Learning the art of absent love
she absorbs herself with a
perspective only to be seen through
the glasses of rose tinted sunlit skies

Planting seeds of love
she lays amidst meadow fields
staring at pastel palettes

Drifting motions as, her hand lifts
her finger tracing clouds
as painting upon a clear canvas
where her art knows no boundaries

Singing herself lullabies
her soul fed by stardust
her eyes wavering, flickering
& finally closing, into a dreamscape
of mysterious lucidity

Her longing eased, escapism from
a skipping heartbeat bleeding for attachment,
awaiting the blooming of flowers
which follow a winter of freezing hearts
now pining to thaw.

© Sia Jane

Back from the sun baked field
she served him hot meal.

From the quick dip at the pond
droplets lingered on his bronzed frame.

She loved them
the way she loved his eating in peace
standing quietly like a shadow
and then when he rose to go
her lips’ quivered glow
would be one more time killed.

As he trudged to the paddy field
her fragrance haunted him
and wind scattered his sighs
to the land
where the crops would soon be gold!

Two years gone
Willow-o-the-whisp whispers
Fleeting in those final moments
Yet standing stark as limestone monuments
Now that time has passed
Many things I let slip soft as silk against your feverish skin
Hoping that they wound their way through the fog of narcotics
Finding the struggling will of your spirit
Easing your decision to soften your hold
How could I explain that your vessel was failing
You knew in the slowing of your heart
The stressed racing of mine
I could believe you smiled though your features lay lax
Last breath eased out in exhaustion
Finding peace after a well fought war
Two years gone
*I still feel you here

the wormy crawling

carving
pricking

a swarm hum
this sick agony
of stone wet cold

wrackful certitude
of the unseen

a pebble amongst pebbles
found to be thrown far

forgotten

A flash of hours flew
and strayed away the moon blue
sparkle and glitter of skies
all starlit strewn, our interlude
the fire of you
the meld and melt
how it felt
to be seen in this dream
within a dream
to be found
the night we fell
unbound

take my hand when i offer it
and follow me into my dream
   teach me what you know
guide me until i am cascading
   down a poetic rainbow
fill me with flowery words
that come to full bloom
   when pen touches paper
help me turn this underdeveloped lump of grey matter
into a kaleidoscope of verses
that boggle the mind.

Blue bird,under spread protective wings
with boundless love, you hatched the giant egg,
grant this wish, make me transcend
like a ripe pumpkin* getting detached from it's stem;
hitch me a dream ride,when it's time
reach me beyond the limits of mind's make believe.

I arrived into this world
already overwhelmed
unsteady, my eyes reflected deep pleading and worry,
"I'm not sure I'm ready, are you sweet mommy?
Either way we're stuck with each other, best of luck,"
said I to my mother.

I spent my childhood creating sanctuary
in my world of make-believe
so very often I would retreat
to my inner realm of fantasy.

I spent so much time just dancing around
to my own self composed symphonic sounds
I would improvise in my mind
but if not lost in that endeavor
I'd march about feeling clever
making up stories to speak on the spot
to read aloud from any book
cause I did not care what the words might read
I'd spin my own tale as I pleased

Still in this way , I overlay
a touch of magic into my days
it makes it possible
the supernatural ~
to coincide with what my eyes perceive
what my mind believes to be reality.

So when the night falls
gently over me, I lay peacefully
my body and the spirit of my soul departs easily
into the realm of innocence
where all that is has always been and always will be
th'ineffable thought of infinity.

When I wake to begin again
I understand the master plan
is co-creation
in the dance of Life.
Beautiful and tragic,
but always magic
nothing appears as it seems
when everything
is but a dream.

The silent conversations in our letters
are cradled by the lovely, lonesome breezes of  the spring.
They travel just a little beyond  the horizon.
And, settle into the depths of the waveless oceans.

Night after night, they make a call.
Come hither, friend! Rescue us all.

When the slightest puff of wind brushes away
the strands of your dark, raven hair from your creased forehead.
Do not close the windows.

When the hushed whispers tickle your ears
Do not dismiss them as just another noise.

Night after night, they make a call.
Come hither, friend! Rescue us all.

They are treasures buried in coffers of the past.
They are gold, and they glitter.
They are dreams of a distant future,
Vague and infinite.

So, when you wake up in middle of the night
from the visions in your deep sleep.
Do not dismiss them as just another nightmare.

They are like the carols of Christmas, poetry of the past.
They are musings of a lovely, lonesome heart.
Do not dismiss them as just another prose.

*Night after night, they make a call.
Come hither, friend! Rescue us all.