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Monthly Archives: January 2017

As Sky Has Breath, So Has Poetry, Life

The sun would be embraced,
were it not for the distance,
and reach could ne’er behold,
nor bear weight of its fire;
but with breath held in soft,
for lack of night, has keep.

My words, as countles stars,
dare not fill sea of night,
yet leave spaces in between,
‘ere my thoughts may elope;
that night be without stars,
then I, wordless, e’er sleep.

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Posted by on January 29, 2017 in My Poetry

 

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In My Dying Flesh

Cold; winter wind has name,
flesh burns with ashen chill,
no sullen sun is left to wane,
only greys of dusk yet spill.

Dark; a calm befalls this sort,
dead of night files its throng,
yet with the air’s sharp retort,
voiceless wind cries e’er long.

Chilled; a sigh quakes in fear,
having lost its fondness trace,
crying now with soul-less tear,
tho’ tears seem out of place.

Numb; tremors of being alone,
but trace of flesh once burned,
touching earth with final roan,
this trial of Death now learned.

Still; mind devoid of thought,
such sensation of winter’s try,
unto me, this ending wrought,
cold has won, and ‘ere, I die.

 
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Posted by on January 29, 2017 in My Poetry

 

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Burst Forth Gaze, And Let Beauty Sway

I might have missed her,
that onslaught of beauty,
when I first came to life
in the dawn of her eyes.

‘Ere my eyes beheld her,
as sight for the first time,
her gaze bestowed to me,
at first glance, a universe.

Our paths, by fate, collide,
brusquely, to the unknown,
no expectations, save life,
no flesh wanton of garb.

She is but a wisp of a girl,
and yet, tempest enfolded,
barely woman, but in form,
her eyes, at once, engage.

Her gaze speeds thru’ me,
as tho’ I, a love returned,
‘ere journeyed to find her,
dare I not disdain illusion.

She need speak not a word,
but breathless, mere sighs,
grappling, not with hands,
but with unwavering gaze.

She withheld in her breast
a certain subtle innocence,
as more suited to a child,
yet a refined womanly art.

With her efficient cunning,
she has most beguiled me,
her gaze unconscionable,
without mouthing a sound.

A soft lock of hair falls,
silently across her cheek,
adhering itself succinctly
o’er the sea of her rose lips.

Paralyzed, I catch my breath
from my lunge into her eyes,
stifling any foolish thought
that may stain the moment.

She says, simply, “Hello.”
Her voice, a memory held,
and her smile, an oration,
replying to wanton flesh.

 
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Posted by on January 26, 2017 in My Poetry

 

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As I Am Now, I’ve Ne’er Before Been

As I am now,
I’ve ne’er before been;
alive, with a life
so vibrant and clear,
as only a breath,
at the moment of birth,
so fresh and alive,
and held in my chest,
could best endure
this finest repast.

Lest this alive in me
were but with feign,
or merely intend
of mischievous play,
would I be alive at all,
yet dare I wonder.

Let this alive be
the best yet to come,
or e’en at its worst,
the greatest to occur,
if only for the sake
of a moment’s exhale.

Yet, am I that aware,
that full of breath;
I am that splendor
of every moment;
that I am thus
this alive and aware,
and with such life
so vibrant and clear,
as I am now,
I’ve ne’er before been.

 
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Posted by on January 19, 2017 in My Poetry

 

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Shall I Wait

Shall I wait for you,
my love, this night,
shall we again, by day,
feign this masquerade;
love, do render soon,
lest I lose the right,
for these withered hands
are yet left unbade.

Shall I e‘er wait long
but for your return,
unclad of any armor,
no guard of the morrow;
for this heart wounds
with slightest yearn,
lest this soul be yours,
for mine is but sorrow.

Return, love, to me,
that skies gladden day,
and the summer has pause
but to know my name;
yet return, my love,
that my breath has sway,
and lo, that these tears
shall not e’er have stain.

 
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Posted by on January 16, 2017 in My Poetry

 

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O’, Night, Return My Eyes

O’, bright stars of this,
thy northern sky,
save now my gaze
upon our brother moon,
that I have wasted
my eyes in wandering;
too long and too far
removed, have I fled,
denied my gaze too oft
of your gentle light,
and ‘ere felt darkness
where none had been.

O’, time and tide,
have I been in a slumber,
that I did not mark
stars in their passing,
and could not, in waking,
notice their sorrow;
away now, shall I cast
this slumber to the winds,
that it be as but
a soft breeze upon my brow,
and ne’ermore shall find me
in such a languor.

O’, borrow not of my time,
but of my stead,
that I shall give way to
your slightest glimmer,
so ne’er in my doldrum
be without some fire;
have I afore slept
with vain and restless mind,
so now shall I lend purpose
to this speckled sky,
and for me, let not my eyes
fail their gaze again.

 
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Posted by on January 14, 2017 in My Poetry

 

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Dulcinea

Dulcinea, that her beauty has stain;
as tho’ torn from an Autumn sunset,
supple flesh awashed in gilded rain,
and in mine eyes, no youth, ‘tis let.

Dulcinea, that her ardor not fade;
that her hands e’er hold my heart,
with but a rose as her intend staid,
tears dare not in her eyes find art.

Dulcinea, that her lips are tender;
as of a kiss o’er sweetest morrow,
lilting caress as her love’s render,
flesh untouched by hidden sorrow.

Dulcinea, that her eyes enflame;
of constant bridal course allured,
her voice calls e’er soft my name,
so as beckoned, has love endured.

 
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Posted by on January 10, 2017 in My Poetry

 

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