Eyes aglow like fire-bathed moonlight
Face shining as if dawn was near my beloved’s soul broad as the whole Earth
Such resplendence beholds my dear.
Her ruddy cheeks are children of love and her nose sits calmly square
Her smile, most of all, warms cold everywhere.
I am beyond grateful, beyond the realm of luck;
To have her so near and to know love knows no fear
Finally to know, to feel, to hear, to understand love.
My darling, look how our flowers grow
they’ve had a good year
let them rest now for the winter
to be stronger than ever next year.
Let their roots shatter all doomsaying rocks
let their blossoms urge love to flourish
let their petals take others along the journey
and let the stems hold us all up.
When there were snowflakes on your lashes
I saw the future disappear and fade far away
I hesitate not, I would not relive that day
Despite the moment and the memories it catches
But later we boarded the rollercoaster of life
And are planning a future so bright
It shuns all darkness—what a sight
Of hopes and dreams and excitement rife
Looks like there’ll be more rollercoasters
And many more snowflakes on your lashes
And we’ll laugh and talk about the time
When you first became mine;
And we’ll smile and grin about the moment
We became each other’s constant.
It’s hard for me to describe the true pleasure
I feel when you are near
The sweet spring taste of your lips
And the flowers on your breast and hair
The blooming of the forbidden four-letter word beginning with L
(Nat King Cole would have something to say about that!)
It’s far too early to say—it’s been not even a fortnight
But she defines resplendence and inner beauty
I know not why fortune smiled upon me so,
This, a never-ending source—fount—of joy, happiness and mutual affection
It’s beautiful and deeply magical.
The taste of rice cakes on your lips
and the sea in your hair
whips your locks here and there
coupled with your hand snugly in mine, it grips
the edges of my soul and yours
as we walk on the edge of the water,
its salty smell on our tongues, even better
as your touch heals all my sores.
Respect
A song by Aretha Franklin,
A good song at that,
The youths would call it “a banger”
But it’s a rather nebulous term
What does respect feel like?
It’s not like hunger, that’s fairly clear
(Actually I’m pretty hungry now)
Or thirst, or bodily desires, they’ll all easy to pin down
Put a pin in, pin on the noticeboard, easy to spot
True respect is many things,
It’s love, it’s knowing when and how to love
It’s the pause before an utterance
It’s people’s liberal stance’
It fits your heart like a glove
Snug and warm inside,
Wanting to put it on again
Most of all, it’s mutual understanding
It’s why we’re both still standing
It’s mature like good vintage cheddar
Although I can’t say I’ve tried to eat respect
It would be good to include it in society’s diet.
For the first poem entitled ‘Respect’, see this link.
These poems are not related, although as others have said, “history doesn’t repeat itself, but it rhymes”.
I think I like to imagine you sitting here
Your body as smooth as jazz
Leaving the confused mess of life behind
Smoothening out its creases
You know I’ve made up my mind
The soft dance of the candlelight
Bathes you in ever-irresistible velvet
Like the crisp crackle of dark chocolate
Melting on your skin, your fingertips
Raising my crown, tugging, pulling, making me affectionate
Oh how that saxophone blares when we kiss
Birds of paradise in utter bliss
In joint unison levitating over life’s jarred days
Oh how I’d deeply wish
You were here to hear this jazzman’s plays.
January’s fog as thick as hot milk
Shrouds, bleaches, suffocates the landscape
Only the lone farm’s lights twinkle through the glaze
Setting the milk a bold yellow ablaze
From the window, a young lady watches
Only the candlelight’s shadows move
She can smell the dust, the memories, the toil of long ago
Looking where her grandmother’s tulips used to grow.
Her grandmother was a hard-working woman, never fazed
by any menial tasks or obstacles
Her back bent, as she weeded the tulip patch
Before the thorns and thistles snatch.
She would tell her “don’t you step on that precious soil!”
As the baby girl made her first steps
Almost trampling where the tulips would be in the spring
Her grandmother would swoop and home safely bring
Now the baby girl is a young lady
Watching the fog creeping over where Granny stood
it spills across the earth mound
surrounds the house round and round
The memories of all the years
With grandmother by her side
Now it’s the granddaughter’s turn
To preen the tulips before the summer sun’s burn.
After reflecting on this poem that I wrote, I was reminded of Seamus Heaney’s Digging, It’s an excellent (and very famous) poem covering a somewhat similar theme to this one here.
Going back into nature is like returning to an old friend
You can talk for hours and sit in silence
Bask in the silent understanding
While both your hearts mend.
I told you I’d be back—and this is even before next week!
There’s something quietly satisfying
where everything fits together
a burden cleared right off your shoulder
right off your heart,
setting it free—happy, joyous and all
when you meet a kindred spirit
talking for hours without a conversation fall
could this really be, is this really it?
What’s more is that’s she’s absolutely stunning
stunningly intelligent, her green eyes shine
can’t wait till we’re even more in sync, moving
together to even more Springsteen rhyme.
I thought I’d share this joy with you
for future reference and reflection
and after all these days if internal turmoil, true
it means it is real and not only my imagination.
Looking forward to laughing with you
on many more occasions too.