Tag Archives: romance

warning label for oranges

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may gasp,
                    as the skin is breached
-throwing succinct directives to the air

                                    telling you where next to move your fingers,
how to handle with a gentle -ness,
                                           exposing more flesh
as the
rough exterior
is pulled away in a continuous motion.

                                                             do not crush
this will force the pulp down
                                             to the ground, wasted.

when ready, its sweet odors  and juices 
                           may now be tasted

and consumed.

Under the strentberry tree

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Come, and go wand’ring for churier times,
away from the riptin and rinants, their crime,
the villor and vagell in all their retorts,
The jumb-poling penguity, wanstier sort.

Observe the small paregallow sat on a twig,
that tweets a small tune, with a purintly squig.
Clasp hold my hand without chuberous thought,
and pick up the footspeed, with clip and with clought.

And when we have reached, with flooks and with guills,
the strentberry tree with its tassles and twills,
we’ll lay in the greenier grassles that wave
and meekestly coddle the songs that we saved.

Singing through tassles, and loring through twills
with our hands embraced tightly, and our giggles that thrill
the logus with all its galand and its hue.
Your grin and my smilishness, baylishly soothed.

Come and let’s wander a churier time,
clasp my hand, coddle and purintly rhyme.

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Should you be wondering “what does purintly mean,” I used a random nonsense word generator to help me with the words for this poem. The innocence conveyed by the silliness of the word choices was my goal. I often search for the greenier grassles that wave, just to have some quiet time, under a strentberry tree.

words of note

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An aubergine sound
and a hollow bitter wind,
that portends of a sadness, lately then,
after the reign of summer’s end
and autumnal color,
red and yellow and their kin.

When joy is moved indoors to stand
the test of winter’s blunting hand,
bound with the melodies to hum
within your heart, with flute and drum.

Seeking clear, in midnight skies, between
the snowfall, when angels fly;
and you, among the ones that seek and pray,
wishing upon the stars to stay
awake and listen to the songs you sing
with words of note for every little, living thing.

Then rest your head and fall asleep
in dark and as lovely as woods are deep,
and echos of your song on air,
warm the bitterness to fair.

questions

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The concept
is really simple, where
the addition of them
opens a language that
otherwise stumbles in silence,
As a simple “why ?”
infuses the sunlight and breeze
to rattle the trees in reply.

Yet without sound,
with eyes alone,
that creates a chasm in its invocation.
and, just as quickened,
closes a gap in response
between lovers,
with an embrace,
but no words,
and silence fulfilled.

Belong to me

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Cling to dawning’s drape, as hails the sun’s
revealing rays, a slow ascent, night is undone.

Wringing in, as rainfall on September flowers
belongs the day, as soaking unseen bowers-

hallowed, hidden dens from branching gables,
place of passion’s secrets –Jana’s cradle.

Then, in reflecting off one lover’s eyes,
light that signal darkness’s demise

screams the sounds, if they were voiced and free,
subsume this moment – come, belong to me.

Oeuvre

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Characters written in fresh milk
on paper
– when her heart
was full of longing,

Did she divine this as a song
in a pentatonic key?

Elevating her joy to ignition by dusting
her soul with gunpowder,
then showered down from the sparks
to low crackles and hums.

Guiding the hands of one
to accompany her riff
on Summertime, she

adorned her melody
with a solid chord structure
and a bounding rhythm.

It was sincere.
It was breathtaking.
It was…

icicle lights

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I see glittering in the eyes
when she does something thoughtful

A gesture that passes between souls
-Unspoken-

or when she says a kind word,
and the light shimmers

chasing other photons down the string
passing through junctures,

and out into air
as new growth.

I see a flickering nimbus
in the darkness,

as I pause to blink,

then hope
that the reflection is undimmed
when I turn to face her smile.

Why Rise?

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Daybreak,
crawls in brightness,
stirs living stones with breath
and curls inside the void and forms
a thought.

Wakened
sunlit spirits
coax and spy a wry grin
in your smile, time to linger in
rising.

Leaving
shades that night showed
facing, not turning back,
just as the music builds, entwines
then rests

as one.
Did we lie down
because of shadows dim
or body aches from tiresome whims
of day?

Softened
whispers in streams
of touches, parting rays
just risen, and no recourse but
to stay.

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A blogging acquaintance challenged her readers to write a cinquain. A cinquain is a structured poem consisting of a least 5 lines with 2, 4, 6, 8 and 2 syllables, respectively. The above is inspired by John Donne’s “Break of Day” and is actually a crown cinquain, a collection of 5 cinquains to function as a larger poem. I hope you enjoy.