A mutual instinct

 

 

 

As the horizon melts in sea and sky

both of the same hue

a painting of Turner comes to mind

or your lips in fusion with mine,

a mutual instinct to taste the sweet due

before, through its disuse,

it may erode

 

 

 

 

Tears of bitterness

 

 

 

Her whispers echo through the sunless halls

of her childhood,

tarnished mirrors reflect her image,

negatives in black and white,

waking memories she had buried

together with her toys

 

 

The belief that she was released

mocked her pitilessly,

she remembered the pain,

the suffering felt deep inside,

invisible to others

 

 

Her tears balanced on the edges of her eyes,

succumbing to the force of gravity,

tumble down the precipices of her cheeks

before dyeing her tongue with bitterness

 

 

 

 

Arabian Sun

 

 

 

Not to disturb the sleeping desert

on tip-toes the welkin sheds its veil,

the darkness of jet,

and step by step to attire aurora`s blush, 

as dawn emerges from her slumber

 

 

On the palette of nature´s artist,

 the blending of hues silently occurs,

 till the heavens are seeped in lapis lazuli,

a backcloth for an Arabian sun

 

 

An intense and ferocious noonday heat descends,

melting images out of focus,

and even without a magician`s wand,

creates illusions for a fooled eye

 

 

 

 

Their sacred hymn to the night

 

 

 

Her book of poetry lay open at the page

she most cherished,

her reflective glance,

caught in mid-air by his prowling eyes,

divulged her thoughts of the night they chartered,

to entice the Olympian gods

to embellish their intimacy with starlit candles,

illuminating secret crevices,

from where a river´s hidden source

sprinkled the libido,

quenching the thirst

 

 

With utmost pleasure

she had tasted the sweetness of the wine

of the bouquet of words

served in the verses of Novalis,

kindling the sparkle to set aflame

their sacred hymn to the night

 

 

 

 

Too precious 

 

 

After years of solitary confinement

of her mother´s safe-keeping well kept,

deep under news cuttings of yore,

 in a clearance came to light,

a fading reminder of her childhood

 

 

She paddled in shallow ebbtide,

yellow sun bonnet her sole attire,

her hands grasping tightly 

red plastic bucket and shovel,

tools of her investigation

 

 

She smiled to remember the day long forgotten

when a thieving gust stole her hat,

blowing it to sea far out,

to ride bareback on “white horses”,

as flotsam and jetsam then to reappear

 

 

Her tousled hair  now free to fly,

no try to catch it did she attempt,

overmuch engrossed in her shoreline pilgrimage

in search of the wonders of sea-shells,

to leave behind too precious

 

 

 

 Ann

 

 

 

Fair mistress Ann I beg thy advertence,

for this is not a play in our childhood´s theatre,

and buffoonery is the task of a king´s jester,

we are akin and thus I speak to thee not in rhymes,

but as thy friend, who loves thee dearly

 

 

 

 For long I have cherished my love for thee

but believed the folly of  losing one´s heart

never was an affair of mirth,

but rather one of mindful contemplation,

thence my feelings found no voice

 

 

 

Too late repentant of my deliberation,

I learned to solve the mystery of the heart

that valour should more influence sway,

for love is not at one´s convenience

and passion is oftentimes heedless

 

 

 

 Bereft of thy crystalline eyes my heart shall pine,

no longer to hold thee in mine arms,

nor the sensual suggestion as we a volta dance,

where lips not touching a kiss beguile,

and longings behind a decorous smile do hide

 

 

 

 A last farewell sweet maid of Haver,

thy fortune within the halls of Hampton thee doth wait,

behind those ominous walls, to which like leeches,

entwining ivy and moss do cling, to strangle woeful sobs

of ghosts of treachery and intrigue, where there do roam

 

 

 

 Plucked in bloom to bear a sovereign´s seed,

thou art the beauteous rose of Hever´s garden,

whose thorns a churlish pride might cause a bleeding wound,

whence blood the lace of a royal  ruff ensanguines,

could well be  thy very own

 

 

 

 In the darkness of avoidance

 

 

 

After an endless nightmare of false tolerance and feint, 

we awoke startled from our dreams,

not by the warming beams of a dawn sun,

but aroused by the beating against innocent window panes of nefarious storms of repressed  frustrations,

finally released

 

 

Too long had we been balancing

on the borderline of indecision,

too long on the side of the moon, the colour of jet,

where discordance´s jealousy of harmony

had gained the upper hand,

without a word of apology

 

 

Groping in the darkness of avoidance,

we stumbled over our broken promises,

strewn in haphazard disorder,

camouflaging our dishevelled togetherness,

long buried in ashes of ignominy

beneath King Lalibela`s Church of St. George


 

Why ask still irrelevant questions?

the accusing finger quite superfluous,

the cracks in our hearts have become too wide,

even to retrieve the stranded camellia,

bereaved by the loss of its blossoms´ red petals,

as tears of blood silently shed

 

 

 

In the wake of carnival

 

 

 

In the wake of carnival,

bitter-sweet remains dragged their feet,

the lure of her allied perfume,

the tenderness of her promising lewd caresses,

their daring journey to bathe

in enticing cascades of salacity,

their nakedness in mutual quaver

of liberated passions,

yet

a billow of guilt inundated his conscience,

the flame which had ignited his libido

was disguised as the Queen of Sheba

 

 

A crossroads emerging,

a decision indispensable,

his yearnings to follow

to make a new start

a risked adventure of infatuation,

or

should he play pretences

with their worn-out love making

 

 

Better were it to lay all cards on the table

of candid discussion,

in search of  a way back to each other

 

 

The final decision to be in her court,

to win  the match-point or

accept a tie break

 

  
 

 

Metamorphosis

 

 

 

There, where sky and ocean embraced  in a Rodin kiss,

my sighs of sorrow melted  into the horizon,

 of aquarelle colours painted by a quivering sun,

taking its daily bow

 

 

There, where the indiscreet waters

of crystal clear rivers enraptured your shed tears,

swirling them downstream,

till as glistening shards they sprinkled lava rocks

with a caressing shower

 

 

There, where summer benign breezes caused gentle ripples,

carrying our hopes over sunflower carpets,

nodding in approval their golden bonnets

to bless our nuptial wishes

 

 

There, where a celestial beam illuminated an earthly lake,

a pool of enticement for our  sensual pleasure,

our naked bodies became a sleeping nymph,

awaiting impatiently its metamorphosis

into sublimity

 

 

 

 

Once

 

 

 

 

Once I tasted the fragrance of belonging,

the halcyon warmth of a susurrus

on the birth of a celestial moon,

wrapped within the endless labyrinth

of a sonorous  seashell

 

 

Once I was baptised in the crystal water

of an ephemeral dew drenched touch of lips,

bidding me to catch the orotund tones

of an Elizabethan melody of John Dowland,

played on a lute by royal decree

 

 

Once I forgot to hold my breath,

submerged in your ocean of  passion

as a  fish of pleasures,

our eyes as one in tacit longing,

did I swim within the wonders of a grotto,

guarded by one of Neptune´s nereids

 

 

Once the moon and sun adorned my welkin,

till indifference usurped my reverence,

in an eclipse shrouded they my heart,

their anger summoned the wrath of gods,

from which no doubt I shall surely pine

 

 

Love no longer abides within my heart,

a word I chased with passionate desire,

dyeing the heavens with incarnadine longing,

a word now banished from my tongue,

a word I even now misspell

 

 

 

Where dew drenched ferns still sleep

 

 

 

He stopped for a moment to listen

to the susurrus  of the babbling brook

still hiding in the melting mist,

no other sound disturbed the somnolent morn,

not even the awakening sun,

yet to diffuse itself into the stillness

 

 

 

This is the hour he always chooses,

to feel and smell the essence of the forest,

where the drawbridge has been drawn,

his castle closed to intruders of tranquillity

and thus to free his conquered consciousness,

here where dew drenched ferns still slee

 

 

 

Here he has found his sanctuary sacred

to himself and his faithful feelings,

an intimate meditation to start his day,

ere the world collapses around his head,

subjugating his being to obedience

of bitter tastes he has to swallow

 

 

 

Half his life he has had to bear

a constraining cross with piercing nails,

on which to hang drear days of conformity,

yet, on cloudless nights he finds his consolation,

as he gazes at his celestial light, Arcturus,

glorious star of orange brightness,

which, like the forest, bestows upon hi

peace of mind

 

 

 

 

 

The storm

 

 

 

She gazed at the sky pacific,

stealthily usurped by an ominous robe,

in mourning,

as mercenary waves ravishing a defenceless beach,

a gathering of forebode

 

 

His instinct spelled out danger,

her tomcat darted indoors

in search of shelter in his refuge

beneath the sturdy oak cabinet,

heirloom of an ancestor

 

 

She felt a zephyr caress her cheek,

the rumbling sound of advancing drums,

carried on gusts of wind,

slicing the balmy stillness,

obliging unwilling branches to choose  partners

as they heave and sway in a passionate dance,

a volta

 

 

Intermittent radiance,

flickering like a faulty electric light bulb,

crept over the surrounding landscape,

whilst warning scouts of raindrops large

formed wet patterns on courtyard tiles,

a time to retreat

to witness the downpour in safety

 

 

Lightning struck

her heart froze as she saw his face,

or was it just her imagination,

she shuddered as the thunder echoed

in her head confused with emotion,

but she remained stoically observing

 

 

and wishing that he had stayed,

she now alone to face the languor of lent,

pehaps a gleam of comfort

on the clearing Eastern horizon

could show her the way back,

back to herself

 

 

 

Checkmate

 

 

 

No traces linger of pellucid days of pathos,

garnished with a chocolate icing

and generous drops of a libidinous potion,

 an ingredient of aphrodisiac herbs,

to gain the grace of his quixotic queen

 

 

He hides now behind her shadow,

an eavesdropper to her private thoughts,

smoke in a screen of indifference,

lingering in an atmosphere of sensitivity,

pierced by sighs of repudiated repentance

 

 

Her presence, a fading reflection,

no longer gives light to his senses,

he moves in darkness without tactic,

awaiting in silence to suffer a final defeat

Checkmate!

 

 

 

Darkness

 

 

 

With eagerness this night her presence I await,

to feel her silken gown attire my mind and soul,

I long for her gentle balm to relieve my tenseness,

for entering through my pours her tenderness

sweetens the bitter taste of the day´s deceptions

 

 

 

I lay awake my senses not wishing repose,

her hour of appearance draws nigh,

as she gradually dims the welkin´s glow,

clandestinely passing ghostlike through my window

into the apprehensive stillness of my room

 

 

 

Her creeping shadows cast over the stoic walls,

the ceiling, the floor, even taint my sheets

with promises of serenity and calmness,

I peer into her depth and embrace her peace,

banishing by degrees the telluric tumult

from my tormented thoughts

 

 

 

I sense her presence and feel her touch

upon my weary countenance,

offering no resistance to repel the insurgence of slumber,

filling the sails of my man o´war,

sailing to conquer the hoard of aggressors,

daily laying siege to my endangered fortress

 

 

 

Roused from sleep a captive of the usurping morn,

obliging a tactful retreat of my nocturnal visitor,

who left me enforced to face life´s battlefield,

yet she a true companion will return on ´morrow´s eve,

for on my brow her kisses linger,

a token of the  faithful Darkness

 

 

 

La dolce notte

 

 

 

With the craft of a succubus` spell,

by stealth she crept inside his body,

to seduce his senses

with fragrancies of temptation,

carried on the pinions of humming birds

as breaths of susurrus,

given birth in the lair of her lips,

moist with the morning dew

 

 

 

In the welkin, veiled by gossamer clouds,

await with docility

a nervous moon and an impatient shooting star,

to inaugurate their stage debut,

 a rehearsed performance,

 to flood the amorous scene

with seraphic beams and cascades of star dust,

sprinkling an enchantment over la dolce notte,

in unison with the crescendo of that joyous symphony,

of destinies entwined

 

 

 

The killer of a fairy tale

 

 

 

Fireflies no longer beam the brightness in your eyes

and outraged butterflies have abandoned their task

of braiding enchantments in your tresses,

your smile has wilted with the spring daffodils

 

 

 

Into the diabolical abyss of ignominy I fell,

fragmented pieces of make-believe romance,

a fake Prince Charming in our fairy tale,

in which my truth a hidden deceit veiled

 

 

 

Murder of your sincerity and trust did I commit,

attempts to hide my nefarious crime detected,

with no excuse a plead guilty did I confess,

my franchise annulled without restitution

 

 

 

Condemned to banishment in the necropolis of Hades,

an inglorious journey in the ferry boat of Charon,

across the Styx to serve my sentence in purgatory,

my only visitor, a necromancer in search of my soul,

the killer of a fairy tale

 

 

 

The spirits of trees and ferns

 

 

 

The spirits of trees and ferns,

intrinsic to the scents and aromas

of forest whispers and sighs,

embrace the fauna and flora,

sharing this vast lung,

the sanctuary of Atemis,

guarded by stalwart pine soldiers

 

 

 

Intruding sunbeams pierce the silence

of the forest darkness,

opening wounds of light,

which illuminate enchanted hollows,

not yet deflowered by the hand of man

 

 

 

Early morning prints of animal dwellers

soil the annual bridal gown,

a veil of crystalized tears,

nature´s endowment to a virgin woodland,  

come winter

 

 

 

Unawareness prevails

of a lurking danger,

for like a ghost it is invisible to many,

stealthily creeping down

from onerous clouds,

a poison trapped within omnivorous pollutants,

indiscriminately attacking its prey

 

 

Are we the culprits?

allowing ourselves to be gagged 

by the cunningness of avarice and indifference,

who sweeten their soliloquies with vague promises,

a gullible audience to appease

 

 

 

Those butterflies

 

 

 

 

Rain and more rain, tears of remorse

knock on my window panes, pleading entrance,

today however, I wish no visitors

to disturb my thought of woven dolefulness,

remembering the morning when we as strangers awoke,

after our night haunted by the ghosts of yore,

who, instead of satisfying our hunger

with delicacies of reason,

teased us through their lack of prudence 

with words of cruelty, piercing like daggers our pride,

thus filling with dread the whispers

our lips had preserved to resuscitate

the aromas we had long buried

´neath our arrogance

 

 

 

In the same way as we grew out of our childhood clothes,

with years we gradually grew out of each other,

as moths, which fly around a candle flame,

eventually scorching their wings,

we searched in frustration for affection in other circles,

to kindle the warmth in our cooling libido,

against the severity of winter,

only to be discarded come spring

 

 

Lust and love spelled so differently,

yet we treated them as synonyms,

until too late we repented the error  we made,

and attempted to rewrite our lives,

the ink, however, evaporated into the tenseness of the air,

leaving us to find an answer to the mutual question unspoken:

 

Those butterflies, the ones which in a sonorous chorus

such melodies of oneness in our hearts once sang,

to where did they fly?

 

 

 

The reconcilement of love

 

 

 

 

The words remained captives of your lips,

the words which your tearful eyes revealed

with discreet glances of longing,

a hanker after the warmth I bestowed

to your heart during your winter, when

icicles froze your morning smile,

and  petrified your evening kiss

 

 

 

I buried the while my tears of sorrow

´neath fresh sown flowers,

not  to disclose the depth of my despair,

in readiness to embrace your springtime,

again to welcome its fragrances and

together to savour the sweetness of lilac wine,

with a toast to the reconcilement of love

 

 

 

Not for those who procrastinate with love

 

 

Like some lost somnambulist I travel

through the labyrinths of desolate solitude,

searching crevices for hidden shimmers

of moonlit aromas of your presence,

adrift on my ocean´s horizon

once caressed by a tender kiss,

 now languishing

 

We ignored with frivolity the rising tide,

whose waves like tendrils of hunger

devoured gradually our uncertainty,

we abandoned in oblivion on a distant shoreline,

without the wherewithal to survive our nonchalance 

 

Destitute of the adroit to avoid life´s traps,

we stumbled, dragging each other

into the core of  disregard,

smearing our hearts with recalcitrant rebukes,

without the attempt to assuage our defeat,

but only to lick our wounded pride

 

Attired with a robe of rust from the spring rain,

the lock of binding trust still clings

to a perfidious promise,

bleached into irrelevance by the heat of summer,

the scarred  bark still bears engraved

our names entwined,

the winds of autumn scattered with the falling leaves

our unspoken words from lips of parched absence,

icicles of winter`s wane, constantly drip away the time

we foolishly thought was ours,

yet time allows no reservation, at least,

not for those who procrastinate with love

 

 

 

The dainty diaphanous dandelion clock

 

 

 

On the cliff edge high above the surging surf

he sat alone in the ash coloured dawn,

his nocturnal vigilance was self- inflicted,

a feeling of guilt robbed still his slumber

 

 

Darkness slowly retreats before the advancing morn,

his weary eyes gaze across the mist veiled ocean,

searching for a welcome refuge on a hidden horizon,

he bleeds beneath the weight of a tortured memory

 

 

Was that the tenderness of her warmth,

caressing his countenance with her lips?

´Twas only the awakening rays of the morning sun,

rising to dry drops of dew and tears released from captivity

 

 

A gentle breeze murmured to his numbed senses,

reminding him of her grateful whispers, softly

acquiescing to the pleasures of their intimacy,

his heart now mourned her unbearable absence

 

 

Yet on this breeze a seraphic message floated,

which, like an ephemeral parachute, on his lap did land,

carefully lifting it betwixt thumb and finger-tip,

he held with awe the dainty diaphanous dandelion clock

 

 

A message from her, his grief to comfort,

to pine no longer but to live his life,

the chains of guilt he should cast away,

her decision it was to drive alone

 

 

When golden petals have turned into fragile balls of white,

he deftly plucks the dandelions and blows to her his kisses, 

to tell her of new written pages in his book of poems,

all dedicated with love to her

 

 

Amidst the mists of time

 

 

 

Like the birth of Venus the sun arises,

 

reflecting an aureate beauty o´er the lake,

 

an ambient of peacefulness prevails

 

in the silence of this mystic place,

 

lost in the telling of myths of yore;

 

yet still vivid after my somnambulant journey,

 

as I submerged into its darkest depths,

 

where lies entombed the wondrous gift of Viviane,

 

Caliburn, returned to its waters by Sir Bedivere,

 

lone survivor of the slaughter of Camlann

 

 

 

A memento of my timeless wandering,

 

to the lake´s enchanted isle I came,

 

the majestic halls of Avalon, echoing still

 

the wailing cries of Morgana, mourning a royal kin;

 

for this sovereign´s resting place I searched in vain,

 

as Glastonbury only its wounds to me revealed,

 

thereupon did I leave my rose of sanguine red,

 

to lie amidst the mists of time,

 

in gratitude for Arthur´s valiant struggle,

 

a Celtic Albion from Saxon aggressors to defend

 

 

 

 

Last year in Marienbad

 

 

 

 

I see her again in dreams,

 

a ritual of beauty to behold.

 

her evening stroll,

 

to glance once more at the burning sky,

 

when the shadows of trees 

 

caressed slumbering flowers good night

 

 

 

 

 

Never once did she divulge

 

the reason for her being there, rather

 

like some secret kept it sheltered,

 

´neath a shade of silence,

 

her umbrella spanned,

 

a hurdle for intruders

 

 

 

Sharing gazes by candlelight we dined,

 

with wine from grapes of Dionysus` vineyard,

 

drowning her fears ere break of dawn, when

 

as some ephemeral apparition she took her leave,

 

her lingering fragrance within the sheets,

 

my sole consolation

 

 

 

In was late summer of migrating swallows,

 

returning faithfully each year,

 

yet not this lady of Bohemia,

 

who stole my heart, I condescending,

 

last year in Marienbad,

 

when solace was our currency 

 

 

 

 

Drawn chiffon curtains

 

 

 

 

Drawn chiffon curtains

 

conceal secrets of lascivious dreams,

 

where erotic smiles creep from under scorched sheets,

 

and peaceful corners of a festive table 

 

point to dust filled crevices, overlooked in the confusion,

 

heaped with indignant expectations,

 

languid from awaiting postponed decisions

 

 

 

Draw chiffon curtains

 

entice a filtered dawn

 

to imbue the dozing darkness,

 

a first blush of morn of an outside world

 

of disjointed shapes,

 

a petrified mosaic of jigsaw skies

 

decorating facades, duplicated into blurred distances

 

 

 

Ghostlike images of somnambulists walk in Indian file,

 

whilst stoic scribes search for egoistic solutions

 

to quench the thirst of an avarice society

 

 

 

 

Elbow-etiquette

 

 

 

 

His hands besmeared

 

with the toil of strife,

 

to surmount hurdles indiscreetly strewn,

 

traps over which to trip,

 

the intent of indecorous rivals

 

eager to gain the advantage

 

 

 

Of an innocuous influence

 

their paltry connivance failed,

 

his chances of success

 

in this rat-race game to relegate,

 

where elbow-etiquette 

 

oft imputes the rules

 

 

 

Aware of these libellous serpents,

 

dilatory assassins loitering at his rear,

 

his strategy he ingeniously engineered

 

to decapitate their perfidiousness,

 

ere they spat their poison

 

into the womb of his goal

 

 

 

 

Haunted by stillness

 

 

 

 

Haunted by stillness your stubborn brow

 

perspires wraiths of superciliousness,

 

as I bow down to kiss the whisper

 

still awaiting reconciliation

 

 

 

Hours are not ours any longer,

 

patience sighs, her time too precious to linger,

 

whilst Selene veils her face in shrewdness

 

to avoid a misuse of her shine

 

 

 

Today will become yesterday,

 

hoping still for concordance,

 

whilst in the mists of the unspoken

 

 tomorrow hides from our reach

 

 

 

In acquiescence must our egos be,

 

ere winter with such inclemency

 

numb our fingers, blister our lips,

 

our libidos freeze,

 

thus depriving our sheets of passion,

 

the ashes of their flames

 

 

 

 

In a parallel world

 

 

 

 

You kindled my waning flame long dormant,

 

your tousled tresses of golden beams of sun

 

entwined with intensity around my senses,

 

trapping me in the snare of enchantment

 

 

Our stepping stones in the mackerel sky,

 

permitting our side wards glances

 

to reach our reciprocal smiles

 

and to enjoy the warmth of impatient lips

 

 

The gathering storm of ominous clouds

 

advanced over our hearts of maturing feelings,

 

with warnings of disregard of foolish pride,

 

not to jeopardise our love´s fulfilment

 

 

The tempest caressed our nuptial vows,

 

 the welkin opened to shed tears of joy,

 

soaking our kisses with a thousand raindrops,

 

a deluge of benevolence inundated our promises

 

 

Thunder echoed through the halls of Olympus,

 

 mellowing our lovers´ sighs of desire,

 

on our journey of libidinous discovery

 

in a parallel world of shared bliss

 

 

Amidst the intensity of passionate oblivion,

 

 our emotions were consumed in a sensual wish,

 

 where waves of exquisite force seduced my senses,

 

drowning me in the oblivion of your ocean`s depth

 

 

 

 

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