subdued

When we are fatigued

 our thoughts are the shade of nightfall,

take me into your realm where I recall the perfect

line of your edges.

Our eyes, the fog of Autumn,

reflect the  light of rivers

 that quench our thirst

in lover’s pale rooms,

 subdue the overwhelming

hunger.

Image result for Lidia Wylangowska

 art from Chicago Gallery

Muscadine

Spring’s misty curtain hung over the  daffodils and crepe myrtle. An  indolent brook flowed past an arbor of tentacles  crawling a trellis sagging beneath vines laden with clusters of clinging translucent nipples.  To discourage white tail deer from ravaging sapling vines Grandfather snaked a  green garden hose through lattice netting, a guise of unpredictable success.

Secluded behind  tall pines and fields of wildflowers  a stand of cotton wood trees sheltered   creeping soft grass and velvety foliage. This sacred canopy was referred to as  “the branch”.  A rendezvous for lovers,  a private place one did not visit unannounced though I did not know why.  When I was certain my appearance would not be cause for flustered departures  I could walk down,  pluck  ripe fruit unabashedly and sit by the stream in the hot sun,  sweet sap dripping from my  lips down my chin.

At the end of August summer exhaled it’s fiery breath and the grapes began to lose their grip on brown appendages,  drops of liquid spilled from splits in distended peels.  With overstated enthusiasm they were  declared ready for harvest.  Ruptured with a pestle and filtered, using a method known only to Grandfather, the fruit was processed in secret and stored in ceramic jugs. The result was a sweet, crisp, slightly underdeveloped concoction that was hailed as “phenomenal”  but was actually merely palatable.

Rarely did Father materialize from his travels once I had been exiled. Somehow the harvesting of the grapes invoked his presence like a lark at dawn.

Triumph-Muscadine_300_01.jpg

google art

Red Kite

There,

sitting in the grass,

she loves red kites

and sunlight and

a rush of wind

in her hair.

 

Can you feel her there?

She is the soul of the

displaced.

 

She doesn’t want

to hurt or intrude on our world.

She once lived among us but

chose humbleness instead.

 

She means no harm,

has no need for gains.

If you  see her 

lift your eyes to  hope

before she slips away.

 

INTERNATIONAL PEACE DAY SEPTEMBER 21,2016

The Power of Words- Translation by Bernd

Translation to German by  Bernd @  https://hutschi.wordpress.com/2016/09/20/the-power-of-words/

 

The Power of Words by Heartafire
Die Macht der Worte
Unsere Kehlen sind voll,
entzündete Arterien streben
zu Fäusten aus Kapillaren durchplatzend
wie Schneidezähne.
Wir sind verknotet mit Worten.
Stehen still,
schmelzen in meinem Mark,
sickern durch meine schmalen Knochen
damit sie nicht herausfallen und an dich benagen
wie eine Orangenschale,
sich durch Haut beißend,
den Schlüssel haltend, der Wunden öffnet
und weiße bittere Haut.

 

Thank you Bernd! 

diamond well

House of Heart

You are my  constant.

What do you see in me,

this cliché of self-doubt,

somehow darkly powerful

in your misconstruction.

You say  I am not lost.

In your eyes I am primeval,

a child through a looking glass.

Your mind is my confessional

where no sin is grave enough.

I swim  in the ocean of your mind.

disappear in  diamond wells.

Translation to German by Bernd @ Neues vom Hutschi 

Kristallquelle
von Heartafire

Du bist mein einziger Halt.
Du siehst in mir
eine Schablone aus Selbstzweifel,
so dunkel und mächtig,
in deinem Fehlentwurf.
Du sagst, ich sei nicht verloren,
und in deinen Augen sehe ich mich,
ein Kind in einem Spiegel,
der Ursprung.
Dein Geist ist mein Beichtstuhl,
dem keine Sünden reichen.
Ich schwimme im Schweigen deines Ozeans,
entschwinde im Kristallquell.

View original post

the power of words

Our throats are full,
inflamed arteries extending
to wrists of capillaries bursting
 through like cutting teeth.
We are knotted with words.
Stand still,
melt inside my marrow,
seep into my narrow bones
lest they spill out to gnaw
you like orange rind,
biting through skin  that
holds the key to open wounds
and  bitter  pith.
Translation to German by  Bernd @  Neues vom Hutschi
The Power of Words by Heartafire
Die Macht der Worte
Unsere Kehlen sind voll,
entzündete Arterien streben
zu Fäusten aus Kapillaren durchplatzend
wie Schneidezähne.
Wir sind verknotet mit Worten.
Stehen still,
schmelzen in meinem Mark,
sickern durch meine schmalen Knochen
damit sie nicht herausfallen und an dich benagen
wie eine Orangenschale,
sich durch Haut beißend,
den Schlüssel haltend, der Wunden öffnet
und weiße bittere Haut.

 

 

 


					

Speak

superb writing, don’t miss the finale. Comments closed here.

S.K.Nicholas

universe-699026_1920

The drip-drip of the bathroom sink keeps drip-dripping all through the night, and as we touch and kiss beneath sheets that stick to our skin, I ask how it would make you feel if you knew tomorrow would be the last day of your life. As I push myself inside of you, and you look into my eyes while gasping, I create a situation and ask you to be truthful, because although I like lying, I do it to be creative, not to deny the truth, so be truthful with me, I say, or else I’ll stop giving it to you. You blink your eyes to say yes, that you understand. So I build into a steady rhythm, one that’s not too fast and not too slow. Every so often you let out another gasp, but you never avert your gaze or say a word. Wiping the sweat from my…

View original post 548 more words

A long kiss

I enjoy most dandelion chutes

carried by a soft breeze

dispersing tiny seeds across a

moving meadow.

The same breeze winding

erratic patterns through my hair,

whipping sea oats into a

frenzy of whirling dervishes

in the dunes of a deserted beach.

I love the softness of a cashmere

scarf the first time I slide my

fingers through it,

knowing it will never feel so

soft again.

I like to discuss life’s meaning

over wine all  laid back and philosophic

until it becomes too restricting, then

a long kiss to break

the tension.

 

art by Raymond Leach

Image result for paintings of lovers drinking wine on  the beach

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