Free Verse # 200 (her body, his landscape)

Poetry from her eyes escapes
as sparks from the bonfire,
an infinitely minute taste
of her boundless desire.

~

With her brush every star she wields,
Then stroking, gently,
Paints the canvas of the night
Into a poem burning bright.

~

Her body was the landscape
where all his memories
lived and perished,
where his every seed
became flower then fruit
then poetry.

~

No word could utter
the depth of his longing,
so every word
on the altar of silence
perished into poetry.

~

To read a poem one must write it again, only this time in blood-letters and upon the pages of one’s heart.

~

Night—another name for her hair as it shadows the earth.

~

Embracing her skin
the night mist melts
into cool, pure dew,
in endless streams gathers
and through her curves flows,
morning songs, poetry.

~

Let it burn on your tongue
this drop of honey
which your bees have suckled
from my flesh,
the garden of poetry.

Free Verse # 199 (our bonded flesh)

Her heart be the inkwell
where he dips his pen,
scribing her soul
in burning letters
sailing amid the stars.

~

Words, heartbeats, breaths – the same,
All from this infinite love are born,
All imbued with her name.

~

With civil incivility I bar my door, above it placing a poem writ in words of wonder; he who chants it, enters.

~

To love with such depth
that even the inner tenacity
of iron and rock is but a fable
compared with our bonded flesh.

~

Like a piano
Her flesh unfurls itself
Under his fingers,
Each stroke a note
Rippling through her waters
And into the air rising,
A music that
Makes the whole world dance.

Wandering Thought # 15

We will never outgrow ourselves if we remain unable to acknowledge precisely where and in what manner we are hemmed in and immobilized. This, and the act of acknowledging is far from being a mere intellectual feat; it is, rather, an expression of the entire inwardness, a decisive shift in the energy of the soul.

Free Verse # 197 (sex and poetry)

The poems I write you—packs of wolves through streets and forests prowling, hungering for my skin.

~

In the end, we remain a river that only the ocean of love can ever dissolve.

~

How else would the dawn break if its light did not spill from the hidden beauty of her face?

~

The dawn sky, your realm, and my poetry, an offering, each dawn, as a bowl of flowers, placed before your shining door.

~

I feel your presence
and the life from my veins
shoots out in fiery arrows,
comets furrowing through my skin
the wildness of your poetry
then darting out seeking you,
fraught with my kernel and essence
and eager, upon touching you,
to dissolve in your embrace.

~

Her voice,
a snake hissing through my skin,
etching into every cell
her burning venom,
sex and poetry.

~

She walks and all the stars around her fall like snowflakes in the wind.

~

Eternity—the only garden that can ever enclose our touching hearts.

Free Verse # 196 (caught in our radiance)

Summer kisses
on the wet mouth of dawn,
over the fallow hills
a gentle rain of flowers.

~

What would the stillness of the night be had it not be permeated to overflow by the light of your voice?

~

The circle of your heart
marked my beginning and end;
and when I entered it I vanished
as the star entering the mouth of dawn
becomes the light pouring through the whole sky,
the colours fluttering from eye to eye.

~

Rush onward, my soul,
And when the wave of your light
Washes the whole sky
You’ll become the whisper
In the heart of each rose.

~

It is because you died
and the earth soaked your flesh
that life grows and grows
unfolding in circles unto eternity

~

My entire flesh,
my heart, my breath,
the very flow of my blood
are attuned to your voice, your breath,
every pulse of your heart,
to the very poetry seeping through your veins
so that your mere being
crowns me as your music,
a shepherd’s tune rising
over the fallow hills,
the breath of silence swelling
in the sacred heart of dawn.

~

Touching, melting,
deepening in union,
unbound, fathomless,
we uncover our original face
and the sun,
caught in our radiance,
outshined,
swells red dissolving
in the passion of our embrace.

On Desire

Unknown Photographer
Unknown Photographer

Red with desire
the moon rises,
each burning light-thread
rippling through my waters
waves of ecstasy,
awakening within
a dawn of sweet silence,
an intoxication blooming
in a heaven of clarity.

Junnaiyd says there is a sobriety that contains all drunkenness, but there is no drunkenness that contains all sobriety. Coleman Barks, Rumi, The Book of Love

I hear your voice

From behind every cleft and leaf,
from every stretch of sky
and with the breaking of every wave,
climbing the mountain
or descending the valley,
with every birdsong
as well as in the utter stillness of night or dawn
I hear your voice,
I hear your voice
and it calls me back into me,
filling and fulfilling me,
completing me,
raising me like a cloud
in the purity of your sky
then with your rays
dissolving me,
a breath in your breath
unfolding inside the realm
of your ineffable presence.

Free Verse # 194 (love’s burning loaves)

In the wild beauty of your face
My poem takes root
Then rises,
Her branches shading
The world’s garden,
Her fruits
Upon every lip.

~

The gift of silence –
I open inward,
fill with endless stars.

~

Do I hide your voice inside my ribs, you whose breath permeates the marrow of the world?

~

Graft your poem
into my veins
and watch my face become
the fountain of your grace.

~

Caressing her skin
the moonrays glow red
then glide through her curves,
a warm, crimson wine.

~

Night silently descends
and your song,
like the evening star,
unfolds within my heart.

~

Her gift –
a sickle moon
to harvest poetry’s wheat,
a stone-wheel of stars
to grind them,
and the sun’s kiln to bake:
love’s burning loaves.

~

The dance that defies all limits, breaking us ever deeper into the growing womb of love.

~

Her kiss is the only poem I’ve ever known.

~

My heartbeats
in night’s silence –
dewdrops falling
to the pond of your face.

~

I shall always have about me the scent of the fallow fields and the profound solitude of dawn.

~

Eternity itself is but a tributary of love’s boundless river.

~

Like gentle rain
caress my skin,
parched and cracked
in the desert of longing.

~

What is this being human if not a caravan of memories roving amid the desert dunes of life.