A farm screen door latch
Should slam with the urgent drumming
Of a man or woman going off
On urgent business:
To see the cattle fed,
To till the fields,
To clang the dinner bell...
Should sing relentless songs of returns,
Not stand and wait for days...
Sagging as the hinges sag,
Lonely in waiting those who've left,
Forgetting to come back.
A door is meant
For entering and departing,
Handles on both sides.
A house that sees
no leavings nor returnings
Is kindred to coffins,
No longer home....
I'm always falling for girls who are arrows shot through the hearts of prodigal sons.
You've been in my head for days.
I've been clinging to your later
Like a shipwrecked sailor
Clings to the shattered bow
As the ocean tries to swallow him whole.
You swallowed me whole,
And you barely even opened your mouth;
Just wide enough for me to taste honey
And see stars that have been three nights creating haloes around my drunken head.
But you'll only hold my hand in the shadows;
You'll only ask me how I am if you know the answer will be
I'm fine
not
I've got you under my skin
But you're under it, girl.
You're seven layers deep,
And suddenly you're rushing through my bloodstream
And filling my body with a five-dime dream
That is only of your face.
Everyone knows that web of red veins
All lead back to the heart.
So I'm putting up fences
But leaving gaps between the posts
So when you’ve circulated my system
and I can feel you tingling electricity in every one of my cells
It’ll look like the bars I’ve put up were to keep you out
But really the space between was to let you in.
I’ll be shining a light so bright that maybe you’ll grow powdered wings
and flutter towards me like a moth who can’t ignore the flame for even one more second.
You’re more like a butterfly though.
When I look at you I see every colour;
I see grace and beauty, and in your voice I hear a melody so sweet it makes me wonder
whether you’re a girl,
Or if maybe you’re a songbird.
Maybe you build a new nest every night
From twigs and feathers and broken hearts.
You showed me a cutting of your old boyfriend’s hair
That you keep in your wallet
Because you dream of recreating him.
I thought if I knew how I’d make an army of this boy for you,
I’d carve his face from limestone
And give him blossoms for eyes
But I’d give him my lips,
So that when you kissed him I’d taste you.
And it’s not like I’d make you,
But inside my head we’re every day making each other laugh;
We’re every day running through dappled fields,
Calling each other’s names,
Smelling each other’s hair.
It’s the sweetest thing.
That’s all I really want to say
Is that you make me smile and dream,
And sometimes I’m looking at your face
For just a bit longer than you’re looking at mine,
And in the half-light I think,
Isn’t she beautiful.
May the road rise to meet you.
May the wind be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face.
May the rains fall softly upon your fields,
until we meet again.
May God hold you in the palm of his hand.
may god be with you and bless you
may you see your childrens children
may you be poor in misfortune,rich in blessings.
may you know nothing but happiness from this day on wards.
may the hand of a friend always be near.
may green be the grass you walk on.
may blue be the skies above you.
may pure be the joys that surround you.
may true be the hearts that love you.
may you give your heart to love and you shall be loved.......
sight smile
approach lifts
close tingle
eyes sparkle
yours
fields mesh
ours
hair stands
strands brush
wills fade
lips touch
lost
forms meld
blood flows
tongues search
breath mixed
perspire
wet
we float
I sit here on my bed covered in
flowers
thinking how I'd so much rather be
sleeping
on
yours.
In your flower fields.
In your fragrant mind.
In the pastures of your eyelashes.
In the valleys of the darker circles under
your eyes
your eyes -
that you get when you're tired.
Sleep with me.
We all thought he would
Stay here forever, like
So many other lethargic
Sons and daughters of the slough
Who may never have learned what the mustard fields were for.
I escaped early, lucky I
Guess, but never quite let
Go of him, and another year
Gone by, like battered ships we return.
Those eyes are intense and
Hazel in the oncoming
Headlights, buzz-cut
Hair black as the ruins of Haystack Landing.
Once you’re told, you remember what the mustard fields were for.
“I’m different, I mean,” he says,
“Fuck, even at dinner with family. I
Freak out, get paranoid, like I’m
Fighting for my life in the Sonoma hills.”
He sighs, “I know you know,
When I come back from
Where I’m going, seeing you is
What I’ll want the most, but--”
I wonder if he knows what the mustard fields were for.
“I’ll probably be real different,
Probably need a lot of help.”
Passing elevated acres of mustard, we
Pause; he says, “Gotta stop for gas.”
This soldier stands in sharpened
Contrast to this rural, liberal
Community, these Victorian
Cathedrals of a quiet isolation.
They will never tell you what the mustard fields were for.
I wonder then if something about our
Air here makes us want to reach out,
Aspire for our names and badges
Across the expanse of war and peace.
Like the murky waters of the turning basin,
History hides a silent violence.
Hatching, we find ourselves inoculated against
Human strains of moral dystrophy.
I went into the world knowing well what the mustard fields were for.
They’re still here, still growing, those
Slender, musky stalks, golden heads
Sweetly pastoral in their floral bloom,
Soft biochemical carpets in a cultivated sprawl.
I know now, I know damn well what the mustard fields were for.
The sky so blue
My eyes behold
A man approaches
Wind and sun
--
His gaze so clear
He has seen
The earth
Below
The people everywhere--
---
WATER!
We need!
WATER
--
(His gaze so clear
Earth and rain)
He has lived
1000 years
----
Water
---
The blue sky
--------
Come
You know what I mean
THE EARTH IS SACRED
&
YOU ARE HERE
Sacred water
For
The
Fields
A thirsty old woman opens your main gate-way!
She represents; symbolize a forthcoming drought,
At your paddy fields; give her enough cold drinks;
Let her be delighted; Give a coin; at least of a copper!
You will be blessed with a good harvest, next season
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
williamsji@yahoo.com
www.williamsji.com
www.williamsgeorge.com
www.microthemes.com
(All poems in this series are, translations from Malayalam, originally written in author’s mother-tongue, “Malayalam’”, the language of Kerala, in South India.)
BY WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
williamsji@yahoo.com
www.williamsji.com
When butterflies kiss the Dawn
God paints a sunrise in the east
When butterflies kiss the Dawn
Dewdrops kiss the flowers
And last Night's raindrops
Drench the fresh earth
When butterflies kiss the Dawn
The veil of Heaven lifts
And shows fluffy white clouds
Drifting lazily by
When butterflies kiss the Dawn
Buds unfurl their soft sweet petals
And the smell of honeysuckles
And millions of other flowers
Fill the air of Dawn
With a heavenly fragrance
When butterflies kiss the Dawn
Flowers waltz in the meadows and fields
When butterflies kiss the Dawn
Sunrays dance through my window
Filling my room full of light
When butterflies kiss the Dawn
All is beautiful
~Marian~
Petals drift beneath
Fields of dancing golden rays.
Oh, yes love is here
