life – Page 31 – three good words

February 6, 2015

the letter

pen 3

…yours ever, &c
an abrupt ending
opening words
pouring out in a sudden wave –
what madness is this?
to deny, to refuse
to insist on such needless things
as countenance, propriety
We must know our place…
but what is that
in the face of something so divine
as genuine, true, complete feeling?
they may be young, yes,
but not, to his mind, daft beyond decree
there was truth in this
and beauty beyond what any mortal could reach.

quick, quick
cut paper on surface
pen scratching ink
curves, loops, dashes
written in haste
soaked with feeling
demands, pleas
hoping, not jesting
trying to appease
papers waxed closed
an address written, posted
there, there
it is done
it is written
she must understand
the truth, the beauty
of such spontaneous overflow of feeling.

yet the torment begins
the second the envelope is sealed, posted
that torturous patience
of long hours waiting
for all to be read, understood
and hopefully, hopefully
answered, agreed
to continue the private, silent communication
where all the tools given are ink, paper
memory, imagination
and far too much feeling recollected in tranquility.

and thus it arrives
the letter
hastily opened, outside, far
hidden away from the curious
the nosy
young feet walking
young hands turning pages, paper
touched by others, close, known
young eyes reading, re-reading
reading once more
You must… You cannot…
half daze, half delirium, all delight
searching in every word
all the fields of meaning
until a call demands obedience
there are duties, all and one,
that must be followed.

and there it is, a clock chimes
it is time to visit
the one to whom communication
is deemed legitimate
not, in fact, the other
whose words lay pressed lightly
tightly against the young breast.

but no, alas
no one stands waiting
there is no need to play the proper lady
there is time yet to sit in plush seats, reading
what none must know
those felt words written
mapping what lies only
between a you, a me,
and countless yours ever, &c
that most intimate of privacy
daring thoughts, heartfelt feelings
quiet wishes, hidden dreams

I can… I will… I must…
hand-written
as if spoken from mouth to ear
now held and seen, repeated
in most natural light
falling through windows, glowing in trees
until the sun sets to darkness
brightened by the warmth of a flame

a night, a silence
filled with hope for the morrow
heartbeats young, doubting, certain
waiting with joy and fear
mixed to one sensation
true, beautiful, free.

January 20, 2015January 21, 2015

wild at heart

plugs in, player on
here I am, hearing a song
that sounds innocent
but would be rated R
celebrating consumption
of substances that have
no legal function
as it so sleekly does

and yet it’s not the lyrics
not the text itself, not what is sung

but the beat
the bass,
the melody
that brings me back
way back

back to those days when
we used to party hard
dance and sweat and dance some more
lights flashing
beats pumping
amps crackling
volume sky high
you heard the beat with your body
and felt the music with your heart

…

there was nothing but the music
coz rhythm was a dancer
and you had to let the music
push the feeling on
and those were just the popular ones

but we went deep down
into the sheds, the areas, the hidden bunkers
where the world was dark and light
filled with sick beats
intercepted with unbelievable strains
of perfect melodies
oh that drive
that drive to celebrate life

that’s what it does
this song that’s great
and kind o’ just wrong
it takes me back to that time
when you and me and all the others
danced in the dark
until we had to stop
we were simply exhausted
and so walked out
mildly shocked
to see the sun was out
and those other people
were actually living their lives
being offensively boring adults.

A sigh and a smile to that freedom
I can’t even describe
the joy, the exuberance
of celebrating that one thing
that would never stay forever
loving every second under the sun
needing nothing more than great music
to love our young lives
we were so achingly wild at heart.

child dancing nezartdesingdottumblrdotcom

January 6, 2015February 9, 2015

one to another

to write about the touch
the moment
to write because you miss
a kiss
the warmth of a known body
the smoothness of once-touched skin

to know you
and yet i don’t
not entirely
but intimately
between yes and no
and unspoken words
like the swish of sheets
in between

we’ve met before
known each other
in a time
another place
long ago
days, weeks, months
and moments together
one to another

for a heart remembers
runs and jumps
at a long-lost sight
while that which cautions
worries
cries foul in the brightest light
sings itself to sleep

within the embrace
smooth like water
an unclenched fist
open wide
to memories, present
a quiet rejoicing
together,
no longer apart.

January 4, 2015

imagine once

there is something in the silence of the clear lines,
the divine arches of the old orders, now long lost in time
where silver and marble, wheat, amber and gold
were the wealth of a few amongst many;
that time, once, so far away
celebrated today in lands of plenty
a time, once, where life was short, hardship unquestioned,
and the sweetness of solace a luxury felt to the core.

A time, yes, when fire was known for its ecstatic warmth,
the flames divine and terrible, their power
and presence felt too often on human skin and human soul;
a time, too, when water was the sword of truth
by which holiness was divined, though to drink it alone was unwise
unless in beer, ale, or wine;

that time where earth and air were powers that gave and took
that made and broke whole realms with wind and weather and storm,
by the droughts so dreaded, and crops finally growing,
the rains prayed for , the sun steadily glowing…

…can we, today, in our lands of plenty
imagine once, just once, what it meant to be, to live, back then
when time was sun and moon and stars,
legends holy and sung, the songs of praise whispered and hummed
over open fires, heating the cauldrons that fed all in house and hut,
after thanking with grace and gratitude
the great, the holy, the one clouds 1

December 29, 2014

open snow

In the silence
the need to be blossoms slowly
like a tree takes time to grow
a moment to leave what’s lost
allow what’s lonely
and wander out into the open snow.

Outside, clouds shining
dark white, mother-of-pearl
the sea in the sky over
green peaks dusted, swaying
the cold beauty of a winter morning.

In the shadows, ancient trees
endless thoughts, sweeps of feeling
dark in light, hot in warm
like will o’ the wisps a-murmuring
too light for the heaviness of words
glowing in silence
flashing
voiceless
silent as an ancient song.