'Oh, when will you return, my love?' wondered Kourê,
   as she lays on the daybed, in the cradle of                        
          Spring's clime; how the nights and days make                        
her so weary, as the yellowed flames sway idle              
So many flowers sent,                                            
each rich with memory.      
Violets coiling around the triumphal arch;              
His smile after their first kiss under
the flushing dawn.
Starlings who sing ever so sweet;                              
the song of him preaching of her being
                       a bright glory before others.
Crystal chandeliar that hangs from the ceiling;
                            Her on a small bench, his hands massaging
                              warm oils between her fae-sculpted
      feet and toes.
The roses; a rouge kiss in the light of the shade
          The harp; a white daybed draped
                            with a scarlet sheet.
She yearns for a hug from him, bathing ****
          in light, as their hearts beat in sync
                              and reach the sky.
All she wants is a sweet rest, his hand on her
fine head;                                                
            stroking, sighing, eyes shining,              
                  water that trembles between fingers,
happiness linger!
A feather drifts earnest, the glittering of stars,
And now she cools, recalling their sweet        
goodbye as he rides his mare,
            snow cloak shines eternally.
'Yours is a beauty that will never wilt,' he cooes,
placing a rose in her hair.                  
A rose.                      
A rose...        
Her eyes falls on the white rose in the vase,
              lonesome, thornless proud...                  
We marvel its beauty, its earthbound performance                       
 She holds the rose in her hand, staring at its                    
its crowning glory; petalled virtue
By her ivory velveteen fingers                                          
long finger,
               slim thumb-
She plucks petal by petal by petal by petal
as she looks to the day-sky
                      with a dreaming mind
And when the crown is gone,                            
                       her face is touched by a frown                        
                and the naked stem,
                                    marred by her sensitivity-
                                            ***** of its own beauty-
                                                    for her hand's sake,
her yearning for her lionesque lover,              
                                         and aurorian prayers?          
The stem falls, naked and bald on the ground
    as she closes her eyes, saddened...
She cannot bear the sight of snow-kissed            
flowered bays without the sun,
                   her hymn-
                                  her shield-
Know the true secret behind the red, red rose  
As none know of its venomous mantle    
this Rose lingered in the vase only to be
defiled.
Taken advantage of only to
                            be dumped-
A laughing stock as another more beautiful
                            flower will take its place
Boiling with vengeance, the stem is hale,
jade with envy-
                                               barbed with thorns, a poisoned desire
                      to shield its body,
Its pride, its crown stolen-
                                     From snow to blood-
                                                    its pain turned crimson,
No longer will tears of dew fall!
'It matters not,' Kourê thinks, 'another rose will bud.'
For they, like many perennials and sentient life,
                          are conscious of its limited beauty!
'Mine own beauty and his will last forever.'
From the light beyond,
she sees him.
                                       Her sun that rides the mare!
She runs into his embrace- a pair of happy doves
Her fingers in his gold curls
as he bends the knee,
The air lovingly cold at this display!                  
Ever so content!
                                          Blessings upon the lily in the snow!
Upon her hands, the blood of a rose,
that swears vengeance upon her
for it will be the catalyst!
Blood for blood!
                                  The rose will rise and curse
them with pain ten-fold...

When a published poet dies,
A shooting star falls.
The universe cries
And rainbows hugs waterfalls.

When an old poet dies,
A new poet is born.
Nature lights up a million fireflies,
And a ship gives a tot on its horn.

When a young poet dies,
A Crack appears in a crystal ball.
A Fountain pen dries,
And a sad poem appears on a wall.

When an old poetess dies,
For a while the wind will cease.
Petals will fall from Lillies,
And disappear without a trace.

When a great poetess dies,
Fallen poets observe silence.
The men adorn black bow ties,
And the ladies dress in elegance.

When any poet dies,
The world loses a bright mind.
Shakespeare appears across the skies,
Waving to those of us left behind.

When a poor poet dies,
Nothing at all happens.
The world goes about its duties
He goes on to rest with other legends.


#IvanBrooksPoetry
29/7/2018

Once upon a time, long ago.
Lived a young girl called Ishimo.
Ishimo lived in the trees, between the fields and the deep blue sea.

Ishimo one day decided to explore.
Crept downstairs and out the front door.
Silently sneaking on her knees.
She ran away from her home in the trees.

Ishimo had been running for sometime and was hungry for food and thirsty for drink.
Maybe some wine, Ishimo started to think, she had heard her Mummy say that wine was indeed very fine.

Ishimo was missing her Mummy, started to rub her tummy.
She started to crawl around on the floor looking for something to eat and drink.
Ishimo was very hungry, it was a long time since she had fed, she began to think.
Ishimo found on the ground some berries, bright red and looking very delicious to someone who hadn't eaten all day.
She consumed the berries very quick and soon she realised she was beginning to feel sick.

A short time later she did find a half empty bottle of wine.
A few sips was all she had before deciding her Mummy must be mad.

Sometime later now, her belly in much pain, she laid her head down, not knowing when she would get up again.
Sleeping Ishimo was hard to wake, her Mummy was very distressed.
She loved her little Ishimo very much and felt very blessed.
Mummy shook and shook Ishimo with all her might, until day began to turn to night.
She talked to her about her Father, Brothers and Sisters, how they all dearly loved her and truly missed her.

By the start of the next day as the sun began to rise.
Little Ishimo began to open her eyes.
She saw joy upon her family's faces and heard her Mummy's sighs.
Little Ishimo felt truly alive, smiled and started to rise.

Her Father, Mummy, Brothers and Sisters were indeed very pleased, to have little Ishimo returned to them, they had their fears eased.

Now Mummy and Little Ishimo go from town to town, telling the tale of the day that Ishimo laid her head on the ground.
Warning others not to disobey and take it in their own hands to run away.

Little Ishimo and her friends now respect their environment and berries on the ground and are left for the elders to gather and prepare, for some can be eaten if prepared with care.

Be Wise, Be Safe, know your berries, know your place :)