This Solitude of Spring

This Solitude of Spring

I’ve seen the Moon of April
Mother and pathos of Spring
An evening with out Angels
An inner spirit of so much Thirst

A fish-scale sunrise, a blinding twilight
The passion of anticipation
I sing a serenade to mass meaning
The souls as chief metaphor of celebration

I’ve seen the tip of the fragrance of change
And felt it beneath my skin
My genes mutated to accommodate
Too many references, so many heroes!
Late hymns to West coast muses.

Unread Lyric on a Grave #poetry #wordsmatter

Unread Lyric on a Grave

If there is a melody of all
Our lives came to
Beneath the gulls of the years

I would know if, through burning love
An echo of you remains
In the dark house abandoned
In the silent grave unvisited
In poetry books burned

I would steal a bit of love left over
From so many lives, from so many nights
Sweeter than the sun raw on my ankles

Cupping the sleepless dawn of my dreams
That we might touch each other again
With our enigmatic bruises of fate
I had long ago chosen to wait
And the seer of years passed by

And brighter than noon, I kept
Secret notes of you beneath my pillow
From a sovereign heart I know not why.

At a certain phenomenon of light #NationalPoetryMonth #NaPoWriMo

At a certain phenomenon of light

In the jazz of listening to your jazz
It was a peacock’s cry
It was a re-statement of romance

When you thought romance was dead
And in perceiving this, I best
Perceive and listen to myself
Nor night nor blue, I exchange with pale light
My needs for the universe

I am an anecdote on how
To address clouds, elicit
The funest philosophers to speak from the dead

I am a promenade in mortal rendezvous
That lead nowhere, essentially
Converging upon oneself
In the streets and orchid sellers
In the women who blow kisses with just a look

They are young and do not hold candles
But I can feel evolution’s
Arrogance in their firm bodies

It’s not divine ingenuity then
To take one last look at the lilacs
Or in the hymeneal air search for a fragrance
That might help me remember
Earth, lavender, fantastic star

Looking for a Saturday metaphor
To describe the twenty bridges of feeling
The nuance of how meaning escapes
And time floods like ancient aspects.

I Said Farewell to the Spring

I Said Farewell to the Spring

To what purpose, April, do you return?
Do you not know I am devoted
To the Spring, her muse leaves
Little open time for leisure,

If leisure be called art
Then I am in pleasure
With the hot sun on my neck
Eaten by mangoes of life

With a full cup, strewing flowers you know
Babbling, not quieted by the redness
Of life, her femininity of shinning confidence
To what purpose, April, for thy sweet command?

My white candle skin burns
On both ends, for the puissance
Of the knowledge that time runs out
The years of bitter loving remain

Loving so much the beauty of this world
As if stricken by the golden bugs
Who in their immortality shall out live us
It’s morning now, and I’m alone

With her jewelled crown, and what little
I have left of the renaissance of youth
So intimate has the Spring
Become to me, I am in love with love

And in love with life, more than ever
Emotion brimmed to the top
With tears for sonnets and silence
And how we will all vanish.