whir of days

Comes the whir of days when I reach back to my  sea of memories

where like globes of fire we spun, glistening trails yielding to the pull of hearts.

Now the nights are empty vessels,  hollow vacancies unfilled,

still the  morning  dew falls from the sky and not my eyes.

The  current of the sea pulls outward,  the alps have lost their foothold,

the constellation of your eyes will be remembered.

 

 

Image result for Art by Lidia Wylangowska

Art by Lidia Wylangowska

Woman Waiting

Tonight the moon is my companion.

It casts its  phantom across the hillside

against the walls of my hushed room.

In the distance I can hear the sorrowful

call 0f a lone fox whose mate has lost

her way in the the blur of a winter haze.

From the sill of my window I listen for 

footsteps on the frozen meadow,

the virginal snowscape remains untouched.

My psyche flits and  flutters with desire only

to fade like the flickering flame of a candle

snuffed out by the light of day.

When the dawn rises over the gray horizon

I pull  the shade and wish to sleep forever.

 

 

“woman at the window” Getty Images

 

Image result for woman at the window waiting

Maria

When I am in Brazil my name is Maria,

my hair is as black as the Grammostola Spider,

it shines like the sands of Ipanema,

my skin is the color of desert sunsets.

At  night we fade into  streets of the Barrios,

swaying to the funk of carioca and Bossa

slowly getting lost in Copacabana

you whisper softly “Minha linda Maria”.

 

Translation by Bernd @ Neues vom Hutschi
Maria

Wenn ich in Brasilien bin, heiße ich Maria,
mein Haar ist schwarz wie das der Grammostola-Spinne,
es leuchtet wie der Sand von Ipanema,
meine Haut hat die Farbe der Wüste bei Sonnenuntergang.
In der Nacht tauchen wir ein in die Straßen der Barrios,
wiegen uns im Klang von Carioca und Bossa,
gehen langsam verloren in Copacabana;
du flüsterst leise: “Minha Linda Maria” .

 

Poetry by Wendell A. Brown

My Beloved’s Name

The smile I smile is for you alone
For you always complete my day
The happiness I feel deep inside
Made a home in my heart to stay
I find myself rich beyond measure
Far more than an eye can see
That as people look and stare daily
They see the quiet peace they need
If they would only stop and ask me
Much to them I would freely give
Letting what exists in my heart daily
Also in their heart and spirit live
For it is given away freely
Yes this peace only one can bring
And they can smile the same smile
By calling on my beloved’s name.
Copyright Wendell A. Brown
“Messenger of Love”  by Momentchensammler
Related image
Wendell A. Brown poetry can be found at https://wherewordsdailycomealive.com/about/

for the living

She is the lady in the black stetson,

heels that walk wherever they want,

electrifying or silently cunning.

She’s light as the feathers on the wings

of a heron.

A spark of luck glistening in your eye,

bubbly wine going straight to your head

make you forget every promise you made.

Image result for Art by Lidia Wylangowska

art by Lidia Wylangowska.

winter companion

Winter has made it’s home in the streets and alleys.  It dust the trees with  dander, steals the green. Lies down, a stone falling in to a void. A question mark, the man on the park bench. There’s a sadness in the elegance of  snow banks…  and  silence.  A  bent man leans against the cold stone ,  the scent of chimney smoke mocks his blood shot eyes. He is waiting for someone to share his hours, so far his only companion is loneliness, it’s named etched in his hapless smile.

Image result for images of homeless in winter snowPhotography by Phil Carpenter/Post Media

Just Once

 


Your voice hurts me,

your smile makes me

want to scrub my skin

until it bleeds but there

is not enough ocean to

cleanse this.

When I see you with your crowds

their arms held heil

I want to crush you into the

soot that surrounds you.

I need  to know that just once

you quiver with fear like the

wounded doves bleeding

all over this land.

 

Forget about the wall

put up a mirror so we can

see ourselves.

-author unknown-

 

 

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