Isles
Careening masses of of basalt
Indignant - they reach up
Like arms stretching
Towards
Billows
Of amber cloud
That dance like irises
Finding not what they sought but what
They love

This morning is not
just a shadow of me.
But a dancing
of the trees.
The bite of a new
unwelcome spring breeze.
My ennui should call
for a falling of leaves,
to dot this sunrise.

Green grass grows where
Leaves once fell.

Even the greatest trees have
Scars unquelled.

Each autumnal passing gives
way to a swell.

So fear neither valleys nor
mourn for a knell.

If I could cup the sun
I would hide it away.
And if I could steal the moon
I would never let it free.

The gardens of the world
can become withered and gray.
And the ancient waltz can stop,
the crashing dance of the sea.

If just for one moment
I can see in your eyes
the shimmering lights
as from beneath the night sky.

Soft - the doe
And jet black crow.
Carrion bird of sorrow and woe
may pick at bone and viscera sew.

But nature's beauty makes two wed
not despite but because of that thread.

The sky's sad soul
Grey and overcast.
The bells now toll
For me at last.

The clouds weep
not once for me.
Shed no tears -
hang just misery.

To cast their shadows
they coo and croon.
Like mockingbirds
of long-missed boons.

Flitting away on
The Spring I lost.
Feather and leaf fall,
As I, too, exhaust.

Waiting around.
My hands are still, and my heart is slow.
My stars still here, but where will they go?
Coiling around.
My mind is numb, and my nerves as well.
Does this snakes meal, have will to yell?

It's strange to say:
"Paris is for lovers."
Considering love has shipwrecked me.
Here in Barcelona.

It is a long walk.
That one has to take.
There's no map, but lots of directions.
From Barcelona. To Montmartre.

It's not quite apt
to fix everything.
But perhaps it's at least content.
There in Montmartre.

Monsters are made.
And beasts are born.
But we - what are we?
Our nature torn.
As ancient and deep
as the ocean's great sleep
The sea - oh the sea.
Will swallow what we reap.
Boundless as sky.
Like a mockingbird wry.
Be free - oh be free.
Of what we men pry.

Oyasumi, ne?
The flower suffocating -
ice piling towards heaven.
Deluged in the driven snow.
She will bleed in Spring's embrace.



Sleep well, just this once.
The flower suffocating -
ice piling towards heaven.
Deluged in the driven snow.
She will bleed in Spring's embrace.

Soft hands from a horizon I don't know
Flit small tufts of shimmering white sea
And gingerly test the bones of each tree
To - or from - a world I'm too scared to go

There's a warmth set inside here that imposes
That I reach not past the glass and open no door
That I break not the paths my heart once bore
But my garden is now frosted and I've only corpses of roses

The crackling hearth whistles, snaps and proposes
That I settle my regrets and wrestle no more
Renunciate the whispering wishes and settle my core
But is this warmth just a trapping as the door slowly closes

The frost looks not biting, not sharp as my woes
And the roads look not traveled, not as worn down as me.
But the snow has kept falling, unbounded and free
And I've wasted these moments, too, lamenting my throes.

A sea so still, where waves don't crash.
A balcony
The moon won't see.
A hearth alone, that won't make ash.
This still from which I must be ripped.
Instead I pray
please take away
my thoughts, my heart. I lose my grip.

Thrashing winds weather worlds to dust
and purpose fades to wanderlust.
Pillars of salt, clad in rust.
Is it sadness found?
Gripping chill cuts to bone through flesh
To ignite memories afresh
To spark the nerves, throw and thresh,
Is it rancor grown?
For years and years you've built this shrine
You've watched the sun set endlesstimes
Vigneron, blind to his own vine.
To lose it all; at last unbound.

Twin clouds
Sweet purity
Dancing twix winds of will
Among flits and flutters of hearts
Snowy

ι άνεμοι πλένουν τον καθαρό αέρα της θάλασσας.
Ο ήλιος πλένει φωτεινή γλυκιά ζεστασιά.
Πλένεις όμορφα τραγούδια αγάπης.
--
The wind washes the fresh sea air.
The sun washes warm radiant rays.
You wash beautiful love songs.

Stone set—
rigid and cold and held in it's grip
but I thank it's hardheadedness for supporting me now.
Snow blistered—
stained and splayed by sanguinous touch
but I still smell the fresh falls and frigid boughs.
Breath panged—
quick and shallow with chill lingering on lip
but it's just stuck in her lungs, and like limb will, too, sever.
Teeth grit—
lockjaw keeping wound fresh in the clutch
but I savor her movements, her words, now more than ever.

There exists no such kindness
To quite ever match the sea-
To bound bout the land
Threading stories and heart

Life and it's kingdoms
Wax and wane at her hand
A blink in her eye before apogee
What will we sing back when we depart?

Sing not anger in your last stand
Sing not of woes nor of sorrow
Sing sweetly back to the somber lady
Sing of the ways she adorned us in art

And know that together we will be
With her always - something grand.

Winding of calling shores, cresting waves crash amore.
Odes of wind, evoke my song, the sweet dark sea
May sing along, while bow and string cry out true-
My fluttering form dies every last time
I dare avert my eyes. Your form, pale yet divine.
Moon and stars, dance and shine, all the sky still pales.
Through all their beauty: I am captured by you.

Fall tree, more beautiful undraped-
Barren form, just as you were shaped.
Frost bites, tearing green - you escaped.
What you've become can only grow.

As you die, you'll be at your crest.
For every year you spent in wrest
You may go to your roots, appressed.
Shreik once last so the wind may blow.

The ground will creak and wind will howl
as your roots are shucked among growl.
Year and year towards the sun you prowl.
Icarus, in the shade you sow.

Too late for us both to ask aid,
too late to tell you why I stayed.
Too soon, for me, to find new shade.
I'll lie with you; as one we'll go.