Something to be Learned

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Estella-472873000

Wonder where the hard years went

Up and down and lost like blood and sweat

The monumental dramas have all but disappeared

For maybe love and peace

Can win the day, yet again

I passed a bridge, calling maturity

I broke into a dive, of self-acceptance

It wasn’t a matter of effort

I think it’s a function of

Synaptic pruning, lost memories

All the grown-up people say

The wine from these grapes

Tastes sweeter now, like wonder

Taken at a distance, with some measure

Of quiet detachment, where failure

Dulled by grief disappears

And joy is the only thing that can

Possibly take its place

No longer with boots of the hunter on

The chalk of a thousand sunsets

Has left its mark in nodding understatement

Of all the dreams left like alder leaves

Posterity knows Autumns well enough

That by disks of splendour, all that something

Set in a lusty tune, rust of dormant boughs.

Your Body is my Museum of Youth

I am dumb beside your body
I could once speak words, so beautifully
But poems, were once beautiful

Now I feel life’s kite moving
Upwards and onwards
You love because it pulls you

To Motherhood, to creation
I am dumb beside the challenge
Of winning your affection

To become only a tool, a means to an end
Until someone finds me, I shall be
The lonely hunter, contracting with solitude

I am dumb beside your instincts
They speak more loudly, than my lyrics
Unworthy and pure, poetry
Is for the flowers I left on the ground
In my meditations of youth.

You on Your Native Soil

I bring you flowers/
Invisible spiritual flowers
They hold on to colors of Bliss
Like nothing else, perhaps jewels
They stack, with the investment of years

You had your father’s eyes/
You’ve got my flowers, forever
No matter what happens, between us
You’ll carry the strongest legacy

The most beautiful smiles/
In your children, so be it
I’ll bring you flowers, for the rest
Of our private Eternity
They were moments we
Had nothing truly, but each other

Spring is starting again, I can feel/
It in your womb, the way you itch
For nests, admiring tulips
Your grandfathers passed recently
They did all they could to demonstrate
To posterity, their families, their acts
Were like demonstrations,

To the little lovely young girl names/
That we sometimes talk about
Before bed, I’ll bring you baby-names
In your dreams, wet with the water
Of budding gardens, grand tomorrows.