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.
Art by Lidia Wylangowska
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
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
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” .
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
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.
art by Lidia Wylangowska.
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.
Photography by Phil Carpenter/Post Media
Your voice hurts me,
your smile makes me
want to scrub my skin
until it bleeds but there
is not enough ocean to
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