Category: Poetry

Your Caress Alone / Anticipation

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I await your gaze,

your lips and touch and passion’s purpose

upon the skin that glows

for your caress alone.

 
To be lost in me,

rapture seeded in impulsive embrace,

as I fold around and hold you tender

much like fruit in petals spring foresees.

 
For when the body feels of lovers true

so sprouts in gleaming shine,

the yearning, budding,

for your caress alone.

 
This work is dedicated to all the lovers distanced by our current emergency; to the flow of nascent romance that must find its way through patience to maintain its grace.

Do not abandon, love, what was there for you before, as for you thereafter it shall remain. 

 
 

Living / Death

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In darkness she walks the planes of thereafter

as death ‘round lives tender so mutedly preys

today then tomorrow draws her not closer

her presence through time shoring up in life’s bay.

A friend and a jester in shadows enveloped

she stands at my door asking with me to stay

the play of her forces draws me to greet her

for straying in blindness only time may delay.

Through pink and black leaves she outwardly beckons

and hands in cold terror belatedly folds

for both of us know she long here had treaded

leading our cycles unto the beyond.


–


In darkness we walk, praying together

her void with my tears I never did fill

and as I embrace her she weaves in all feeling

priming a heart for life’s waves never still.

The Sun of November / Fear rooted releasing

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The Sun of November

on grey seas reflecting

through solitude waving

and with it I move.


Uncertainty seething

and others sense drowning

the depths of our being

in stillness consumed.


Resistance to yielding

in virtue transforming

through darkness and greeting

an ancestry formed.


The Sun of November

through solitude waving

Fear rooted releasing

and with it I moved.



Gratitude

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What I want is to thank

the void

the universe

the mother

the teacher

the ultimate

for speaking to me in my dreams

for rewarding me even if I fail to notice

for calmly teaching me patience

for guiding me to the lessons I need to learn;


for showing me how to be playful

for leading me in the dance of creation

for showering me in gifts of abundance

and doing so more the more I commit

to learning the art of uncertainty

and softness.


I give thanks in gratitude for all that came before me, all that comes through me and all that shall follow, existing in parallel, now.



Wholeness of Sense

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A flower which glistens one may dare collect

upon the old winds flowing downward with grace

shining so sharply, the base of its flight

then lingering upward in blinding delight.


Fragments of petals may finally meet

in that single moment where all feels complete

drawing a line amongst them in glow

as meaning embodied in bones starts to flow.


A wholeness of sense then does arrive

where mind in the body may quietly lie

where body is felt like never before

and fragmented pieces are separate no more.


Hovering over what mind can’t conceive

feeling, not thinking, at home there within

as deep from the tissues the hurt does so leave

and a space opens up for us both to weave.



Releasing to Being / Cracking Open

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My heart in thorns is entwined

where light like night

in indigo shine

weary, with fright,

the meek and uncertain

away does divide.


My heart is in brightness conceived

(core pulsing

to rhythmic a beat,)

under thick coating beginning to gleam

revealing the true

and releasing to being.


My heart its own breadth now admits

seeping through thorns

sharp rays as it cracks,

open at last

to life’s greatest gift

as eternity in it softly may drift.




A translation of Galop (Γκάλοπ) by Lena Platonos (Λένα Πλάτωνος)

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Dear reader,

I offer here a humble translation of the closing track of Lena Platonos’ iconic album ‘Galop‘. I do this to honour the feat of storytelling that many of the pieces on the album represent.

Now,
just as a little air lifted,
everyone expected these days to be cool.
At least that’s what they all said.

Even the lady at the street pavilion
made mistakes in her transactions
from the excessive heat.

And on the radio
they prepare the winter
with humour and stability,
seriousness,

galloping through
and choosing different answers.

You close your eyes.
You arrange a date.
You close your eyes
and dream of different cities.
Sparsely populated cities in the night
lacking unnecessary sounds
whose light emanates from within the people,
from the walls of the houses.

A door opens.
Someone lifts their hand
and their greeting traces the shape of a star,

mmmm,

or rather a moon.

You reciprocate.
Slowly many gather,
then even more.

They all reciprocate
and their greeting traces the shape of a moon

and as they approach one another
they are united by that same gallop
of the first rain;
by the colour of the moon in their own touch.

Yes, and further down there is a couple
that have only a moon
that they cut in two,
biting the half

and again the half,
until crumbs are left behind.
Until nothingness remains.

But they share even that nothingness
as it appears that nothing doesn’t exist.

Maybe that’s why the light emanates from them so.