Month: March 2016

Living With Faith

Pierre Mhanna5 Comments

Even in old age,
Even when you know
You’re dying,
Live as if tomorrow
Belongs to you
And is yours to live
To the fullest,
Live with that faith
For tomorrow
Lovers will still love
And you will be there
In their belonging,
Birds will keep singing
And you will be their song of praise,
Children will still laugh
And you will dwell
In their innocent play,
For life does not abandon you
Even as she draws
Her last breath from you
And pulls you down
From the stage.

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Wandering Thought # 29

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Make no mistake about it, if you want to give your ear to a poet then be certain that he will be instructing you in the art of theft! The art of wanting to take pleasure in what is not your own. He will fill you up with a craving so intense you’d want to possess and claim the thing desired as part of your growing and expanding self. He will make a gentle conqueror out of you, and, sometimes, not a very gentle one.

Free Verse # 355 (love’s sacred name)

Pierre Mhanna10 Comments

My heart
A quiet house
Of dust and stars
And a candle drawing
Your face in the dark.

~

You come to me,
A poem
Wearing your fragrance
For a skirt;
I pen you
And the skirt disappears
Leaving me drenched
In your naked embrace,
The open presence of poetry.

~

For a gift
She gave me a feather
Plucked from her ribs
And with dawn for ink
Bid me to write
Her skin into a poem
Eternally breathing
Love’s sacred name.

~

With the salve of her lips
I balm my wounds;
With spring they flower,
Crimson poetry.

~

I sleep,
Your dark hair
A river
Flowing over my face,
A blanket of dark water
Healing my tired soul.

Free Verse # 354 (poem of moss and honey)

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Into the soft pillow
Of your waters
The sun sets
Leaving the sky to drown
In the dark waves
Of your hair.

~

I melted into her
Deeper than a cloud
Dissolving in the sky.

~

Bird at dawn
Sipping from the wells
Resting in her breasts.

~

Feathers igniting
At the edge of dawn…
Bird tracing her breasts.

~

The silk of her thighs
A poem of moss and honey
And words seared
With the tears of his heart.

~

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Photographer unknown

The poet
Is a silent assassin
Wielding her skin,
A blade of words
Plunged
In a sea of fire.

~

Midnight harvest,
Through your navel pressing
The last of the stars
Then cradling you into me,
A starry sea gently rocking,
Engulfing me whole.

Free Verse # 353 (this life of poetry)

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On the pathways of the world
I lose myself, I find myself,
Always spinning inside of you.

~

At dawn
Your breath strokes my cheek,
And I wake to walk another day
In the beauty of your light,
This life of poetry.

~

Your fragrance
Each morning,
How a flower
Soaked in night’s dew
Aches for the honeyed touch
Of the radiant sun.

~

In the honeycomb of dawn
Our gentle togetherness
A flute weeping silently,
Skin against skin fermenting
A fervent honey
In the open blue mouth,
Filling it to overflow
As the outpour
Showers the earth,
The light of a new day.

~

We met
At the burning seam
Where poetry meets reality
But then the seam disappeared
And there was only poetry.

~

With each inked verse
I bed you,
Poems flowering
In the linings of your skin,
A language undulating erotic
As it binds us,
Poetry…

Free Verse # 352 (a little drunk, a little foolish)

Pierre Mhanna2 Comments

I am all ink
And a poem
Waiting to flow
From the sanctity of her pen
And draw the world
With the fire of her breath.

~

Laden with you fragrance
The spring wind
Dances all around
And I,
A little drunk,
A little foolish,
Bloom like an earth
Blessed by your touch.

~

Turning the blanket of sleep,
Her rays, from the dark quilt,
Pouring forth softly,
Lacing my neck,
Washing my face,
The blue sigh of dawn.

~

From the tenebrous hills
Poetry, like the scent of a woman,
Lead me to the light,
And in that midsummer garden
I found her gleaming face.

~

My heart
The shape of a flower
Wild on her lips.

~

Planting my kiss
In the nook of your neck,
A whirling star
Traveling deep down
Through your veins
And murmuring blood
To dwell in your heart.

I dreamed of a girl

Pierre Mhanna3 Comments

I dreamed of a girl
Whose fingertips are stained
With the ink of poetry,
Whose eyes are cast
Like a wolf’s
Into philosophy’s lair,
And who braids her hair
With the silk of the stars.

And now
As the ship of my life
Reaches its middle sea
I see you standing
Clear before me,
Woman of my dreams,
All the waves of my life
Rolling out to meet you
And unfurling like carpets
Of stars and poetry
Before the onrush
Of your gentle feet.

Now I touch you
And feel in my chest
The ebb and flow
Of your presence,
And bind my life to you
In a solemn promise,
A promise that was never
Written or spoken
But that flowered in silence
Between the oceans of our souls.

I bind my life to you
As though you are here,
Because you always were,
You who taught me
How to see and believe
And above myself rise
In visions of poetry
And into philosophy
As a way of life.

For that I kiss you
And pledge my blood
In its pure fervency.

Free Verse # 351 (the prophecy of her skin)

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Mad with the prophecy
Of your skin
My hands prowl
The streets of the night,
My fingers coursing
Like burning rivers
Into your womb
Of poetry.

~

In each woman
A hidden core spins
Birthing the whole world.
To touch a woman is to live
In its velvet mystery.

~

O cloistered heart,
However high its walls
No garden is hidden
From bee and butterfly.

~

Kfarhay, March 13, 2016
Kfarhay, Batroun, Lebanon, March 13, 2016

All the roads spread
From the root source
Of her heart.
Traveling I always
Roamed through her veins,
Swam in her blood.

~

We have not met
But at night
My dreams and hers
Collide
And rain in showers
Of breathless stars.