sand etched summer night

 

now let her nestle with the rotting leaves

the dank decay cool refreshing

her beating slows to raindrop time

pulse weakened

ever

diminishing

 

Words

“Parole” to Italians

“Les Mots” to the French 

an abundance of words

upon you

i shall drench
You shall emerge

from such a verbal sea

dripping with heavy

and longing for me
let them not evaporate 

for they indeed eviscerate

from a heart undone
perhaps press them between pages

with dried forgotten flowers

to hydrate when needed

come someday 

lonely hours

I am the "little armored one", moving gently through life. Hoping to safeguard my sensitivities with layers of words and the expression of thought. Shielding my mirror neurons at times, or tasting music and spinning till I'm dizzy. Every moment here is a gift.