Thursday 25 September 2014

Death wish




water
pulled me quickly
to tides deep & brooding-
a part of me defied the rush
of drowning but the sea opened its arms
pillow soft, the pain receded
gentle as needle prick
i want to fall,

falter

on my own terms
i don't wish for slow death,
for  terrible  decay of  mind
to break me inch by inch, no i want to 
leave with purple blooms on my hands,
with your face close to mine
your love ever
stronger 




The quiet death
Photography:   Brooke Shaden


Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Meeting the Bar - Hosted by Gay - This is a diamond shaped Quarrels form with set rules ~ I am not sure if I followed it, smiles ~ Please check in later at 3pm EST ~

Sunday 21 September 2014

When your voice is like rain

The sky is a single brushstroke
of aquamarine 
Though many voices speak

Yours is like amber

Yours is like saffron
yellowing my tongue of spice

Even above glass floor 

the wind sweeping the leaves in
tiny islands  

Yours is like violin

Yours is like bow
piercing 
clouds
streak of fire,
veins careening open
pupils dilating in rushing tide

catching me

in autumn's early shroud 
How can I forget your voice?
You ripple all my memories
like whispering birds with nowhere to hide
you
who fly with them

you
who always come back with bluest of plums


Many voices speak.*
Through them all
I hear only yours
falling as a night rain.

      
Inspiration and lines from Karin Boye:   Many Voices Speak


Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Sunday's Challenge:  Swedish Poetry hosted by Bjorn Rudberg - We are writing to the poems by Swedish writer Karin Boye

and Poets United

Picture credit:   here

Tuesday 2 September 2014

three faces of the moon


moon over basel



sketch me a round moon
above grey sheen of city lights
draw long bridge over river
the night is a symphony
silvered blue, when you're with me


~0~0~


ivory & ink
shading the canvas star-strewn:
spirals, patterns, glass
the night is a mosaic
flaring between our bones


~0~0~


moon shading our eyes
river moulting its skin
wind slithering softly-
the sky night thrums, speaking 
a language of its own



Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Sketch it Out - Hosted by Mary