City Without a Name of Winter

Watching the crowds in their dark jackets
I can tell that winter is on its way
There are no grey laurels left
We just wait for first snow
It will seem beautiful then, novel

As it traces our footsteps
In a frothy whiteness of magical grafts
Marrying concrete with the skies
You will have parts of the world
Unmelted by sunrise, just a snow-covered

Precipice of cold, we endure this
With a voluntary patrol of visible breath
Under my breast and belly I feel grateful
To have a woman at my fire
It’s the pulse of the earth I miss the most

In those harsh winter months
The smiles and small laughter of spring
It’s a city without a name that freezes
So many people more sad without the sun
I can tell that winter is on her way again

Like minerals that forget to sound their last trumpet
My blood will not freeze, I will walk on.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Winter-139159678

That Faith that Came After Hope Departed

I have seen faith, felt her
Gently on my face like morning light

I have gazed into her
Naked outright sun like a child
The word ‘faith’ means
An experience of elevation
To that which is properly invisible
A dewdrop or a floating leaf

The yearning for horizons unclear
Even if you dreamed, with open eyes
The faith of the future would
Persuade you that something special

Is near, a luminous speckled light
From some mysterious source

I have seen faith, felt her
Like water on my thirsty lips
I have thought her in my mind
Bringing me closer to nature

Where a brief second seemed
To last a year, I have been that flower
That forgot how not to bloom.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/angels-wings-37355652

A Moment of Creative Seeing

I bring three things for an impossible meeting
To the workshop of your mind
Reproduced like old art books
On the coffee table never opened

Strength, skill and beauty
Above all, the reminder of human spirit
The easy gait of a lifetime of learning
I bring to you the philosophy of self-expression

The movement of harmony
In lost words, triumphant until the end of the world
Ready-made like language, and alien
As the moment of the surprise of enchantment

I bring three things for an impossible meeting
The shimmering of deftness in the brain
Reproduced like ancient books
In the library in an age where we no long read

Strength, skill and beauty, above all strength
The will to create a new world at every meeting
With the previous construct of reality.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Hidden-within-the-Flowers-410798676

The Separate Notebooks

The moment, an eternal figment
Abides in writing, somewhere
In the script that set our mind apart
Forgotten, were conventions of literature

All was like an embassy of poetry
Where the full moon rolls out and
Like the ritual of kissing, we salute
The huge reflected umbrella of the stars

Down into the river banks
Of a midsummer night, the Earth
A blanket of supernatural powers
While your endless flowing of words

Carries on for however many years
You are given, the moment endures:
The moment only, an eternal fragment
That you shared with all that shares

As speakers of the living, as the bells
In sunken cities of ancient lands
The future comes sooner than expected
To the Separate Notebooks of
The imagination without bounds.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Calm-411050240