Lashes blink in front of me
My eyes peruse the sky
Large white billows scattered
Amidst the abundant blue
I see faces, I see creatures
They peep throughout the sky
You may see bleached blobs of puff
But I see,
                 O so much more stuff...

i'd like to fill a shooting star
with paint drops and stir it all
together with the back of a

teaspoon anti-clockwise, and
watch the fragrant fumes lick
the corners and coalesce here;

and when the colors rendezvous like
coffee grinds at the bottom of
my burdened little cup so bitter

i'll sigh and say, "it's done, love,"
it's done and we can drink now,
this liquor of ours made from the clouds.

WHAT A POEM SHOULD BE

A
        Poem
               Should
Be
             Devoid
                  Of sentiments
            Should be
                   Dark as the Night
Or
                Clear as the day,
          *A
      Poem
            Should speak
Attention
And
        Not seek attention
             Should be
           Bright as the culminating cloud
Or
           Dark as the emanating nights
A
        Poem should not seek, but speak
Should be
              Free as the Moon moves the earth
       A
           Poem should
Be
         Free, but not stale
     Should be
            True, but not forced
A Poem
       Should not seek,
          But speak
Should
Be
    Vast as Rainfall
And yet
       Calm as Dew falls
A
                      Poem
Could be
        Violent,
But mean no harm,
Could be hateful,
          But mean no hate
    A
          poem
Should
      Be bright as SUNSHINE,
Should be
           Vast as Rainfall,
      Yet
         Calm as Dew falls
A Poem
     Should not seek attention
But
     Speak attention!!

Should be
        Vast as
               Rainfall

                     *Should
                          Be
    Vast
       As
            Rainfalls

golden sun knocks on the door,
of  black skies.
its rays reach to the ****,
to try open.
but it's winter here,
so your early warmth,
is blocked by my night cloud's keys.

the glassy grasshoppers shatter
when bitten       with straight white teeth
chilled yellow peach pulp       a glacier
low blond table wood       biting silk liquid
fresh hyacinth       jasmine
music       plunk on plunk
pearl skin       soft cloud
rose petal       lips

Sitting in front of the vintage girandole that undermines your beauty,
Running that oak-carved brush through your disheveled hair,
when you look out of your half lift window at the starry night,
carving out imaginary crimson clouds out of nowhere,
I often imagine flying by,
behind the dark of every passionate night
Your eyes make love with, as you look.

standing up slowly with your carelessly draped night-gown,
walking up to the newly white-washed window pane,
when you pull down those calico curtains slowly,
the innocently playful breeze kissing u for the last time,
I often imagine being a night cloud,
seeing you beautiful as always......
your locks flowing all over your freshly nurtured cheeks,
and you desperately trying to hold them back with a smile!

Thick white clouds
Drown rolling mountains;
Gone before the first cold fingers
Can touch the wind-whipped water

The inevitability of darkness
consuming the whites of my eyes
and the whites of my heart
like a grey gloomy cloud
soaked in tears, ready to pour
on bright, glowing grounds

- Kaya