In a playful vision sent
Your ****** homologue
Of amber shins and pale phalanges
Weaves four-leaved clovers.

In response,
***** spurs
And protean winged descent
To float into your kaleidoscopic star:
Gliding,
Freely falling,
To rest in lace extremities.

There in our bed of sensual feet,
Sunflowers breath,
Whose burnished rotating petals
Gather me in wisps,
Each spiral frond,
Gyring
Before death's voids
Is drawn in purls.

And in pleasures held,
Cossetted in latticed limbs,
A ***** lustrous rich embrace;
Denuded and alive!
And with abandon kissed:

    Bony toes
    Tendons
    Deep arches
    Shins
    Ankles,
    Sweetmeats,
    Light and delicate.

As here between pretty shins
And fleshy silken feet
Our ascent begins
Rising,
From low regions,
To scale new night,
And crown our heights.

This lovers' leap into prismatic
reproduction
In the empty Cosmic wastes
     In a web is caught!
Where feet and toes inspire
Continuity for pointed stars.

As material possibilities collide
The lust for life
Is born in non-existence:
So in our nest of feet,
Mating in the game
With heads thrown back,
Of lust drink deeply we.

Come, my darling, let us dance
To the moon that beckons us
To dissolve our love in trance
Heedless of the hideous
Heat & hate of Sirius-
Shun his baneful brilliance!

Let us dance beneath the palm
Moving in the moonlight, frond
Wooing frond above the calm
Of the ocean diamond
Sparkling to the sky beyond
The enchantment of our psalm.

Let us dance, my mirror of
Perfect passion won to peace,
Let us dance, my treasure trove,
On the marble terraces
Carved in pallid embroeideries
For the vestal veil of Love.

Heaven awakes to encompass us,
Hell awakes its jubilance
In our hearts mysterious
Marriage of the azure expanse,
With the scarlet brilliance
Of the Moon with Sirius.

Velvet swatches our lissome limbs
Languid lapped by sky & sea
Soul through sense & spirit swims
Through the pregnant porphyry
Dome of lapiz-lazuli:-
Heart of silence, hush our hymns.

Come my darling; let us dance
Through the golden galaxies
Rhythmic swell of circumstance
Beaming passion’s argosies:
Ecstacy entwined with ease,
Terrene joy transcending trance!

Thou my scarlet concubine
Draining heart’s blood to the lees
To empurple those divine
Lips with living luxuries
Life importunate to appease
Drought insatiable of wine!

Tunis in the tremendous trance
Rests from day’s incestuous
Traffic with the radiance
Of her sire-& over us
Gleams the intoxicating glance
Of the Moon & Sirius.

Take the ardour of my impearled
Essence that my shoulders seek
To intensify the curled
Candour of the eyes oblique,
Eyes that see the seraphic sleek
Lust bewitch the wanton world.

Come, my love, my dove, & pour
From thy cup the serpent wine
Brimmed & breathless -secret store
Of my crimson concubine
Surfeit spirit in the shrine-
Devil -Goddess -****** -*****.

Afric sands ensorcel us,
Afric seas & skies entrance
Velvet, lewd & luminous
Night surveys our soul askance!
Come my love, & let us dance
To the Moon and Sirius!

In the divet between mountains
Resides a wooden cabin – ostensibly an amalgamation of the scape
Adroitly - I - quondam female warrior flit
Down massive (ancient) hand-laid, hand-cut carved stone steps
Bounding from contingent step onto the dense pad of turned soil
Tacit compliance between gravity and soil holds footprints bound
A compressed deflating crescendo as pace ignites with bounds

Cadences of protuberant wildflowers and grasses erupt from swollen terra
A winsome chromatic menagerie, dispersed in ecstatic fistfuls
A venerably ancient ritual

My nascent clandestine vocation
Personally meted out - a beatification for my provisional sanctuary

Along glacier-fed stream
Lissome fingers shadow inert stalks –plucking dormant beginnings from their desiccated ligaments

I am austere and unadorned save for a festoon of pyrite flecks trailing my semblance
Residual gilding from my ante-meridian swim taken after requisite gathering of wild blackberries, goose berries, and rhubarb along oft-tamped path

The sun, nestling into its requisite apex endorsed my completion
I reclined into the hassock of soil, feeling the elements settle about with an embossment of my form
Imposing verdure arched subtly as compressed soil beckoned hyperbolic flux

As I lay within the basilica of opulent living columns replete with comestible bounty
Lingering dew honed inflections of sacrosanct petrichor in unison with piquant clover
Wild purple clover buds saccharinely tinted and inundated nestled nerves in mine cribriform plate

Birds pitched and galloped through the frond tips and beyond in the lapis expanse
Frequently snatching damselfly’s and assemblages of midges from their ephemeral drift

Auspicious rays transcended stippled diaphanous gravid clouds
Light inundated ether entered humbly into the cathedral oculus
Pyrite speckled terrain beneath, and my bare gilded form above
Cast a refracted aura about my sanctuary

Precipitously the elusive vaporous embankment distended further
Ashen atmospheric correspondence inaugurated liquescent sustenance to my mountain abode

And I -
Lingered beneath the descending gobbets, curls furled in a puddle
Fresh topsoil cupping my corporal topographic contours
Pressing blackberries into my mouth between smiles

Saint Jude says what's up
been in Boston all night
having coffee and tea, I bet
you're doing the same
in Tibet or wherever

They tried everything
on you: the secret arrests
burned Rumi books
poisoned coconut water
giraffes with broken faces

Loneliness is the door to the traps
but you know
who you are
I know too when I see you
on the coast

as still, as skinny as
one of my African statues
as lithe as a palm frond or a jellyfish
You were always going to get free
you were always going to get free

Leaves
Murmuring by miriads in the shimmering trees.
Lives
Wakening with wonder in the Pyrenees.
Birds
Cheerily chirping in the early day.
Bards
Singing of summer, scything thro' the hay.
Bees
Shaking the heavy dews from bloom and frond.
Boys
Bursting the surface of the ebony pond.
Flashes
Of swimmers carving thro' the sparkling cold.
Fleshes
Gleaming with wetness to the morning gold.
A mead
Bordered about with warbling water brooks.
A maid
Laughing the love-laugh with me; proud of looks.
The heat
Throbbing between the upland and the peak.
Her heart
Quivering with passion to my pressed cheek.
Braiding
Of floating flames across the mountain brow.
Brooding
Of stillness; and a sighing of the bough.
Stirs
Of leaflets in the gloom; soft petal-showers;
Stars
Expanding with the starr'd nocturnal flowers.

There was a whispering in my hearth,
A sigh of the coal,
Grown wistful of a former earth
It might recall.
  
I listened for a tale of leaves
And smothered ferns,
Frond-forests, and the low sly lives
Before the fawns.
  
My fire might show steam-phantoms simmer
From Time's old cauldron,
Before the birds made nests in summer,
Or men had children.
  
But the coals were murmuring of their mine,
And moans down there
Of boys that slept wry sleep, and men
Writhing for air.
  
I saw white bones in the cinder-shard,
Bones without number.
For many hearts with coal are charred,
And few remember.
  
I thought of all that worked dark pits
Of war, and died
Digging the rock where Death reputes
Peace lies indeed:
  
Comforted years will sit soft-chaired,
In rooms of amber,
The years will stretch their hands, well-cheered
By our life's ember;
  
The centuries will burn rich loads
With which we groaned,
Whose warmth shall lull their dreaming lids,
While songs are crooned;
But they will not dream of us poor lads
Lost in the ground.

She was sure of the shore,
much before the crushing storms
buried her at four - shoveled and pale
Sunk her soul
the brutal gales wailed

Tides dragged her off without a name
she lived where seashells lay
No words to speak, the silence keeps
fear's troubling beasts at bay

Cold watery world, no place for a girl
she sleeps now in a fern's curl
songbirds sing of forest's green
the frond gently unfurls

In a dark room at the top of the hill
Last summer flowers brought in from the chill
She placed them just so in a vase of pure white
In hopes they would last through a few more hard nights

With daffodils yellow and daisies bright red
Warming the nightstand beside her cold bed
There in the gloom on colorful display
Two petals had wilted much to her dismay

Stroking the softness of each fallen frond
Knowing to stem they could no longer bond
She watched one more petal float down to the floor
A tear slowly fell as she then plucked three more

Plucking the petals in lost reverie
“He loves me not but does he love me”
One for the moments they shared in delight
Two for the secrets revealed in the night

Three for the dreams and the wishes so pure
Four for reality’s hardened, cold cure
Five petals lost for the time they were wed
Six fell like tears to alight on her bed

Seven plucked petals to remind of his song
And then, just like him, all the petals were gone
There in a dark room at the top of the hill
Blown petals returned into winter’s cold chill

I strolled, awhile, down by that bog
Through thick, astringent, swirling fog....
Perchance, perhaps, in circumstance
I fancied that the reeds did dance,
Swayed in time to pulsing beat
Expanding in round ripples, neat,
To radiate across the pond
In league with moss of ferny frond.
Causing spider webs to sway
Through which the dewdrops came to play
In iridescent beams of light
Illuminating shards of night
Which cast a most unearthly glow
That only frogs in bogs, would know.....
And know they did from ancient time
Where bullfrogs ruled in slippery slime
When incandescence filled the glade
Whilst time stood still and mayflies played.

Dancing in the fantasy of Patty's Pond.
With love M.

A leaf, a leaf, how queer to think
That trees discard their precious leaves.
While people fear their thinning hair,
A tree’s lifeblood glides through the air.

A child awaits the coming fall,
“The leaves, mommy, they’ve lost them all.
I’m bald and bare, these trees are me.”
In silent death, she grins with glee.

A leaf, a leaf, how queer to think
These trees release frond in a blink.
A mindless shelling to the wind,
The Trees of Winter, **** and trimmed.

That child finds herself a friend;
In naked bark, she can pretend
A tree can shelter her from rain
That showers down in forms of pain.

A leaf, a leaf, how queer to think
These children’s minds form paper links
Like leaves that twirl through steady breeze.
A little girl with brown eyes sees

A future where tree branches sway
In Barren Land, an air’s melee
With wooden fingers shaking hard.
A tree so scared to break in shards.

A child’s dream is soon realized
To be her life; unauthorized.
“These trees, mommy, they shake like me.
Why must strong leaves from these Trees leave?

                Why does my hair fall from my head?
                Did God make me so sick I shed?”

2007, revised May 2nd, 2013*

How neatly northerly she points her tail,
With fluffsome front paws pointing to the south;
Whiskers point west and eastwards, without fail,
Each side of her benignly-smiling mouth.

She navigates from rockery to pond
And slyly measures distances ahead,
With whiskers poised, behind a ferny frond,
Waiting to stalk fishes, with stealthy tread.

A water pistol thwarts her cunning scheme,
Fired from the door with some accuracy;
And like one rudely wakened from a dream,
She leaps into the air, and bolts to flee.

But soon her equanimity returns;
She's back smiling at fishes, through the ferns.

The jungles dense down by the fence
with daisies tall as trees,
where butterflies so softly rise
upon the morning breeze.

There's beatles too of green and blue
And ladybugs of red,
plus honey bees with hairy knees
down by the flower bed.

There by the pond beneath a frond 
There sits a mouse of white,
with pirates cap and treasure map
and compass clean and bright.

"Avast!" he cries "the treasure lies
atop mount rockery"
where legends told a land of gold
hides in the shrubbery.

So down at base he spies the face
and slowly starts to climb,
past plastic gnomes with mushroom homes
And bells that softly chime.

With well placed paws and scrabbling claws
he climbed toward the peak,
first left then right and hold on tight
his muscles tired and weak.

The summit found he kissed the ground
and checked the path ahead,
where mossy rocks and hollyhocks
marked out the flower bed.

Amongst the green the temple seen
the legends had not lied,
a few feet more he found the door
and opened it up wide.

The treasure chest lay in a nest
surrounded by eight eggs,
then at his back a shadow black
arose on spindly legs.

"Caw caw" it said it's eyes bright red
"please leave my eggs alone,
the treasure there I'll gladly share"
she spoke in softer tone.

"Nay keep it pray for here today
I've found a better prize,
a brand new friend at journeys end
was such a sweet surprise.

"Now I must go the sun is low
and night now paints the sky,"
"the path ahead is hard" she said
"why walk when you can fly"

So homeward bound he reached the ground
and headed to the shore,
setting afloat his little boat
he waved goodbye once more.

"Time now" he said "to rest my head"
rocked softly by the deep,
upon a bed of cheese and bread
he slowly fell asleep.

Thor is a place with birds in a pond.
Many birds; some small, some blonde
Few birds come as the seasons demand.
Come and visit Thor with Sanket to remand
All the known and unknown birds beyond.

Thor is a place with birds in a pond.
Let it be cashew or nut or almond,
Bring any thing for birds with monde
And see many types of birds beyond
The island, colours that birds donned.

Thor is a place with birds in a pond.
Few birds are black, and few blonde;
Canteen ready with food on demand,
Garden with plants having leaves frond,
Pond with birds different on demand.

Thor is a place with birds in a pond.
Security guards allow us, on demand,
To take cameras to view and shoot monde
Of varied birds here and beyond.
So, visit Thor with Pari Style in a pond.

Dormant aspirations lie in winter's fallow ground
Burgeoning freedom furrowed in shallow soil; sovereign elements do pound
Infertile seeds in barren hearths tightly wound
A cold wind from on high scourges each, desolate mound
A dreary drizzle from hovering, satin crowns seeps deep; hopes are drowned
Nutrients for spawning growth are leached; blighting tentacles surround
Ambition suppressed, inactive period of malaise doth abound

In due season, warming rays of light shine thawing frozen hearts
Incubating innate desire to fulfill individual destinies, from chained depth departs
In destitute minds, a burgeoning sprout of liberty starts
Branching forth into fertile souls, intestinal fiber imparts
Taking root, it spreads deep, penetrating shielded ramparts
A fragile frond from each wavering limb darts 
Triumphing in tyrannous environment, a fruitful future charts

people mill about,
most tourists, some locals,
looking at all the shiny jewelry
and the hand-made palm-frond baskets,
feeling the money in their pockets
and the sun on the back of their necks,
and somewhere else in the world
the president plots a drone strike
on a desolate desert in Asia,
and two Dutch florists make love
after a beautiful anniversary dinner,
and a spider dies silently after falling
under the sandal of a Brazilian child,
and somewhere there is an old rotting
apple left out from the morning meal,
and somewhere a scientist is weeping
with joy at his or her new discovery,
and somewhere there is a boy weeping
at the loss of his first and only love,
and somewhere people make a toast,
and somewhere someone drinks alone,
and somewhere there is a man writing
poetry about a place he just returned
from.

and somewhere there is a day,
and somewhere there is a night,
and somewhere the sun is just setting,
and somewhere the sun is just about
to rise.

science now has shown it plain as plain
that clouds and coastlines share an abstract bond
as do trees - indeed each green or grain
yes, every leaf and every twirling frond -
the large may be divined within the small,
an ocean in a single drop of rain -
minute the variation to recall
complexities of evolution's chain;  
no need to travel far as either pole
to plumb the depths of man or womankind
and while there is uniqueness in each soul
our kindred nature's easy there to find
    we all tell truths - yet none are free from lies
    thou seest all in every person's eyes

You gently pushed me
into a wall
with your frame on mine again.
A wall –
Painted so long ago you –
could no longer smell the volatile compounds
Acutely confined - my frame
between yours and its.

Palm frond muted light spilled
into imposing window
from New Orleans street lamp
Diffracted in dappled condensate orb.

Condensation drapes into pearls - collapsing
on themselves, and dropped
in unison
with – our - shifts.

Uneven wooden floor panels echo
our obsequious rhythm
of physical appreciation, settled
into their granular responsibility.

Your pulse
embodied in your palms and hips
lilts in soft gasps
as I drape my forearm over your shoulder –
sliding body forward - I dip
into the crook of your neck
finding your pulse on my nose.

I prop my chin into
your
Collar bone crook
glancing into
your deepening eyes,
and press my lips into the
grooves of your neck
as you arch - into
the delicate moment before reciprocation.

I do not wonder what it would be like if walls could talk;
I would love to see them show impressions
of those that have touched their surface –
revealed in smears of paint.

And feel
racing pulses echoed
within those who pressed
into these corridors --
listening to secrets of one another’s bodies.

Grind deeper,
the wall will record our pulse tonight,
and perhaps –
our next encounter
will entail
our bodies
in paint
telling stories we could never capture
in our eyes locked into one another.

.                                                                                  o
                                                                                  f
                                                                                 hu
                                                                                man
                                                                               thin
                                                                              gs: ma
                                                                             ny doin
                                                                            g, thing
                                                                           s human
                                                                          are more n
                                                                         eatly couth i
                                                                        n Into-Dust co
                                                                       ats of polite var
                                                                      nish and their ha
                                                                     ats hang at precise
                                                                    their teeth ivory and
                                                                   the smell of their colo
                                                                  gne catches back at the
                                                                 throat wearing finest silk
                                                                s (but time, time looks bru
                                                               tally through their and prim
                                                              shoes and trousers. knees sag
                                                             eyes hang instantly
                                                                                                 languor w
                                                           ears them like cheap perfume and
                                                          laughter unsuddenly from nowhere
                                                         crisps the cheeks of everywaiting sou
                                                        l creeks with soon to be dirt bones and
                                                       amongst them sprouts something gener
                                                      ous. Less close to nearly dead, and has (l
                                                     ike a frond has) demure sturdy waifish. its
                                                    timber is clothed in blonde lips and eyes lik
                                                   e waking almost never(no like daffodils; yes l
                                                  ike more them) only daffodils, they are not so b
                                                 right, nor as agile, i think but who knows i was o
                                                nly a boy who, from across the street noticed, a girl
                                               pressed between death,
                                                                                                     laughing like a *****

Ask me what I want to do, go fish
if I had a genie, it’s what I would wish
in the lake, river, creek or pond
eagerly cast next to a fern frond

Wiggle my bait and work it some more
hoping a fish cannot ignore
flipping up under docks
or the edges of piles of rocks

Working the tree stumps
waiting on a big thump
on my lure, adrenaline pumps
waiting for the end of my rod to jump

Bass, on Carolina, Alabama, or Texas rigs
crappie and pan fish I’ll catch on a jig
white bass and hybrids, on slabs and spoons
I have even caught them casting at  loons

Sam Rayburn, Cedar Creek or Lake Fork
I’m getting excited just like a dork
Tawakoni, Amistad, or Nacogdoches
if I ran out of bait, man I would use roaches

Livingston, Stryker, or the Trinidad  Lake
catching some fish, fry them up on a plate
bait cast, and spin cast, pushbuttons oh wow
I also can fly-fish, I taught myself how

Gar, carp and buffalo, anything that bites
looking for something to make my line tight
Matagorda, or Galveston, or Port A
I have no problems fishing  the bay

Intercoastal waterway or out in the surf
no problems cooking surf and turf
Black drum, Red fish or Speckled trout
as long as they’re biting I’ll never pout

Whiting, and Croakers and even Hardheads
catching are fun, getting the slime off you dread
gaff tops are pretty, but just as slimy nasty
I’ve never had any, I hear their pretty tasty

Flounders are flat and so are sting rays
but if that’s what’s biting I’ll fish everyday
jacks, and mackerel and bonnet head sharks
so many fish in the ocean, that’s just a start.

How about invasives, silver carp and snakeheads
cast for the snakehead, jumping carp in a net
I’ve fished lots of bass, native and Florida strain
but there is one thought that sticks in my brain

Is I’d like to go catch some peacock bass
top water action would really kick ***.
catch and release or serve it up in a dish
as you can see I really love to fish

The jungles dense down by the fence
with daisies tall as trees,
where butterflies so softly rise
upon a summers breeze.

There's beetles too of black and blue
and orange white and red,
plus bumble bees with hairy knees
out by the flower bed.

Then by the pond beneath a frond
a mouse of purest white,
takes from a sack his hat and mac
a sword and compass bright.

Today he seeks the jagged peaks
of old mount rockery,
where it is told a land of gold
lays in the shrubbery.

leaning from apartment rail
out from dry haven of a slant roof run
my fingers palms cups overflow

and i imagine
tiny fractal mouths all
in a pine tree nearest me

bundles of green frond tips
opening to first arizona rain

later, the afternoon sun appears
shadowed in a cloud break

every water slick
green of pine
casts ornamental silver

and one hummingbird
dodging drops
edges my head

all wonderment
grace a fresh summer's day

Icicle grips above
Dew condensing down gently
Chrystaline tear drop



Hummingbirds swift wings
Relishing nectar in flight
A blink and it's gone



A breeze lifts it loose
The frond spirals to earth
Crunching underfoot



Spins her web tidy
Plus hour glass she's mighty
Steer clear this spidy

She watered the fichus and festoons
And far away, they somewhat bloom
The leaves a breadth between, the air
Nested as I am, and stare

From the frond, below the wings
Watching humans, poignant things
Scaring birds to rustle trees
A lingered hand, those nails, the breeze

She looked to me and ****'t the space
Which separates a race from race
To finger full a garnered seed
A palm that greets, a dying ****

Festoons awash from laden rain
Next day came, and there remains
My crumpled arm, less safe than torn
To watch again a careful storm

Outlined in clouds my brother call'd
I turn the arm, and yet it stall'd
This universe that clung here, floored
Cannot simply be ignored

If you keep calling when its clear
If you keep gathering them here
The subtle way you water fronds
Our subtle breath dilutes, absconds

Summer days are past and gone,
And colder days now hurry on.
The lily draws her  tender bloom
deep into the cloudy gloom, and
soft mists risen in the night,
turn to frost at dawns first light.
In the margins of the pond
The ice holds fast the frozen frond,
and under hill the mole curls tight,
safe and warm throughout the night,
pink paws, pink nose, a velvet coat,
all safely hidden from the stoat!
The swans, clothed in their purest white
glide, like ghosts in black of night
as safely on the lake they sleep,
while the coot and moorhen peep
in their dark and sombre suits,
from the tangled willow roots.
The fox that cunning red marauder
creeps stealthily along the border,
as the weakling winter sun
Announces a new day begun.

Love is the touch of one with another,
the breeze blows the frond to brush the face
we experience the sensitive stirring of the cells
they send a message to the brain
that translates them
sometimes into this state we call love
because it is up to us to be sensitive to love
it is the sense of existence that gives us joy
fills our sense of well being
with something indescribable
makes the world a place of understanding and beauty
makes life worth living.

Margaret Ann Waddicor 3rd February 2015.

the amber drip of honey
crystalline memory
I eat
mouth watering
hungry for someone to undertake me
to seek between fern frond and yarrow
for my magic, spilled and spent
in the places I no longer fill
to return singing the song
I lost to wind and rain
a traveller's lips
tasting of honey
and promise

deeply so, have ever you thought, on a moment that you thought you knew
it? have you ever thought of
     Summer with her flush
     amber skin just bursting
     almost apricot thick
     colours professing
      out her richly thatched
      mouth in between the
      lips of seraphs
      oceans of wind that
in which a frond is bending, just almost breaking bending, in the
immense touching blood of blades of sand and grains of grass
who slough from brows of aching partings
and sore graftings.

                                                                        in  yourself  think ever you Did
                                                                        the arms of your lover
                                                                 against stiffly you clutched who
                                                                      lean ribs, who in them beats
                                                                      mornings of song little a
                                                                      filled with drifting fuzzy
                                                                 daughters lazy wood's cotton

?
  in summer i went to seattle and down to its neck i drew my hands
and around them i was a sweating magic light full and a blister
of smiling residue; my grin was like a girl put my tongue in her mouth
and she pulled me real close and her bumps rumpled on my bumps
and we were real slow and hot and she was gross and perfect and long
and i remember how she's scalp was like a small black jungle
that my fingers (as her teeth were like little ****** of tingling all over
my scent) marauded around the profusion of her dazzling locks
which mocked the night who was contumelious at how they made love
with,andMurdered, whate'er foolish lance or drape of light was foolish
enough to touch with them. her hair was a serious fierce laughter. and
it filled right me up. right up to my pooling blood foolishly her face
was a goddess and i was a lamb.