Enchanted by spring’s
rustling whispers
     ... whistles swirl
in the pungent springtime breeze;
steeped with a bedazzling
        cadence
   heart dancing
to a hummingbird’s
         whirs

   waves of breath,
of little wings waft,
whooshing throughout
twining honeysuckle lattice
       a
tiny manger
beset of hidden gold
precious speckled eggs, 
silver lining of smallest hopes
   fruits of fruition
   continuum beheld prize,
concealed in interwoven rootlets;
   
potently perfumed flowers
       while away
the waning dark hours;
swollen full flower moon
           waxing yellow,..
         heavenly fragrance
sweetly-scented suckled nectar
  
the one with eyes of a child,
   wonder ― hidden inside,  
   marvel in the light of grateful eyes
imbibing an unholdable moment's
    spellbinding elixir 
    ... poetry alive

air  so poignantly perfumed
       with blossom
        moonstruck
by spring’s frolicking cadency
a reverent moment's
edifying intoxication

       a sobering beauty that just is...



someone ... May 2017

with water color ink
made permanent with a pin
an emerald garden grew
from the surface of her skin
the sight was divine
the branches aligned
& through the cracks
poured sunlight in.
the honeysuckles oozed
the hollyhocks seeped
as chartreuse hummingbirds
dank nectar through their beaks.
by her favorite birthmark
hanging from a tree
was a silver web of silk
gossamer and dazzling.
with each image set,
pressed onto her skin
her flesh turned bright red
like the rosehips near her ribs.

I sit and listen to the crickets melancholy tune
I watch the moon start to bloom
The stars pirouette across the sky
Soon the frogs are croaking in relpy
Fireflies light up the night
Flickering their golden light

A single wolf starts to howl
As if to ask the age old question how
I ended up so lonely
And where's my one and only

My dog is sitting at me feet
She looks up at me as if to say, nothing here is off beat
In the cool of the evening
the honeysuckle is smelling much sweeter
Than in the day under the sun's heater

The moths flutter around on silent wings
My heart is so light it just sings
I just sit here for hours dreaming
Under the moon that now is just beaming

My dog gets up and moves to the door
I look at my watch it's way past four
She's ready for the foot of my comfy bed
So I oblige, and make my way inside,and lay down my weary head

Darling, your touch, elegant,
like a soft petaled flower,
transfixes me in place,
and your scent drives me mad.

Warm sweet tastes,
like nectar, sugar drops,
trail across my skin.

Those flavors, refreshing,
like honeysuckle on a Summer afternoon,
bold and vibrant like the Sun,
coat my lips like morning dew.

My heart flutters,
like a hummingbird, fast,
and the only thought tormenting me,
is the desire to relive it again.

Honeysuckle running deep in nostril's recollection
Wafting nectar dripping in air, please stop
Must stay present, no time for memory swap
Sneaking in, yellowed dreams, desirous confection
O purgatory, keep me still, deviate no such inflection

Causeway flash backing egg yolk, and lemon spectrum
Road lined in runners, speckling scintillation
This loose maddening of honeysuckle titillation
Reverse your tendril's twist, quivers an ungated septum
Covers, green to yellow transitions, honeysuckle bedlam

I cannot dance down this lane for fear of you
Your ringlets curl, clasp, coil me
On such road of alluvial soil I see
How can I? Must I, escape steer of dew?
You're honeysuckle memory of all I knew

Underwater light faceted
in the enormous aquamarine
set in bronzed stones.
A pale green mist lifts from the pool
follows the lantern lit pathways
back to the dark and shady places
edging to the olive grove
and the blackness
of the wych elms
and the limes
enclosing the garden
like impenetrable walls.

Here, on a very warm night
with a honeysuckle, jasmine breeze
heady, rich and almost liquid
You can stand on the sun-filled stones
stretch and hold
the heart-breaking sweetness
of the night.

Ophelia has
flower petals
growing beneath
her tongue, and
I can taste
honeysuckle
when I kiss her.

There are highways
in the grooves
of her hips.
I like to trace them,
and get lost
somewhere between
intimate whispers and
an unsteady heartbeat.

Ophelia has a
mocking jay stuck
in her throat, and
it sings to me
when she finds
herself stuck in
tangled vines and
dwindling
self-confidence.

She weeps at least
an ocean a day,
and that's more
than my diminutive
hands can catch.
I think I'd like to
spend a few eternities
exploring the peculiar
jungles of Ophelia.

honeysuckle heart, beating so fast
listen in sin the hummingbirds sing
and devour the poisonous pollen