Posts Tagged ‘nature’

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.

The sun is shining

yet I sit inside,

daydreaming of places I’d like to go:

the beach, I used to go

all the time, but then teenage insecurity crept in;

a bike ride, I love the rush of wind

against my skin, but the way back

is uphill;

the forest, always

with such mystery,

such a quiet and mystical place

with sounds from sources unseen,

the scent of earth and trees,

but there’s danger lurking somewhere

and there are bugs that bite.

I sit inside

and think about the places I want to go,

waiting for courage or boredom

to take me there.

Life is different for me

because I give a damn

because my metaphorical heart

is an eye that wants to take everything in

because I wade up to my knees before

I fully submerge

because sunlight is always gold

because there’s always wind

because when I hear the rain slam against my house at midnight

I wear a white t-shirt and walk under the storm 

because green is life

and it’s my favorite color

The Trees seem to beckon

as the Sun sinks low,

but the Heat keeps me apart

from the World I’d like to know.

 

Clouds, obscure! Sun, blink!-

for a short Moment-

so I may venture,

and- no more- lament.

Thunder sings in

its tremulous language. Rain pours

down like oh-so-many tears.

If only

it would crystallize

like I wish my thoughts would.

 

Observation is

more of a ceaseless,

thankless occupation

whose rewards are never seen

by the observer- the one who records.

 

Blue-gray clouds never scrutinize.

Not the way

the observer does.

Yellow light has become our new carpet.

Light, like grief, reveals

us. And the lilacs gather bees

as my friends gather affection.

Light is my sour token.

Wind is the other.

 

Here is this summer light, but

people would rather wait

for news of stabbings, shootings, and massacres-

though, being human, won’t admit it-

and choose shadow.

But this is ordinary.

Even ornithologists do not fully understand

the language of birds.

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.