The Child and The Drum

From behind the curtain

her voice

holds tremolo and vibrato,

high and clear,

sweet and lilting,

with a hint of poignant sadness.

The drum pushes, pulses

her ululations from underneath,

building the bridge

that connects

the world to the origin

of its song,

evolved,

forgotten, debated,

documented, erased,

burned, rescued,

savaged and salvaged,

but ever

created.

The child and the drum.

Two become one,

and the heartbeat

keeps the time of memory,

even now.

A Burst of Blue

Behind my eyes,

a dream of blue waters,

blue souls,

blue bubbles,

blue hearts,

and blue love

 

Ethereal,

mysterious,

the essence of floating spirits

and the color of transcendent skies.

 

It holds a

midnight sorrow

and an afternoon romp

in its hands.

 

It belongs to all,

but is special to us.

 

Unleashed, it holds me

enthralled.

Kissed of the Sun

She,

kissed of the sun,

birthed of the earth’s red clay,

stands a goddess in the green lush alcove

of branches that arch to protect her.

A sorceress that magic

willingly surrenders

its secrets to,

she only has to turn to me

to enchant me

with silent spells

of regal beauty.

She binds my mortal

heart to hand,

and bids me

love to worship her.

Surrender is all the sweeter then,

and for a time, I too, am kissed of the sun,

yet banished at moonrise

to dream once more

that a goddess

once loved

me.

 

*art by Charlie Bowater on pinterest.com

Springsong

The rain strikes,

the clod shifts, opens,

gives access to the seed,

and baptizes it

with water.

The sun,

rising, warm,

tosses javelin rays

to strike through the

blades of grass.

The seed shell warms,

and gives birth.

The sprout breaks free

in jubilant celebration

of its youthful freedom,

and sways in the wind,

as it reaches for the sky.

And winter smiles,

and vanishes

over the sea.

When Music Smiles

Your guitar

echoed over the ocean,

the melody you played

slow and beautiful,

timeless and flowing

like the small waves,

working slow magic,

only to vanish

with an essence of shore,

of time,

of us,

drawn to your music

for a brief and lively

dance,

waving farewell

in whitecap

whispers,

and you opened

your eyes

to find mine,

crossing the bridge to your heart’s chorus,

singing the harmony to your life,

and composing our love,

the song

that only stops,

but never ends.

Skipping

She stops

as all the other kids

run by.

She sees him in the doorway, a smile on his face,

watching them run.

She smiles at him and waves.

She runs and skips,

and he hears the scratch

of her heels on the sidewalk.

He chuckles,  remembers when

he too,

possessed that superpower.

He waves good-bye

to far more

than her fading image.

Though she doesn’t see,

he has no regrets,

and goes inside to the

ponderous ticking

of his dusty

grandfather clock.

 

*picture by Ethereal Mind at deviantart.com

Thoughts of You

Shadows on hills,

day’s end.

A persimmon sun sets

in the bosom of a verdant valley,

and the evening star stares

like a curious child at the

lone man walking the road

to darkness.

Your absence is cold space

beside me on

this solitary

twilight stroll.

I miss the glimmer

of your starry eyes.

I miss the skipped beat of your

excited heart.

I miss the anchoring tenderness

of your embrace.

I miss melting into

your kisses.

Your memory fades like a painting,

a haunting last note of a lilting melody,

a classic fallen from grace.

And once more, I’m reminded:

Love will not reciprocate what

she requires to live.