The nature of nature she is; very silent.
Not heard and can't be spoken about.
Silence, a poet's way to bring out words:
Break her and I see myself left with Songs.

The mother of words she is; very thoughtful.
Nourishes them and they forget her throughout.
Silence, a seeker's way to see the divine:
Break her and I see myself left with Gods.

Omnipresent she is; very generous.
Disguises herself as sound, music or words.
Silence, that music which stands alone:
Break her and I see myself left with tunes.

-The Silent Poet

Like some wind, she roams freely
Polishes dusty stones, among which I'm truly
A free bird, wanders in the vast blue sky
"She will halt eventually", it seems a lie
Like Enshrined Enchantress Now All

An admirer of beauty, and indeed a beauty herself
Infatuation, eventually develops
Those beautiful eyes and the irregular smile
Occupies my imagination, every once in a while
Love Eternal Enroute November Amazon

Words were never, and won't ever be enough
Soon the weather will come, one that of sneeze and sniff
Though seemed, it wasn't so
The love was, is, and will always be true
Life Endures Empowered Nota-Bene All

Tall
breeze bending tops
rooted deep
faceted to growth
tips seeking light
scented sounds in needles
beautiful feminine formed spiral cones masculine inconspicuous pollinating
   pistils
overlapping in season never ceasing a
   productive moment
never fallen, always green

Reminds me of eternal life

the trouble lies
in your thighs
plump skin, of pink, apricot, nutmeg
fresh flesh fetched far
taught to knee, cuffed at ankle
red carpet to round hips
they ripple, as you stomp
as they should
you're a peach bottomed girl of pear tree house

she is a willow girl
her legs, they wind
country lanes that slim and thin
less lard, longer length
one music note to pink, apricot, nutmeg toes
pillars under sacred, upholding
the light twist of hips
is there the same problem
does it there lie
in that girl's thighs?

your thighs are equally moulded
pink, apricot, nutmeg
soft and plump and trembling, still
in mountains, or molehills
you're a peach bottomed girl of pear house
she is a willow tree girl of birch place
together, women
you have thighs
and neither of
those thighs
lies

What are we but a sweet daydream?
So full of creativity, and
Our hearts out in the open left to vulnerability.

What are we but the endless ideas of love and romance?
We should be compelled to love ourselves foremost,
we must give this a chance.

-We need sophrosyne-

What are we that we truly don't appreciate the beauty
in being a woman?

-We need effeminacy-

©A. Harris 2015

{i remember}

She comes to presence
in a great wave of grief
that has no bottom.

{water cannot swim}

Feeling the unbearable
weight of womanhood
tearing me open,
revealing my own sorrows.

{a channel of life}*

To be a gate of love and blood,
the flesh of desire,
bearer of all burdens,

was so traumatic I was reborn
in the body of a man.

She stood still before the choas; unshaken.
The wind blew its mighty breath against Her core but to no avail; unmoved.
Her coffee'd skin warm like the sun that kisses the Earth's horizon.
Something within Her had risen without warning nor permission:
She was a Goddess, in Her own right.

Brown. The soft tone of the Earth.
Golden hue painted widely across the canvas of Her *****.
Her skin like caramelized silk, with the sunglow of Egypt itself.

She pressed Her face to the Earth's floor and moved mountains with Her prayers.
Queen of the meek, ambassador of the poor.
She was the perfect amalgam of beauty and brokenness.
~The Goddess of Humility.

Goddess is a description
of radiance, not of appearance.

~ z.s

(F)AMILIAR
(E)legance
(M)orality
(I)ntellectuality
(N)oise
(I)ndp­endency
(N)imbleness
(E)fficiency