"cafune" poems
~
the language of love,
it has no equivalence,
we speak what we hope,
we seek what we love;
vacillating? perhaps,
but there is no ambivalence.
lovers whisper, lovers shout;
alternating between holding it in,
or getting the words out.
whether sweet words of friendship,
or letting the heart go,
each tells a tale, a heartbeat,
one the spirit only knows.
is it the “shemomedjamo” of Georgia,
the “overindulgence that
cannot stop this appetite;”
or “lagom” of the Swedes,
who speak of moderation?
where what i have and what i see,
is perfect, just right!
the words, “koi no yokan,”
from the culture of the east,
Japanese speak of the instant of knowing
a love that’s “meant to be.”
there is “mamihlapinatapai,”
used by those at the tip,
of Tierra del Fuego’s windswept cliffs,
a lover’s wish they can’t set free;
further north Brazilians speak,
of “cafune,” the sweet tugging
at her long and flowing hair;
a love that reaches,
strokes, so tenderly.
the Thai use “greng-jai,”
for love that defers...
and to sacrifice refers;
the French have “retrouvailles,”
a love that sparks rediscovery,
where distance knows no separation;
“onsra,” is a love
soon to be a thing of the past;
used in Burma and India when spoken of
a love that cannot last.
the “saudade,” of the Portuguese,
of love that can no longer be,
though it may have been consuming,
is now but bittersweet.
and then... there is Arabic’s “tuqburni,”
a love that says so gently
“without you i am dying!”
each, it has no English equivalent
yet somehow we manage...
we find our true love,
in relationships, in marriage,
for love is a catholic language;
even when there are no words,
where touch, where tender looks,
translations of the unheard thoughts;
where pillows hold the notes of longing,
empty bars and stanzas filled;
oh love, oh boundless one,
under steeples pledge your troth,
to death’s door you take your oath,
to forever sing your universal song!
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 1:28 AM UTC
I don't recall where in the bible it says
Love thy neighbor, unless they are...
or
*Do unto others as you would have them
do unto you, unless...*
Of course, if you're quoting bible verse
or any form of religious doctrine
you're in a lot of trouble anyway!
These words tend to contradict themselves.
That, and you're quoting a book,
not your soul.
Maybe some of your soul
is in those sacred pages,
but definitely not all.
And why are you scouring books
trying to learn how to live your life?
The answers aren't in there anyway,
at least not whole ones.
The answers are in you!
God is you! You are god!
You are created from particles that inhabit the universe!
You are the universe!
YOU ARE NATURE!
YOU ARE ALL!
All the answers are in you,
just have to know where to look.
Just have to remember,
just have to remember
just have to remember...
just have to remember
we are god, the universal ONE
creators of our own habitats
& sustaining celestial universes of friends and family.
Like the universal ONE
we make and create life
from ****** cosmic big bang howls hurling white rock into feminine space only for a star child to be born over time.
Billions of lives reside & crawl within skin walls, cavernous intestines & ride on vein roads controlled by the omnipotent electrical awareness called the ONE brain & son mind.
Each new friendship & connection is its own universe and some expand too quickly fizzling out with a deflated echo of "It's not you, it's me," and returned DVD's
while others cultivate and grow gradually sustaining a millenia lifetime of cafune, pumpkin pancakes in bed, Facebook photos and winks.
We are the ONE where all the answers reside,
just need to have the heart to look inside
to find your higher calling is to honor thyself
as you would the univer-SOUL ONE.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
My anticipation awaits the moment...
I take a deep breath...
We lay looking into each others eyes...
A simple parting kiss...
Holding your head in my hands...
As the wind blows past your face...
The gentle wash of water over you...
...Cafune
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
I love the way books cannot be
unread, cannot erase the sweet oils
and thumbprints like black oak tree rings
they are there for all the slivers
of sunlight and literary cafune
soft knuckles pressed into their
spines
they remind me that while I am not new
I can remain unknown, that though
opened by some I am neither novel lying in wait
or closed into his old bookshelves,
a thin draft in a library of what-ifs
he did not get to k e e p you
however you did, you did
found your
way into other hands, without much grace, albeit,
baltering from home to home
a solivigant prose--
this way, and that, small bind
paperback.
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 10:57 PM UTC
Nervous steps,
she finally took.
Courage to form a syllable.
She didn't care if he wasn't her's,
for her affection was for him, entirely.
The strong sense of hope while she looked at him,
constant tautness in her weak regions, her strong desire to cafune.
She didn't love him,
for he was art
and art was not loved, but appreciated.
He made her insides burn,
with the alternate movement of his fingers,
knew she was gone deep.
Knew she had fallen,
for he wasn't a love interest,
he was a story.
Story with each turn of page, a new chapter.
Passionate, fervent
his thoughts differed.
Encircled arms around hourglass waists,
she wanted to relish him,
for him to be all her firsts.
Gone too deep,
She knew she had it,
Down there, strong clenches.
She dreamt him,
imagines into reality.
She didn't care if he wasn't her's.
She adored his intense love,
for his love.
Knew she would never be the girl he sincerely cherished,
but that did not stop her.
From keeping a special part of her, for him.
Cathartically,
she wasn't suffering,
for this was the kind of love, without him being with her.
He was the matutine,
and she was the night.
They were meant to interlace, but never seen together.
~ kc.
23.4.16
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 10:36 AM UTC