What heart yonder, falls
so gently in this field.
Soft as Lilly petals and
sweet as jasmine
On the vine.
Such gentle curves give
The soul a place to rest
The mind a place to race
And the heart a home all it's own
With the voice of an angel
Does she call my name from
The night sky.
Scribed by stars with auroras…
Our heads contain worlds. Or is it just the one over and over?
People pop out to smoke cigarettes,
simper, gossip, fuck and pray.
Maggotty ideas fester – let them die –
voices assault us daily.
What is real I cannot say.
He’s tried to flirt with the mainstream.
His world always out of kilter
at an angle only he can measure,
We know that soon we will go back, to the solitary trails, to the sound of our boots on the hard rock, to the smile on her face that says: “I want to hug you at the summit”.
And there you will be, in an unexpected corner, lurking in the light, seemingly innocent: but you know how to recognise lovers who wish to flirt with the mountains, cheating the Enemy, dreaming of becoming angels…
For season after season you survive the floods, the ice, the fall of stones, the shoes of men.
For year after year we seek you, as we seek each other, in the palm of God, in the light of His Grace, where you shine, immortal.
must keep my soul steady and cold
for your judgement I fear
as much as I seek your presence
and you may enjoy mine…
The opposite we are,
as the walls of the Roman stadium are
to the bright steel and glass buildings
of our cities…
Yet the river flows and
I cannot detach my mind
from the dream…
Is it yours?
A chartreuse glow in a disused store,
crystalline shards of torchlight
caught on dust motes make
cubist ghosts; silent witnesses
filter the remnants of a scene.
He was tied to a chair,
two men blew smoke rings
as a flyspecked light bulb
swayed to the rumba strains
of a thirsty wind, he hoped
he'd have the courage to evade
the questions, the inevitable…
I see the world reflected in your eyes
For what I see you have seen first
A long time before I was born ~
And now the colours are the colours you see
The shapes, the stones, the skies, the flowers
And the trees you have taught me to love
O Mother, Mistress of this world
Mother, lover, Gaia
She is vast, beautiful like a constellation.
She and I are made up of the same stars.
If you could search her eyes
you would see a whole universe swirling there.
Being a part of her is like riding on a spaceship,
watching as the moon shines like a disco light.
Don't try to harm her. She'll become destructive.
Her storms are wild and restless.
For Dominique Aury
So it is, for me, that you live on, your writing a seductive light of decency and wonderful poetry, for everything I read from you is sheer delight…
And, yes, there is a bit of jealousy in this admiration, in this search through shadows, towards the man you loved and for whom you wrote the ultimate passionate letter, the one that cannot be forgotten.
You wrote of a gift never equalled since, of a sacrifice that only heroines of old were capable.
Is this madness, falling in love with someone who left this world so long ago?