Category Archives: Poetry

loving(for Candice)

Poetry
chrysalises of beauty her soft flesh.
sensuous fall
her words is
a melody for virgins
and
of nocturne purity.
most occult of the desires of his
lonely nights
in the intimacy of this erotic flesh
to be in vain
her touch slides into his skin.
curves of love can no longer wait.
the serenity to forget the cross of passion
is an empty despair and will not come as the
resurrection of his adamant flesh.
until silence turns love into his eyes.
across the bed with its sails unconsciousness
occulting bird rattle your heart
and lets the fall in my soul
unable under your sensuality
scattered on the field of  love
Behind the blue shutters comes everything
your breathing shivering beach and sea
tangerine body openings
i  am a clay pigeon
your touch brakes me back to genesis
of sin.
like the waves
of your flesh
and the kisses
of your second shadow.

speak to me memory

Poetry

speak to me memory the language of seagulls
behind the hills behind the sweating sight
beds of sand tatooed by sudden wind
curved and open crevices particles of the skin of earth
with snake linear language
where the path into the cliff blue turns white foaming
air seeped through the stones ethereal as moans of this dry land
disconnected lay dormant following the wind of others
elevated lyrical images
of islands in high sea half to light half to gray _darkness
strains of memories
wave rolling wave to become equal in motion… in distance
into my mind to capture the essence
aqua choreography
the barren chest of isles producing depth not seen
by my sweeping cantos of self unity
sounds magical lured by the cardiac tunes
murmuring the language of skin and love songs

speak to me speak to me memory the language of seagulls

notes on serenity

Poetry
abandoned forever
with this unmarked serenity
here the sea as translucent tiny river where dry river becomes sea
with lean stones without marks of aqua passage
only a graphic stream of sorrowful light
lean light that brings panoramic essence
to this mercurial space
and then joins down below the sea of meadows
transformed to virgin mauve light
and lets the wind to murmur with myriad air sermons
a new craving a new litany
a song of sage
until it suffers a new direction
across and then back to the myrtle hill
a darkened path of royal red with sun escaping
with his roaming eye
and i a worshiper upon its gaze
to see unwoven thirsty wine nights
the darkness and the light
formatted in an ocean of void like a  virgin pearl
imitating the life of a soul and its disquieted moments
of early dawn fresh from the saga of dream
leaps from the esoteric world to the visual repetition of life
and if the sun ever died this purity of darkness would engulf the body as  cover of the beginning of eternity
i wear this birth  this sentiment of fear in the lost cities
among the ruins of my lost temples of thought
a limbo of unaligned emotions  one meaningless without the other the golden light ( without the sun)
the unique delight of martyrdom
that survived the visited  desire
so let the shadows come fast
and the forbidden flesh as new breath
with oily skins and pure almond eyes

Intermezzo

Poetry
her like formed pearl
in  an ocean of darkness
let us finish the time
diaphanous touch like bleeding light
transparent  as velvet underground music
but without touch  all is vain
seascapes and sea-gates her eyes to enter
breaths and curtains
and rainbow carnations
of tender martyrdoms
chocolate martinis
and  Baileys  as balsam
in the Intermezzo cafe
in the mixed voices and the mixed veins
and dimmed colors  we lived the oracles

listening to your wind

Poetry

in your bedouvin eyes

brightness falls

and i retreat to my shades of abstruction

and like a deer frosen by the earlier beam ob light

i wait for your next move your next bloom

in the dessert of my life

as a rage of the one that loves you

passions and whispers into the ever dream

you are a dark petal winter rose

in my dark rooms listening to your wind

Meteor Shower

Poetry

She watched, paralyzed and numb

as a thousand stars hit the ground

with a sound only she could hear.

The world became dark —

for how long, she cannot

remember.

Yet, a spark remained, which

grew into a glimmer of hope,

that lit up the night sky.

This —

a new beginning, with eyes

to the future, where dreams

forever press forward.

The Dance of November

Poetry, ,


If I shall wake tomorrow,
and my sights be struck with darkness-
I will be grateful.
For tonight I was blessed, to have gazed upon this site..

The fullness of my love, Dianah; Shone through periwinkle clouds.
They marched across the November sky in translucent uniform.
The dance was set to early winter’s brisk song of distant wind-chimes.
The wildly, composed harmony echoed of an enchanted lullaby.

The fields awaiting harvest swayed.
The orchestra rustled the season’s end in song.
The tall, crisp, stalks caught the illumination of the Sacred One.
She beckoned me not to turn my sights away.

The heavenly depths overhead was but the deepest of all hues.
A blended pallet of the blackest purple and bluest magenta.
The color in reason cannot be duplicated, only beloved;
as the title to the color, in our perception does not exists.

A fan of icey cool wind brushes against my face.
The bitter caress stings my nose and cheeks, my eyes fill with tears.
The tears form not from the element of cold kisses alone,
but also from the scape which sets forth before my gaze.

Distant diamonds decorate the sky and flicker to late autumn’s presentation.
It is as if they have anticipated my arrival, to perform on this gala night.
I am all to eager to comply as their private guest of honor.
As the clouds swiftly pass through the stars, they blink in perfect harmony.

I continue to walk, my sights drinking in all of the intriguing, earthly wine.
I am being intoxicated sweetly with the mysteries which awake my senses.
All of what appears before me, becomes vividly surreal.
although I have traveled this path many times, on this night it is foreign to me.

Winter’s most precious art unfolds in the passing of the pale moonlight.
It is the melencholy silohette of the twisted trees.
Their leaf ornaments of bursting colors, have become faded and withered.
The leaves have let go, falling to play freely with the wind before winter calls.

Now the bare trees must dance stiffly against the night.
Their outstretched, black, arms reach high and cascade across the horizon.
Starkly, they pose in perfect poetic sadness.
Shadows cast and twist in webs of whimsy before my steps.

I peer before my path at their moving shadow puppet designs.
O’ how they toil.
Every movement changing from one shape to the next.
They trick my site, inviting me to stay.

Ah, but my attention turns once again to Dianah.
Her calling, her hypnotic phase, so full.
She is now clothed in blankets of clouds which mimic orchid waves.
Yet, she still remains the nights beacon for all who celebrate in her luminosity.

She bares a smeared rainbow of watercolor rings around her frame.
A promise to the spirit of all her admirers.
A promise that in the darkest of her absence,
she shall always return and grace the blackness with light.

O’ What magik ignites before me on this first, of November.
What script I must write, as to journal this moment.
As to capture this time on parchment to never forget, and always remember.
To remember the fullest moon which woke my sights.
To remember the music which I hear hush and chime before the harvest.
To remember the chill of the wind which bathes my skin and brings me tears.

O’ what magik ignites before me, on this night, during the first dance..
On the first, of November.