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jeffrey-young
jeffrey-young
San Diego
Primordial: In cobalt depths Once were orchestrated Movements dark And full of promise Earth’s wet womb Birthed molecular seeds Which joining, grew And fighting, died Light at first a fear To eyes unformed And then, the source Of every move toward Our progeny then Mere copies of ourselves Split in two Unto similar trillions Primitive: The peacock plumage pressed In gestures choreographed Through subtle suggestion: The tilt of the peahen’s head Acutely perched An aerie serves As fortress for Two soaring hawks Elephant ears Hearing footfalls Cross dusty tundra Seeking union The joust of lions Almost drawing blood In ***** play Lolling by twos at dusk Personal: My cobalt depths Brew sinewy music In senseless synchrony Striving to see Beyond the atomy Of ceaseless repetition Mistakes made By blind replication Fear’s eyes guide My movements to the light To orient My inclination As peacock and hawk To preen and soar As elephant and lion To listen and lust
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Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 3:04 AM UTC
Untitled
I do not love you as if you were salt rose, topaz, Or arrow of carnations disseminating fire: I love you as certain dark things are loved, In secret, between shadow and soul. I love you like the plant that does not bloom But bears hidden within itself those flowers’ light, And thanks to your love there dwells darkly in my body The compressed scent arisen from the earth. I love you, knowing neither how, nor when, nor whence; I love you directly, without problems or pride: Thus I love you, for I know no other way, Unless it be such that there’s no I nor You, So close that your hand on my chest is my own, So close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
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Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 11:37 AM UTC
Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda
I left because… I couldn’t take the beauty anymore In absence of a soul to share it with: The park more lovely than I’ve ever seen: A delicate new moon Against a veil of sultry clouds, The blue becoming green On buildings grander than belief – A eucalyptus pining for the stars, A bronze conquistador in dusky hue. In absence of a thought of what to do I had to leave, And my heart burned At that sad fact – And yes, I cursed myself for the courage that I lacked, But I simply couldn’t take it anymore Bewitched, beguiled and bothered was the theme Of a play I left suspended entre-act; The actors took the stage when I had gone And played on love’s enchanted tangled weave; But I dragged on home as one without a goal A dream – I left For I couldn’t take it, No not now, Nevermore. When beauty’s incarnation steals the stage; When nature robs the breath within my heart, The simple chore of breathing is just that: A chore – And I left: Couldn’t take it anymore I was bereft, beaten, broken and no longer In that solitude no longed-for one can feel. You might think that walk would only make me stronger, But I cannot take such beauty anymore – Yet it’s only with such loveliness I’ll heal.
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Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
On leaving Bell, Book and Candle in Balboa Park
I hunger for your mouth, your voice, your skin, And through the streets I slide without nutrition, Silent, without a bite of bread, dawn disquieting me within, I search the liquid sound of your feet at day’s fruition. I’m hungry for your voice’s slippery laughter, For your sunburned hands’ colored clasp, I hunger for the pale shade of your stony nails, and after Want to eat your skin as a ripe, sunburned almond’s rasp. I want to engorge the sunburned rays of your beauty, Your sovereign nose, up to your arrogant face, I want to eat the slumberous slip of your lashes… And hungrily I go to and fro, sniffing the shadows, In search of you, to make your hot heart race. I’m a cougar in the quiet of Quitratúe.
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Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 10:17 PM UTC
Sonnet XI by Pablo Neruda
A naked face of alabaster Brazen at day’s end In rosy blushing hue Smiled sunward in a knowing gaze Stretching all her stony height To greet her solar lover. Such is the silent *********** Between eternal elements: She, brought forth from fiery depths Where birth’s great press Makes stone awake and shine; He, furnace father of all that grows, Draws a blush long suppressed Across miles of breathless sky In recognition of a lover’s glance. Thus the pair perform their evening dance In a moment’s motionless silence.
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Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
New York Evening