Poetry
to me
is taking
my pain
and making
it sing.

it is morning and
love hides in the bed
linen where
still-sleepy arms
and legs start to awake.

the scent of rose
on the pillow,
the scent of love
blossoming with
a kiss beneath the sheets,
honey limbs
roused in the sunshine.

late november and
the leaves fall,
spiralling to the
floor, browns and
golds, sinking,
earth bound
in the crisp morning
air.


sunshine
pouring through
the window,
a thin sun
stretches out,
the grey-eyed winter
waits like our
kisses, sweet as
cherry, sweet as our
yearning lips.

i.

drunken in my pockets,
the day whispers to the trees that
pin to you, albatross
of a wind-swept sea loosening
feathers and heart-beats in
short, death-caught seconds.

ii.

gorgeous girl of height,
your caves are bright mysteries
your light an elephant's graveyard
of grey.

iii.

bitter note of earth,
you anchor birth
to our eye sockets, unwrap
mint and honey from the hills.

iv.

uneasy mistress,
dark daughter of sight,
sunk into all the corners of the world
you break like string,
you break and i break with you.



v.

vignette of ivy-coloured dreams,
sunny trail, you break my heart and
glue it back, sigh and sigh like a viking raider
conjured out of porcelain
and rose-water.

vi.

warrior of distant planes,
dense harbour of a lonely city,
landscape of water, unravelled
in an instant, a velvet
ribbon tied into a bow.

Make this want wither,
O Rain!

Dig a brook hither
In my vein,

And plant on either side
Of my pain -

Swaying thousands
Of bluebells.
LazharBouazzi (December 15, 2017)

Let me offer you a blue and scarlet balance
To wish you on these jocund days of Christmas
What mortals tire not of wishing to themselves:
A fragrant, eternal equilibrium.
© LazharBouazzi (December 19, 2017)