lapel

it’s not that i believe
that you are the name you bear
on your lapel,
of course not;
but that name is enough,
for now,
to remind me of your eyes,
eyes that smile with such a radiance,
i am stunned to see them;
and to remind me of your smile,
a smile that can conquer the world
should you desire it…

it is enough
that i can go home
looking at the moon, and stars,
and see this name
spelled across the evening sky;
it is, perhaps, too much
to wish upon falling stars
that i could get to know the soul
behind this name, this smile, this lapel…

but dreams are free,
and the evening breeze,
it sings your smile to me!
so i will wish,
and i will hope…
and we shall see.

Advertisements

bleeding

the moon is resplendent tonight,
like the omen of impending what.

i woke up after sleeping all afternoon,
saw the setting of the sun within the walls of my room.

the moon is resplendent tonight.
i wish it would remain that way.

the morning began beautifully,
the choir sang like angels; i was glad to be part of it.

the moon is resplendent tonight.
like the omen of an impending unknown.

it took only an hour to shatter the beauty,
a second to send the splinters flying.

the moon is resplendent tonight.
oh, how its crimson light shines…

sometimes, in some universe, i guess,
the prodigal is sent back to wallow with the swines.

the moon is resplendent tonight.
the scarlet sheen of its face is a wonder to behold.

i will have to retrace my steps, then,
and eat husks for a little more time.

the moon is resplendent tonight.
how it colors the world… how it sings.

someday i will walk that path again,
and finally be worthy of a welcome embrace…

the moon is resplendent tonight.
listen to the music of the rhythm of dripping…

someday, but not today.
how my fear mountains and threatens to eat me.

the moon is resplendent tonight.
i will let this scarlet sea sing for me.

tending blooms

ask me for blooms,
yet i will not give you any,
for my heart defeated me
and my fingers melted
in pity
as they were grasping the stems
to do the deed.

you call my reluctance
betrayal,
as if your very words
owned my choice,
and imprisoned my soul,
as if it is more divine
to make you smile
than to let the flowers shine.

even the little white buds
silently howled in protest,
not knowing who you really are,
misunderstanding my hesitation,
as if my letting them live
was an insult
to their collective beauty,
as if their fragrance
can survive,
plucked fatally
from their mother loam.

so ask me not for blooms;
not these,
nor any from the gardens that i tend;
bring your petal promises elsewhere…
politician.

poem 28

counting the stars,
resplendent in that purple blanket,
indigo intangible,
somehow i miss one constellation,
trackless it leaves me
yearning for that once-was-constantly.

deeper the night embraces me
in its blanket of mist
mingled with cicada dirges,
apostrophe of soul,
yet leaving me in spiritual tears,
aching for one familiar smile.

threnodies are my sole concertos,
absence my lone partner in this waltz
dying with the night;
invisible, the wounds stay, indelible,
for even as the songbirds welcome the dawn,
always shall i be longing for your name.

eternal

your smile settled upon my soul
like a snowflake
awakening my heart;
i have seen your eyes before,
i know i have,
somewhere in dreams before my birth,
someplace happier,
else you would not have tugged
so especially,
with but one glance.

you stared at me
in a split second so intense,
it could have lasted years;
perhaps you saw it too,
maybe you felt pulled the same way,
like the convergence of forevers
into epiphany,
awakening instant trust,
a seed longing for water,
promising to burst into flowers
to color the paths
we would tread together,
sundered halves clasping fingerslike,
eyes single
to the glory of the music
eternally etched in our hearts,
leading us home.

your hands

your hands are a mystery to me,
so small a cradle for my heart,
big enough to encompass my soul,
and so much a mirror of you,
small, beautiful, enchanting…

your hands are two queens,
so frail a weapon against my person,
so powerful they move me to submission,
and so much a mirror of you,
complete, stern, enduring…

your hands are contradictions,
one red to halt me on my tracks,
the other one yellow, undecided,
to either beckon me closer or let go,
you press them together and i see
orange — pure intelligence!
so much a mirror of you,
undecided to love, you intellectualize.

but in your hands i am a thornless rose,
powerless except where you move me…
in my heart.