The sensuality of a clematis caress

 

 

 

Baptised at birth with dew

of morning mists she breathed

the diaphanous air of divinity,

her essence nourished by the fertile earth,

her inquisitive fingers reaching light of day

 

 

Sprinkled with the spirit of stars

her lance-shaped leaves unfolded

to kiss the drops of summer showers,

bestowing resplendence to her countenance,

her beauty of concupiscence unrivalle

 

 

Her entwined tendrils emanate

the sensuality of a clematis caress,

enhanced by her redolent blossoms,

entice the beholder to step somewhat close

to succumb to her allure

 

 

Sounds and senses of sensibility

 

 

I lay awake at dawn and listen

to their melodies of song,

the birth of a new spring day,

blessing once more my life

 

 

I savour the smell of freshness

after a sudden April shower,

bestowing life to thirsty flowers

the growth of seeds sowed to ensure

 

 

I lay with eyes closed,

neath the shade of swaying palms

to doze to the sound of lapping waves,

caressing a summer shore

 

 

I walk on a carpet red, ochre and gold  

perceiving the crunch beneath my feet,

brittle leaves once tunics of multiple green

by autumn gusts released

 

 

I long for cosy winter eves

before a fire of dancing flames,

to sense the touch of tender lips

and the sound of your heartbeat

 

 

 

A coincidence

(A simple love story)

 

 

 

 The heat of the day hung heavy

in the sultry evening air,

his body ached from the day´s toils,

his legs had become lethargic, yet

he made haste not arrive too late

 

 

He wanted to see her again,

she had been continually on his mind

ever since the previous day

when they exchanged pleasantries

at the side of the park lake, 

she feeding the elegant swans,

he amused as he sat on the bench,

listening to her conversation

with her hungry audience,

a smile his acknowledgment

as she turned and walked towards him,

returning his smile, her eyes, however,

revealed loneliness as she conversed

about her daily visits to the park

 

 

The last bend and the lake was in full view,

but no one was in sigh, not even the swans,

to disturb the peace and serenity,

he paused as a feeling of regret

usurped his  pleasant expectations

 

 

“What a coincidence to meet you here again!”

she exclaimed, camouflaging the truth.

No meeting had been arranged,

they both had relied on hope.

He turned to meet her apprehensive gaze,

her eyes revealing the real reason

 

 

 

One more enigma in his life

 

 

 

Born into a preacher´s family

yet not born to become one,

he discovered later his vocation

 

 

His vision of fulfilment,

the depiction with oils on canvas

of local poverty  in scenes

of winter depravation,

where the light of hope a scarcity,

as was a table plentiful

 

 

The artistic life of Paris

in the company of peers

enlightened his heart to paint

landscapes of summer days,

sunflowers and starlit nights

 

 

Storm clouds gathered in his mind,

darkening his sense of reason,

the shackles of delirium

enchained his self-esteem

in a fatal cul-de-sac

of perniciousness

 

 

His fame not yet aflame

he died a self-inflicted death,

one more enigma in his life

 

 

To believe or not to believe

 

 

 

To believe or not to believe

that is the question.

A question we find ourselves

asking daily, the answer

to be caught in the wind

 

 

Yet more questions join the queue.

how gullible have we become,

to follow leaders blindly withou

weighing up the deliberations

or heeding our own conscious

 

 

The time is ripe for the harvesting

of evidence and proof of facts,

rather than running like hens in circles

to feed on scattered grains, rather

the consequences better to understand

 

 

Dizzy on the carousel of promises,

time to alight and take a stand,

no longer to dance to misguiding tunes,

decisive reaction is indispensable

for memories are oft too short

 

 

Puberty

 

 

 

Held with loving hands

her eyes caress the photo

with slow nostalgic strokes,

he was ten at the time and

chosen by his classmates

to be their speaker

 

 

Her son is still a model scholar,

popular as ever with his peers,

yet now at fifteen speaks seldom

to her, albeit and answer

of just one syllable,

curt in tone and with

a side wards glance

 

 

 

Not to worry, have patience

advice she receives from friends,

the age of rebellion, a phase,

a time of trial for all during

the existence of youth, a time

of change too sudden for some,

as they grapple with puberty

 

 

Happiness

 

 

 

Like a chameleon

happiness has many colours,

each of us choosing favourites,

as we measure our felicity

with tailor-made emotions

 

 

Yet, is not happiness ephemeral

lasting at times just for moments,

ere being banished by usurpers

the mundane trials and tribulations

stress, anger and depressive thoughts

 

 

Restored again to our good grace,

albeit by one´s own conjuring

or with a triumphant entrance

to endow us with its benevolence

and beguile with moments of pleasure

 

 

Heroes

 

 

Minstrel´s ballads still are sung

of gallant heroes of days of yore

glorified perhaps with tim

 yet national pride plays its part

 

 

Poems for wartime heroes written

from memories never to erase

whose valiant acts of bravery

with the high price of life were paid

 

 

Heroes of celluloid pure escapism offer,

some their lifetime, others soon forgotten,

willingly we acquiesce to be led

to phantasmagorical enchantment

 

 

For me exist professional heroes

names unknown but to a few,

life-savours risking their own,

their depth of empathy seldom esteemed

 

 

No frontiers, no barriers,

no prejudices against religious faiths,

no colour of a person´s skin

ever compromises their dedication

 

 

Though valour and sacrifice

be tattooed on their hearts,

they are not invincible,

their limits are human, yet

their perseverance to win a losing war

echoes in their battle cry

 

 

Lost in transmission

 

 

 

With his tie askew he stood,

holding his sheet of prompts,

his face expressionless,

his voice monotone, invited

a smirk and an occasional yawn

 

 

No trace of didactic skill evident

unconvincing, confusing and full

of contradictions,  his explanations,

without exception, received

miscomprehended

 

 

His knowledge lost in transmission,

his expectations of applause 

defeated by vacant gazes

at blank note pads.

I hear he has been dismissed

 

 

A phenomenon of nature

 

 

Sudden is the change

in haste a sun sets,

usurped by a grotto

of darkness, illuminated

by a myriad of stars,

Venus and Selene in attendance

 

 

A silence and gelidity

of tombs encroaches

over the desert,

sleeping soundly,

yet as dawn drenches sand

with rays of heat,

the mollifying peace,

like the images of deceit

this desert conjures,

camouflages its rage

 

 

A whimsicality filling its lungs

gives birth to a furious force,

obliterating a startled sky, 

shadows of dunes are reorganised,

whilst the desert moves,

breathes and lives

as a phenomenon of nature

 

 

The labyrinth of officialdom

 

 

Impatient days dragged themselves

into wearied weeks of waiting,

for answers to urgent solicitations,

already disposed of, tidily,

into baskets of waste paper,

condemned by error to the shredder

or mislaid in the Kafkaesque confusion

of the labyrinth of officialdom,

discovered by chance on a removal

or the clearance of the wreckage

of a pensioned predecessor

 

 

 

Answers received in succinct letters,

without a mention of an excuse

for the delay, only curtly expressing,

to the astonishment of the addressee,

a regret for the abrogation

 

 

A steadfast promise

 

 

The stones were heavy, an endurance

for his hands to lift and carry alone,

to lay the pathway to a future, his quest,

beckoning on the horizon of each morn,

with impatience

 

 

From their cul-de-sac lives they condemned

decisions on an impulse taken, risks too great

for inexperienced shoulders to bear,

in the end a toll to pay, a prescience

of his defeat

 

 

Heedless to their pessimism, with steps

of caution he ventured forth,

then with daring strides of confidence,

his driving force not accidental,

self-trust the fuel

 

 

Rapids of life´s turbulent river

mastered by the power to will,

the reward for his achievement, pride

to have kept a steadfast promise,

he to himself had made

 

 

On the leeward of sidelong glances

 

 

A taste of suffering, lingering bitter,

remains after our silence of reproach,

our lips shivering on the leeward

 of sidelong glances, a void,

impotent to obliterate the frost

on starched sheets

 

 

We bartered our souls to acrimony,

squandering the lucre on our pride,

only to wash its hands in innocence,

an act depriving us of our bulwark

our castles built of clouds crumbled,

undermined by our own obduracy

 

 

On an ebbtide our ship of ghosts, adrift,

its compass in rage overboard cast,

the reasoning required to read the stars

buried in graves of egoism, with patience,

awaiting the wisdom of forgiveness,

a balm they say even the most

deep and vicious wounds heals

 

 

Contemplation on a verb

 

 

What is to love?

If not the most profound

feeling of benevolence and kindness

to others, be they friends, strangers

or of the animal kingdom

 

 

To express this love

is a charitable gesture, demanding

no reward or recompense,

yet so often the bestowing

of this gift is not accomplished

due to  our inhibitions

 

 

A frivolous utterance perhaps at times,

not realising there is a price to pay,

that of a degree of sacrifice,

a token of our sincerity.

Not to be confused the verb to love

with that of to be in love,

for they are promises apart

 

 

Sense to the light of reason

 

 

The waves of March tides chant

mournful dirges of atonement for drowned souls,

in chorus with the wailing wind in full charge

of rattling sabres against an indifferent shoreline

 

 

The invasion spreads its crusade of justice,

to blow asunder secret files of indiscretions,

sleeping snugly ´neath sheets of cowardice,

awaiting patiently their espial

 

 

Annals of indecorum under years of settled dust,

unaware of the advancing rustle of equity.

to disperse their truths like showers of confetti.

bringing sense to the light of reason

 

 

For just one more eternity

 

 

Just once more

let my life be blessed with your embrace,

my finger- tips strumming your susurru

into savoured melodies of sensitivity

 

 

Just once more

let me behold the lapis lazuli of your eyes

and submerge into their depths,

where such gems their lustre reflect

 

 

Just once more

let my tongue your lips caress

and bathe in the mists of your sighs,

a kiss far more sweet than Klimt´s

 

 

Just once more

let the feverish flames of passion

our congress into a oneness smelt,

whilst I whisper lines of poetry

 

 

Just once more

let me live in your captivity,

surfing ardent waves to your leeward shore,

there to discover the essence of your enigmas,

for just one more eternity

 

 

Once more in silence

 

 

 

 

There were times

 

when barefoot I scaled

 

your burning staircase,

 

to lay siege your orphic citadel,

 

there to witness how your tresses

 

sanctuary to a waxing moon bestowed

 

 

 

 

There were times

 

when fearless I submerged

 

within the enigma of Atlantis,

 

there to harvest pearls of your shed tears,

 

a necklace of prisms withholding rainbows,

 

your aspect to embellish

 

 

 

 

Never did I suspect,

 

times of defeat and battles lost, 

 

blown on winds from polar shores,

 

that contours of your lips would numb,

 

your whispers as banished convicts

 

in permanent frost imprison

 

 

 

 

High tides of soothing waves,

 

with patience, wash away your footprints

 

on my memory tattooed,

 

yet still at times the ebbs remind me,

 

before I might forget,

 

once more in silence,

 

to think of you

 

 

Days of tortured silence

 

 

 

 

Lips with subversive apprehension parted

 

a farewell as a kiss disguise,  

 

days of tortured silence

 

your voice a thirst unquenched,

 

even dreams no consolation bestowed

 

a night walker on a stoical march

 

along a shoreline of a dawn awakened,

 

enticed curiosity subjugating ashamed pride,

 

your footprints in wet sand I followed,

 

as ebbtide jetsam it rolled,

 

toyed by languid waves, a seashell,

 

a deaf man´s horn to catch her words,

 

echoing the roar of lamenting tides

 

 

The winding staircase

 

 

 

 

As if in slow motion

 

I saw myself ascending

 

the winding staircase

 

of my infancy,

 

shadows drifting in mist,

 

their lips in mute motion

 

 

 

Upwards I climb,

 

stumbling over tumbled toys

 

no longer in fashion,

 

abandoned for play another day,

 

now dust covered

 

 

 

I proceed still higher into the light

 

of the early morning sun

 

as it disperses a North Sea brume,

 

of the sound of breaking waves

 

invading a defenceless beach

 

 

 

I reach the summit from where

 

a cacophony of excited children deafen,

 

clapping their hands in unison,

 

as seven candles with one single blow

 

are extinguished,

 

some voices now forever silent,

 

yet with a nostalgic smile recalled

 

 

 

Tears and laughter, joy and sadness,

 

a mother´s comfort, a father´s reproach,

 

love of parents bestowed,

 

all as memories cherished,

 

safely stored with thankfulness

 

in my childhood treasure trove

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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