Posts Tagged ‘beauty’

Kiss Me and See

Posted: September 16, 2015 in Love Poems
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I am the ember

to your flower;

but I can’t stay red,

and you won’t remain evergreen.

Let’s use each other up

while time allows

our beauty to be seen.

Were the Stars my Eyes,

I could truly see-

not just worldly Beauty-

but- vast Eternity.

I cherish this moment:

when the wind rolls in

with floral perfume,

when the grass bends-

as if in genuflection- and ripples,

when the birds warble

and their chirps burst like bubbles

and their piccolo-bones sound

their ascent,

when the children’s laughs echo

and fill emptiness where the birds and wind cannot,

when the trees seem to be carved rocks,

and their buds burst into bloom like fireworks,

when the flowers split into color and scatter

adding new shades with the buds of the trees.

This moment is

exquisitely orchestrated.

Wheat Fields Under Cloudy Skies

painting by Vincent van Gogh

Sky with its blue scales
does not daunt
pastoral fields- great pools
of emeralds, celadon-
the flowers at their fringes-
white stars, blood spots-
arcing under the wind.

The land is made of curves.
Clouds wheel in and out
of their own whiteness.
The wind is blurring
the world’s colors.
They are all within one another.

This will thrill

like the sun, anxiety

of spring undoing

the old curse

of cold overstayed.

And the green pushes up,

unfurls like a map of stars,

and ribbed transparent stalactites

fall to shatter into

the earth. A new

song will flit over the hills.

Windless stillness,

silence.

Sunlight slices through

dense clumps of silver.

Light perforated

only by gray, almost transparent

shadows- long and thin

shadows of trees.

The earth is wearing out its

white play-clothes.

They have gravel stains,

dirt stains,

and the beating heart

of its grasses is turning

as it enters REM sleep.

Earth is dreaming of when

she will burst from the womb,

naked and beautiful,

and will grow its emerald hair

long.

And will decorate itself in jewels of color-

blossoms

and leaves.

I do not think of you at break of day,

the sunrise in its vivid orange holds

me so. I meet blazing sky with squinting gaze.

With passage of day I focus not on sun’s golds,

but on your hair: reminiscent of clay and bronze.

Your skin has been kissed by the zealous sun,

I envy it. Your eyes carry one hundred tons

of precious jewels, they glitter so. What’s to be done

when the sun’s passage turns my thoughts to you?

Am I to let this burning love fester?

Or should I loose the words, and then, know not what to do?

Sun, swallow me and let these thoughts pester

me no more! I would rather perish in flames

than go mad due to these wicked mind games.

I am where the fury cannot reach me.

Claws of ice, of cold glass

would cut my cheeks

when I was younger, when I was

more foolish.

Now the breath of the globe

stirs its perfect blanket, it separates

into particles that cluster into talons,

but once would melt against my raw flesh-

no harsher than a mother’s love.

 

There is beauty

in this rage.

Only where I am is where Earth

could fold a new layer of skin

over itself, and become pristine,

with no black macadam,

no brown roots,

no pink beasts

to disturb its purity.

They are all too afraid.

Here lies the stone I have thrown,

regurgitated from my fist as if it were a serpent.

It will be missed.

Notice its gleam in dull light,

the clouds blot out the sun. Discriminate

is the light which floods the earth

as clouds move away, the true beauty

of the stone is taken. I have spent

hours staring at nothing more than a rock.

The realization hits with locomotive force.

Still there is some sadness to be rent

at the loss of something once beautiful.

My eyes linger at their corners as I step away.

They hope that grayness will reveal how radiant

this stone could be again. But it never said a word to me.

It only gleamed like expensive crystal

in half-light. Multivalent

as a stone, so beauty is.

So love is.

Humped backs

of giants dead

or sleeping.

You present yourselves

as places of song,

absent of stillness;

fuel my desire for freedom

to rush wildly over

and feel like a bird

soaring under seethes

of golden, snapping grasses

which decorate you.

The city behind,

stuck as

a stopped clock,

is eclipsed in grandeur.

Small or large

you curve, wave-like,

ever onward,

illuminating promise of future,

and quickening my heart

with your majesty.

In this sight,

you are The Kingdom.