"sargasso" poems
.
*1
Wet welling from earth
Deep valleys, hills, sweating *******
I plunge into her
2
We are lost at sea
In moonless night our soft cries
Curled waves drowning us
3
Above her in bed
Little breaths lifting our bodies
Eyes, fingers, dreaming
4
Her green eyes are set
Jewels from sargasso seas
My ghost ship is wrecked
5
Her long hair tangles
No struggle in rising— then
We are rapt in bed
6
Her eyes blinding me
Milky way of her body
There is a heaven
7
In forest we taste
Each other in evergreens
Hot dews on the moss
8
Blissful time kissing
My bare thighs sink into hers
Running sands so quick
9
As olive or grape
So shed, paired souls are threshed
Out of their bodies
10
Hummingbirds share truths
Nature sounds with all sweetness
Bee in the flower
11
Always in a field
Wild flowers— a bunch to pick
Herself a bouquet
12
In the park we walk
Flocks of white birds taking flight
Two hearts light as air
13
We kissed under moon
Pox of stars grew flowering
Nightshade of her lips
14
She took me to bed
Skinned in bliss— was reborn, lost
In her satin folds*
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
.
1
Wet welling from earth
Deep valleys, hills, sweating *******
I plung into her
2
We are lost at sea
In moonless night our soft cries
Curled waves drowning us
3
Above her in bed
Little breaths lifting our bodies
Eyes, fingers, dreaming
4
Her green eyes are set
Jewels from sargasso seas
My ghost ship is wrecked
5
Her long hair tangles
No struggle in rising— then
We are rapt in bed
6
Her eyes blinding me
Milky way of her body
There is a heaven
7
In forest we taste
Each other in evergreens
Hot dews on the moss
8
Blissful time kissing
My bare thighs sink into hers
Running sands so quick
9
As olive or grape
So shed, paired souls are threshed
Out of their bodies
10
Hummingbirds share truths
Nature sounds with all sweetness
Bee in the flower
11
Always in a field
Wild flowers— a bunch to pick
Herself a bouquet
12
In the park we walk
Flocks of white birds taking flight
Two hearts light as air
13
We kissed under moon
Pox of stars grew flowering
Nightshade of her lips
14
She took me to bed
Skinned in bliss— was reborn, lost
In her satin folds
.
Aug 15, 2021
Aug 15, 2021 at 12:53 AM UTC
.
*1
Wet welling from earth
Deep valleys, hills, sweating *******
I plung into her
2
We are lost at sea
In moonless night our soft cries
Curled waves drowning us
3
Above her in bed
Little breaths lifting our bodies
Eyes, fingers, dreaming
4
Her green eyes are set
Jewels from sargasso seas
My ghost ship is wrecked
5
Her long hair tangles
No struggle in rising— then
We are rapt in bed
6
Her eyes blinding me
Milky way of her body
There is a heaven
7
In forest we taste
Each other in evergreens
Hot dews on the moss
8
Blissful time kissing
My bare thighs sink into hers
Running sands so quick
9
As olive or grape
So shed, paired souls are threshed
Out of their bodies
10
Hummingbirds share truths
Nature sounds with all sweetness
Bee in the flower
11
Always in a field
Wild flowers— a bunch to pick
Herself a bouquet
12
In the park we walk
Flocks of white birds taking flight
Two hearts light as air
13
We kissed under moon
Pox of stars grew flowering
Nightshade of her lips
14
She took me to bed
Skinned in bliss— was reborn, lost
In her satin folds*
.
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 1:01 AM UTC
I am alone with you.
A fire burns in the distance
It lights our faces
As before in the empty cinema,
Where we arrived, at some beginning
To watch a foreign film. Our eyes,
In new utterance, murmuring subtitles,
What words could never speak
The tips of seats, rows of air
And the moony screen,
A tableau of feathers and cloud
Two of us, alone, as one
Rapt in the spread of wings.
Later, alone we dine in the Café
Campagne. Our conversation
Deafens a burgeoning crowd
Coffee was nectar, our words
Were whispering petals.
Dearest Blodeuwedd, I saw the sweetest
Sorrow on your face, the green ocean
In your eyes, I was cleansed
By your tears. I have always
Known you.
Across the border on the far island,
You stepped into the waters with me
And when you disrobed you lit the stars
And the stars and my eyes kissed your skin
Your slender legs, columns that taught
The Greeks in Helens age, touched the water
And the sky. I saw the milky way that night.
Síneánn, I am your Pablo
We are two white birds sailing
Over the foam of the sea.
Solvent to my stone you are the hinge
To my casement world. Rain petal
Voice, lithe, alabaster woman,
I am lost in your Sargasso eyes
I hold your skin, my Selkie
Sweet Niamh, I have lived
One hundred years this week.
It is warm in the distance
In the country of the sun
We end at the house in Umbria
In the autumn, there is no word
Siberia, my light Rosaleen.
Now is harvest time.
At the great table we feast
With family and friends
And I am not alone with you.
Jun 3, 2012
Jun 3, 2012 at 2:32 AM UTC
Aloft upon some distant shore
The seabird sets her wings to soar
The salt sea tang of crested breeze
Or howling gale of winters freeze,
Through oceans, mountainous or not
Or sea Sargasso flat and hot,
In dancing wavelets sparkling clear
Where hunted mackerel school in fear,
Where natives in their dugout boats
Caste out their nets and balsa floats,
That tiny bird will soar adrift
Negotiating each wind shift.
One wonders how a thing so small
Can fly against the wind at all;
But sweep she does and plunge and veer
In gracious symmetry to steer
Across the oceans vastness too,
To land right there, right next to you.
In squawking lightness, dancing swings
Sea bird alights ….and folds her wings.
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
8th. December 2007
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 10:49 PM UTC
Let’s take a silver train underground
to the back streets of Atlantis
thru the corrugated iron roots &
then to the peak itself, to the
saddle of the last ridge past strewn
boulders,
finally meandering thru cascading snow
wearing miner’s hats on the perpendicular
dark night &
going up to the edge of the Southern Cross
where we reach at last the pure white
glistening glaciers &
begin to chant over bones in rags
of Scorpio
Armless in the sticky substance how could
they ever have had a chance?
Permission will not be required
only poems of blood offered to
the memory of TREE
It is not ice which is eternal
but the fury of the absolute
separating the void from the spirit
of man,
uplifting like life when it is used
against itself,
that is, Radical Love -- & again, we
are reduced to living beings
Caught by the instant
we are taken away
We live in the imprint of the flame
& we are helmeted within the internal
blackness
where the ray begins its passage
across the indignant sky
Vain clouds uncaring in a tangle of
crossbeams
culminate in the hermaphroditic mirror
of the epileptic dancer
asleep
And during sleep
the light is joined
to the light
It is all a matter of getting up
and then to abandon the pain
It is there that the journey beings
in the self generated flame of
Spontaneous Combustion
(Swayambhunath)
The main line running counter
to the triangle comprising the
MAELSTROM, the DOLDROMS & the
SARGASSO SEA where sleeping Atlanteans
dream forever,
this line, this battlefield of the ages,
crosses the divide of my most wandering
backdoor heart.
We will all have to go
if we want to reappear
in the rhythm of the ritual
It’s the wheel of fools spinning
over my bed
If I put my left foot first
they will find a way to call me
by that name
tracking tremors
like glyphs
on drunken walls
in the negative palace
just before taking eave
of my senses
the white powder dissolves
in the sunlight
& making noise like a peacock
he hops on one foot up the mountain.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 4:07 PM UTC
.
1
Wet welling from earth
Deep valleys, hills, sweating *******
I plung into her
2
We are lost at sea
In moonless night our soft cries
Curled waves drowning us
3
Above her in bed
Little breaths lifting our bodies
Eyes, fingers, dreaming
4
Her green eyes are set
Jewels from sargasso seas
My ghost ship is wrecked
5
Her long hair tangles
No struggle in rising— then
We are rapt in bed
6
Her eyes blinding me
Milky way of her body
There is a heaven
7
In forest we taste
Each other in evergreens
Hot dews on the moss
8
Blissful time kissing
My bare thighs sink into hers
Running sands so quick
9
As olive or grape
So shed, paired souls are threshed
Out of their bodies
10
Hummingbirds share truths
Nature sounds with all sweetness
Bee in the flower
11
Always in a field
Wild flowers— a bunch to pick
Herself a bouquet
12
In the park we walk
Flocks of white birds taking flight
Two hearts light as air
13
We kissed under moon
Pox of stars grew flowering
Nightshade of her lips
14
She took me to bed
Skinned in bliss— was reborn, lost
In her satin folds
.
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 1:57 PM UTC
Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea,
London has swept about you this score years
And bright ships left you this or that in fee:
Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all things,
Strange spars of knowledge and dimmed wares of price.
Great minds have sought you- lacking someone else.
You have been second always. Tragical?
No. You preferred it to the usual thing:
One dull man, dulling and uxorious,
One average mind- with one thought less, each year.
Oh, you are patient, I have seen you sit
Hours, where something might have floated up.
And now you pay one. Yes, you richly pay.
You are a person of some interest, one comes to you
And takes strange gain away:
Trophies fished up; some curious suggestion;
Fact that leads nowhere; and a tale for two,
Pregnant with mandrakes, or with something else
That might prove useful and yet never proves,
That never fits a corner or shows use,
Or finds its hour upon the loom of days:
The tarnished, gaudy, wonderful old work;
Idols and ambergris and rare inlays,
These are your riches, your great store; and yet
For all this sea-hoard of deciduous things,
Strange woods half sodden, and new brighter stuff:
In the slow float of differing light and deep,
No! there is nothing! In the whole and all,
Nothing that’s quite your own.
Yet this is you.
2.2k
*.
1
Wet welling from earth
Deep valleys, hills, sweating *******
I plung into her
2
We are lost at sea
In moonless night our soft cries
Curled waves drowning us
3
Above her in bed
Little breaths lifting our bodies
Eyes, fingers, dreaming
4
Her green eyes are set
Jewels from sargasso seas
My ghost ship is wrecked
5
Her long hair tangles
No struggle in rising— then
We are rapt in bed
6
Her eyes blinding me
Milky way of her body
There is a heaven
7
In forest we taste
Each other in evergreens
Hot dews on the moss
8
Blissful time kissing
My bare thighs sink into hers
Running sands so quick
9
As olive or grape
So shed, paired souls are threshed
Out of their bodies
10
Hummingbirds share truths
Nature sounds with all sweetness
Bee in the flower
11
Always in a field
Wild flowers— a bunch to pick
Herself a bouquet
12
In the park we walk
Flocks of white birds taking flight
Two hearts light as air
13
We kissed under moon
Pox of stars grew flowering
Nightshade of her lips
14
She took me to bed
Skinned in bliss— was reborn, lost
In her satin folds*
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 3:52 PM UTC
When once the twilight locks no longer
Locked in the long worm of my finger
Nor ****** the sea that sped about my fist,
The mouth of time ****** like a sponge,
The milky acid on each hinge,
And swallowed dry the waters of the breast.
When the galactic sea was ******
And all the dry seabed unlocked,
I sent my creature scouting on the globe,
That globe itself of hair and bone
That, sewn to me by nerve and brain,
Had stringed my flask of matter to his rib.
My fuses are timed to charge his heart,
He blew like powder to the light
And held a little sabbath with the sun,
But when the stars, assuming shape,
Drew in his eyes the straws of sleep
He drowned his father's magics in a dream.
All issue armoured, of the grave,
The redhaired cancer still alive,
The cataracted eyes that filmed their cloth;
Some dead undid their bushy jaws,
And bags of blood let out their flies;
He had by heart the Christ-cross-row of death.
Sleep navigates the tides of time;
The dry Sargasso of the tomb
Gives up its dead to such a working sea;
And sleep rolls mute above the beds
Where fishes' food is fed the shades
Who periscope through flowers to the sky.
When once the twilight screws were turned,
And mother milk was stiff as sand,
I sent my own ambassador to light;
By trick or chance he fell asleep
And conjured up a carcass shape
To rob me of my fluids in his heart.
Awake, my sleeper, to the sun,
A worker in the morning town,
And leave the poppied pickthank where he lies;
The fences of the light are down,
All but the briskest riders thrown
And worlds hang on the trees.
2k
Old Neptune marks his boundaries today, leaves sargasso
and thin, bamboo-like reeds on the shore of Dauphin Island. He blows briskly, to urge his white steeds to the seashore.
The water is dark with disturbance, veined with foam like tatted lace. The scent of Neptune swallows the fast-moving air crossing
the island from Gulf to Bay sides. Oil rigs
haunt the horizon like boredom, breaking
the vista, reminding all who see them of human limit. Old Neptune accepts no limit, no boundary. We, who want fixity
as security, we watch as Neptune abuses boundaries, expands us
whether we want him to or not. There is no fixity; yet there is security. There is consolation in flow, in flowing with Great Neptune, rolling in his
tidal urgencies.
c. 2014/2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 7:26 PM UTC
I am alone with you.
A fire burns in the distance,
It lights our faces
As before in the empty cinema,
Where we arrived, at some beginning,
To watch a foreign film. Our eyes,
In new utterance, murmuring subtitles,
What words could never speak,
The tips of seats, rows of air
And the moony screen,
A tableau of feathers and cloud,
Two of us, alone, as one,
Rapt in the spread of wings.
Later, alone we dine in the Café
Campagne. Our conversation
Deafens a burgeoning crowd,
Coffee was nectar, our words
Were whispering petals.
Dearest Blodeuwedd, I saw the sweetest
Sorrow on your face, the green ocean
In your eyes, I was cleansed
By your tears. I have always
Known you.
Across the border on the far island,
You stepped into the waters with me
And when you disrobed you lit the stars
And the stars and my eyes kissed your skin,
Your slender legs, columns, tilting
Toward heaven, in the age of Helen,
Touched the water and the sky,
I saw the milky way that night.
Síneánn, I am your Pablo,
We are two white birds sailing
Over the foam of the sea.
Solvent to my stone, you are the hinge
To my casement world. Rain petal
Voice, lithe, alabaster woman,
I am lost in your Sargasso eyes,
I hold your skin, my Selkie,
Sweet Niamh, I have lived
One hundred years this week.
It is warm in the distance,
In the country of the sun,
We end at the house in Umbria,
In the autumn, there is no word
Siberia, my light Rosaleen.
Now is harvest time.
At the great table we feast
With family and friends
And I am not alone with you.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 1:05 PM UTC
I am alone with you.
A fire burns in the distance,
It lights our faces
As before in the empty cinema,
Where we arrived, at some beginning,
To watch a foreign film. Our eyes,
In new utterance, murmuring subtitles,
What words could never speak,
The tips of seats, rows of air
And the moony screen,
A tableau of feathers and cloud,
Two of us, alone, as one,
Rapt in the spread of wings.
Later, alone we dine in the Café
Campagne. Our conversation
Deafens a burgeoning crowd,
Coffee was nectar, our words
Were whispering petals.
Dearest Blodeuwedd, I saw the sweetest
Sorrow on your face, the green ocean
In your eyes, I was cleansed
By your tears. I have always
Known you.
Across the border on the far island,
You stepped into the waters with me
And when you disrobed you lit the stars
And the stars and my eyes kissed your skin,
Your slender legs, columns, tilting
Toward heaven, in the age of Helen,
Touched the water and the sky,
I saw the milky way that night.
Síneánn, I am your Pablo,
We are two white birds sailing
Over the foam of the sea.
Solvent to my stone, you are the hinge
To my casement world. Rain petal
Voice, lithe, alabaster woman,
I am lost in your Sargasso eyes,
I hold your skin, my Selkie,
Sweet Niamh, I have lived
One hundred years this week.
It is warm in the distance,
In the country of the sun,
We end at the house in Umbria,
In the autumn, there is no word
Siberia, my light Rosaleen.
Now is harvest time.
At the great table we feast
With family and friends
And I am not alone with you.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 4:32 PM UTC
I am alone with you.
A fire burns in the distance,
It lights our faces
As before in the empty cinema,
Where we arrived, at some beginning,
To watch a foreign film. Our eyes,
In new utterance, murmuring subtitles,
What words could never speak,
The tips of seats, rows of air
And the moony screen,
A tableau of feathers and cloud,
Two of us, alone, as one,
Rapt in the spread of wings.
Later, alone we dine in the Café
Campagne. Our conversation
Deafens a burgeoning crowd,
Coffee was nectar, our words
Were whispering petals.
Dearest Blodeuwedd, I saw the sweetest
Sorrow on your face, the green ocean
In your eyes, I was cleansed
By your tears. I have always
Known you.
Across the border on the far island,
You stepped into the waters with me
And when you disrobed you lit the stars
And the stars and my eyes kissed your skin,
Your slender legs, columns, tilting
Toward heaven, in the age of Helen,
Touched the water and the sky,
I saw the milky way that night.
Síneánn, I am your Pablo,
We are two white birds sailing
Over the foam of the sea.
Solvent to my stone, you are the hinge
To my casement world. Rain petal
Voice, lithe, alabaster woman,
I am lost in your Sargasso eyes,
I hold your skin, my Selkie,
Sweet Niamh, I have lived
One hundred years this week.
It is warm in the distance,
In the country of the sun,
We end at the house in Umbria,
In the autumn, there is no word
Siberia, my light Rosaleen.
Now is harvest time.
At the great table we feast
With family and friends
And I am not alone with you.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 4:00 PM UTC
*Wet welling from earth
Deep valleys, hills, sweating *******
I plung into her*
*We are lost at sea
In moonless night our soft cries
Curled waves drowning us*
*Above her in bed
Little breaths lifting our bodies
Eyes, fingers, dreaming*
*Her green eyes are set
Jewels from sargasso seas
My ghost ship is wrecked*
*Her long hair tangles
No struggle in rising— then
We are rapt in bed*
*Her eyes blinding me
Milky way of her body
There is a heaven*
*In forest we taste
Each other in evergreens
Hot dews on the moss*
*Blissful time kissing
My bare thighs sink into hers
Running sands so quick*
*As olive or grape
So shed, paired souls are threshed
Out of their bodies*
*Hummingbirds share truths
Nature sounds with all sweetness
Bee in the flower*
*Always in a field
Wild flowers— a bunch to pick
Herself a bouquet*
*In the park we walk
Flocks of white birds taking flight
Two hearts light as air*
*We kissed under moon
Pox of stars grew flowering
Nightshade of her lips*
*She took me to bed
Skinned in bliss— was reborn, lost
In her satin folds*
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 3:12 PM UTC
The night is speaking like a cascade.
She’s knitting filigreed lights and shadows.
Sunk in the deep sea
of Sargasso eyes
I stay quiet and don’t find words.
And the scars on your hand
are fading, in order to burn
in my heart.
Oh, sailboats after a long trip
with all the winds in the sails –
sand is calling you.
But it isn’t death!
Oh, it isn’t the end too!
The hand
is going to knock up a hut for you
and in the wide garden
it smells with magnolia and manuscripts…
And I am a sign
The original:
Нощта говори като водоскок
Нощта говори като водоскок.
Преплита филиграрно светлини и сенки.
Потънал във дълбокото море
на сарагасови очи
мълча и не намирам думи.
И белезите на ръката ти
се губят, за да горят
във моето сърце.
О, платноходи след дългото пътуване
със всички ветрове в платната –
зове ви пясък.
Но не е смърт!
О, това не е и краят!
Ръката
ще ви скове на дом
и във широката градина
ухае на магнолии и на ръкописи…
И аз съм знак.
Translator Bulgarian-English: Vessislava Savova
rarebird
© bogpan - all rights reserved.
Nov 29, 2010
Nov 29, 2010 at 10:14 PM UTC
I am alone with you.
A fire burns in the distance,
It lights our faces
As before in the empty cinema,
Where we arrived, at some beginning,
To watch a foreign film. Our eyes,
In new utterance, murmuring subtitles,
What words could never speak,
The tips of seats, rows of air
And the moony screen,
A tableau of feathers and cloud,
Two of us, alone, as one,
Rapt in the spread of wings.
Later, alone we dine in the Café
Campagne. Our conversation
Deafens a burgeoning crowd,
Coffee was nectar, our words
Were whispering petals.
Dearest Blodeuwedd, I saw the sweetest
Sorrow on your face, the green ocean
In your eyes, I was cleansed
By your tears. I have always
Known you.
Across the border on the far island,
You stepped into the waters with me
And when you disrobed you lit the stars
And the stars and my eyes kissed your skin,
Your slender legs, columns, tilting
Toward heaven, in the age of Helen,
Touched the water and the sky,
I saw the milky way that night.
Síneánn, I am your Pablo,
We are two white birds sailing
Over the foam of the sea.
Solvent to my stone, you are the hinge
To my casement world. Rain petal
Voice, lithe, alabaster woman,
I am lost in your Sargasso eyes,
I hold your skin, my Selkie,
Sweet Niamh, I have lived
One hundred years this week.
It is warm in the distance,
In the country of the sun,
We end at the house in Umbria,
In the autumn, there is no word
Siberia, my light Rosaleen.
Now is harvest time.
At the great table we feast
With family and friends
And I am not alone with you.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
Becalmed, the doldrums bear down frowning.
Hull fouled by weeds, persistent barnacles.
The ship is steadfast in her silence,
The light alone enough to shatter us.
Beyond us, off the bow the dolphins plunge
And leap toward home
While we, a company of refugees,
Lie static on this open ocean.
Our eyes are burned by distance.
No breeze to flutter them,
Our tattered flags of truce no longer fly,
But hang like limp, compliant prisoners.
We pray for wind,
The puff-cheeked gods of weather
Drawn upon our useless maps.
A force 10 gale,
The flecks of wave tops on our faces
Rage, determined demons,
In our dreams.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 10:39 AM UTC
The thunder starts to sing…
Lightning strikes a move like a poised ballerina.
Rain falls like passion in the middle of hot romance.
Seaweed along shore doesn’t seem to mind the nectar from above.
One lonely ship at sea.
The rain kisses every inch of her.
Wind whispers sweet nothings into her sails.
The most invigorating feeling has come over her.
But alas, her sails begin to drop.
The feeling is long gone now.
She presses forward searching for it once more…
The moon shines brightly above her.
She moves forward.
Wanting to touch it…
Wanting to feel it’s beam of greatness upon her.
She swims further away from land.
Her sails still lifeless.
The shore becomes a line of electricity now.
Soon, it is no longer in sight.
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 3:05 AM UTC
I am alone with you.
A fire burns in the distance
It lights our faces
As before in the empty cinema,
Where we arrived, at some beginning
To watch a foreign film. Our eyes,
In new utterance, murmuring subtitles,
What words could never speak
The tips of seats, rows of air
And the moony screen,
A tableau of feathers and cloud
Two of us, alone, as one
Rapt in the spread of wings.
Later, alone we dine in the Café
Campagne. Our conversation
Deafens a burgeoning crowd
Coffee was nectar, our words
Were whispering petals.
Dearest Blodeuwedd, I saw the sweetest
Sorrow on your face, the green ocean
In your eyes, I was cleansed
By your tears. I have always
Known you.
Across the border on the far island,
You stepped into the waters with me
And when you disrobed you lit the stars
And the stars and my eyes kissed your skin
Your slender legs, columns that taught
The Greeks in Helens age, touched the water
And the sky. I saw the milky way that night.
Síneánn, I am your Pablo
We are two white birds sailing
Over the foam of the sea.
Solvent to my stone you are the hinge
To my casement world. Rain petal
Voice, lithe, alabaster woman,
I am lost in your Sargasso eyes
I hold your skin, my Selkie
Sweet Niamh, I have lived
One hundred years this week.
It is warm in the distance
In the country of the sun
We end at the house in Umbria
In the autumn, there is no word
Siberia, my light Rosaleen.
Now is harvest time.
At the great table we feast
With family and friends
And I am not alone with you.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
Wet welling from earth . . .
Deep valleys, hills, sweating *******
. . . I plung into her.
We are lost at sea . . .
In moonless night our soft cries,
Curled waves drowning us.
Above her in bed . . .
Little breaths lifting our bodies,
Eyes, fingers, dreaming.
Her green eyes are set,
Jewels from sargasso seas,
My ghost ship is wrecked.
Her long hair tangles . . .
No struggle in rising— then,
. . . We are rapt in bed.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 7:37 PM UTC
I am alone with you.
A fire burns in the distance,
It lights our faces
As before in the empty cinema,
Where we arrived, at some beginning,
To watch a foreign film. Our eyes,
In new utterance, murmuring subtitles,
What words could never speak,
The tips of seats, rows of air
And the moony screen,
A tableau of feathers and cloud,
Two of us, alone, as one,
Rapt in the spread of wings.
Later, alone we dine in the Café
Campagne. Our conversation
Deafens a burgeoning crowd,
Coffee was nectar, our words
Were whispering petals.
Dearest Blodeuwedd, I saw the sweetest
Sorrow on your face, the green ocean
In your eyes, I was cleansed
By your tears. I have always
Known you.
Across the border on the far island,
You stepped into the waters with me
And when you disrobed you lit the stars
And the stars and my eyes kissed your skin,
Your slender legs, columns, tilting
Toward heaven, in the age of Helen,
Touched the water and the sky,
I saw the milky way that night.
Síneánn, I am your Pablo,
We are two white birds sailing
Over the foam of the sea.
Solvent to my stone, you are the hinge
To my casement world. Rain petal
Voice, lithe, alabaster woman,
I am lost in your Sargasso eyes,
I hold your skin, my Selkie,
Sweet Niamh, I have lived
One hundred years this week.
It is warm in the distance,
In the country of the sun,
We end at the house in Umbria,
In the autumn, there is no word
Siberia, my light Rosaleen.
Now is harvest time.
At the great table we feast
With family and friends
And I am not alone with you.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 5:39 PM UTC
.
Wet welling from earth . . .
Deep valleys, hills, sweating *******
. . . I plung into her.
We are lost at sea . . .
In moonless night our soft cries,
Curled waves drowning us.
Above her in bed . . .
Little breaths lifting our bodies,
Eyes, fingers, dreaming.
Her green eyes are set,
Jewels from sargasso seas,
My ghost ship is wrecked.
Her long hair tangles . . .
No struggle in rising— then,
. . . We are rapt in bed.
Her eyes blinding me,
Milky way of her body,
. . . There is a heaven.
In forest we taste . . .
Each other in evergreens,
Hot dews on the moss.
Blissful time kissing . . .
My bare thighs sink into hers,
. . . Running sands so quick.
As olive or grape . . .
So shed, paired souls are threshed,
. . . Out of their bodies.
Hummingbirds share truths . . .
Nature sounds with all sweetness,
. . . Bee in the flower.
Always in a field . . .
Wild flowers— a bunch to pick,
. . . Herself a bouquet.
In the park we walk . . .
Flocks of white birds taking flight,
. . . Two hearts light as air.
We kissed under moon . . .
Pox of stars grew flowering,
. . . Nightshade of her lips.
She took me to bed . . .
Skinned in bliss— was reborn, lost,
. . . In her satin folds.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 2:27 AM UTC
Portrait d'une Femme
Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea,
London has swept about you this score years
And bright ships left you this or that in fee:
Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all things,
Strange spars of knowledge and dimmed wares of price.
Great minds have sought you — lacking someone else.
You have been second always. Tragical?
No. You preferred it to the usual thing:
One dull man, dulling and uxorious,
One average mind — with one thought less, each year.
Oh, you are patient, I have seen you sit
Hours, where something might have floated up.
And now you pay one. Yes, you richly pay.
You are a person of some interest, one comes to you
And takes strange gain away:
Trophies fished up; some curious suggestion;
Fact that leads nowhere; and a tale for two,
Pregnant with mandrakes, or with something else
That might prove useful and yet never proves,
That never fits a corner or shows use,
Or finds its hour upon the loom of days:
The tarnished, gaudy, wonderful old work;
Idols and ambergris and rare inlays,
These are your riches, your great store; and yet
For all this sea-hoard of deciduous things,
Strange woods half sodden, and new brighter stuff:
In the slow float of differing light and deep,
No! there is nothing! In the whole and all,
Nothing that's quite your own.
Yet this is you.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 1:07 PM UTC
dissonant from the ground that ached
of frostbite,
fractured and mistress of
the Sargasso
she birthed the thin ghost of dawn
in legato
drawing the trembling line of
her lips.
fervent, the bulbous-born sky
washed her
in fat drunken clouds of
gray ships
climaxed in the aqueduct of
erratic dusk
and emerged as deity of
bagatelle and dust.
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 11:46 PM UTC