Sometimes we dance
rhythmic raindrops on a brandy sea
transforming to mythical birds
scattering unrest into the minds of mortals,
translucent lies to naive lovers keen on
intoxicated nights and breathless anticipation.
Venturing near the sharp edge of consequence,
if not for the drama, we couldn’t care less.
art by Paul Kelley
The ocean rushes in dropping treasures
on the shore or pulls them back beneath it’s
Seagulls drop from sun rays,
glimmering angles dipping, diving,
fading shadows on the shore.
Pearly dunes and Speckled cliffs coexist
with sea weed and stacked abalone scoured
clean by a constant tide.
Sunsets of crimson hues reflect on ancient palms
lined with Macaw and lime green parrots that toss
their song into the breeze.
Nectar fills the leaves of banana trees where bird of
paradise sip honey in the mist.
Photo by Heartafire
St. Thomas, Virgin Islands
With the ardor of a child
wade in the pool of emotion.
Soak in the wonder of quiet love
knowing in silence we forget.
Choose cautiously as you
might pluck a rose when at
the mercy of thorns.
Be gentle, lest like stones they
fall one upon the other where
even a breath has weight.
Stacked like silver coins,
in grasping we win or lose.
When I am with you
I become something else.
A tigress emerging from tall grass,
the hum of bees awakened to possibility.
A wild bird in a falconer’s glove.
When I am with you
I am all these things and
you are the moon beam in my eye.
Laid back in my torrid afternoon
there’s a briny breeze on my coral tongue
that stings my nostrils when I breathe.
The glare of sun off the slick horizon
on that insatiable ocean of desire,
silhouettes of myself move quietly,
sea monsters waiting to devour me,
spit me on the shore of fantasy.
Steve Hanks artwork
Sending out a thank you to Stefan @ “Freiraum”. Otherwise I might not have discovered the amazing soul music of Michael Kiwanuka. You’ll find an amazing eclectic blog at https://stefanhaase.wordpress.com/
I am in Paris,
I think I am dreaming.
It is before dawn and
a man waits beneath a
A melancholy smile
that does not reach
his eyes passes
I am the anonymous
memory of a red rose.
He is between lovers,
roaming the city streets at night,
sinking into eyes like mine,
deep as the river Seine,
the kind one might see
just before drowning.
You look like a regret I will fancy obsessing over. Come, let me make you a poetry.”