Free Verse # 393 (her poem had a bee sting)

Between us time leaps
in long lapses,
the words we write now
we exchanged in kisses
a thousand years ago,
our fingertips
now touching unlock
the house of eternity.

~

Her poem had a bee sting
wrapped in its tail;
finishing it I could feel
my tongue and lips swell,
and could read nothing else
for days, for days.

~

Girl with a sword,
girl with a pen,
girl whose fragrance
is a sword and a pen,
and O the ink!
O the blood!
girl blazing
an innocent smile.

~

A thousand years old poem;
my heart a leaf trembling
as the wind blows
from the abyss of the past,
how fresh the wound,
how poignant the red fragrance
of the gleaming rose.

~

My aloneness,
the heaviness of my heart,
a wisp of smoke vanishing
in the fragrance of our touch.

Unfree Poet

In my solitude I live,
The mortal wound which the knife
Of dame poetry did give
Bleeds a sea around my isle.

‘Who would venture into me?’
In starry nights and lone dawns
My waves in rattling chains sing
The clutch of infinity.

What am I? An adventure
Though a prisoner I be,
And the dungeon holding me
Burns aquiver with dawn-light.

Unfree thoroughly, and yet,
You tears, you fire, I do bless,
And pray the ache in my chest
Spread you wider poetry.

Wandering Thought # 45

A man who can only love or hate a woman, or a certain kind of woman, suffers an impotence of will. What leads him to her and what in her cripples him is a certain lack in his emotional and sexual life. His maturity is the maturity of his will, his ability to choose, and be aware of the moment where his choice is made, and his will to go one way or another activated.

Free Verse # 392 (the heart of the rising sun)

Full moon tonight…
in the blowing breeze
my words scatter,
fragrant petals
falling to her feet.

~

Silently we slipped away,
two foxes wearing for skin
the gold of poetry,
and in the blue of dawn
love was a field opening
to the heart of the rising sun.

~

Dawn…
my breath and yours
merging
over the silent fields,
a quiet prayer
from amid our joined ribs
rising
to greet the rising sun.

~

My poetry draws you
in lines of everlasting beauty
in the deeps of my mind;
one day I will vanish
and you will shine on.

~

Starbreath at dawn…
I go to you clad in the wings
of a thousand kisses,
all vying like poems
to drink from your mouth.

~

Starbreath at dawn…
on your pillow my poem
holding vigil

Free Verse # 391 (I’m scared of loneliness)

My cold hands shivering
on words that will not come,
and your thighs
a summer sheath calling me
to spill it all within,
a bonfire of ink and wine.

~

A full moon reigns
and I am in a strange land,
my hand
through her dark curls
sifting,
searching
for forgotten memories.

~

Whenever in my pen
no ink is there to write
I search to find it
etched to a slow burn
on the curves of your lips,
in the wellspring of your eyes.

So I call you a thieve
and kiss your hands,
break my pen and throw it,
and journey into you,
to the source of poetry.

~

I am a poet
running barefoot
in a city of broken stars
searching for the candle
burning in your window,
aching for your touch.

~

Fire’s ash
The dust of snow
It all will pass
High or low
And all the seeds
We reap and sow
Are in the moments
When in love we grow

~

The shadow of her hair
in the evening breeze,
her voice from afar
in the heart of the mist
sounding an invisible bell.

~

Her smile was the fragrance
missing from my life,
the shaft of light
that could pierce
the cloud of my soul.

~

Snug against my neck…
her perfume in the morning
a candle’s burning breath

~

Winter night…
here and there the scattered
ashes of poetry

~

My wound aches
for the sear
of the fire in her lips

~

I’m scared of loneliness, so I write to be with you.

Free Verse # 390 (my spring of poetry)

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Photographer Unknown

Love was between us
and she was a tailoress,
fitting my poems
to the curves of her skin,
the sinews of her breath.

~

With a breath,
with a word,
with a heartbeat,
with a ribbon of your fragrance
fill my heart to overflow,
grant me your light
as a gift of life.

~

Our poetry…
two birds
to one another
deep in the woods
calling.

~

Wetness dripping…
poetry dissolved
amid her thighs

~

tyr-january-06-2017
Tyr, South Lebanon, January 06, 2017

The anchor of your breath
once fell into me,
now my skin is all rust
from the salt of your sea.

~

Stirring softly,
a breeze amid the trees
at dawn,
my breath in starseeds
dewing on your skin,
your dark hair
a mooncloud
in my spring of poetry.

Free Verse # 389 (old year, new year)

For the new year,
in each poem
I’ll rehearse your name
ever more faithfully,
in each breath
deepen in your silence,
the mainstream of your heart.

~

Touched by your light
the moon and morning star
shy away in silence;
the whole celestial sphere
a dervish burning
in the poem of your skin.

~

New year’s morn…
your breath on my lips
a rain of dew burning
with the liquid light of love

~

Wine and poetry
for new year’s eve,
her voice in my chest
a river of fire and ice,
her hand in my mind
with ruthless grace seeding
all the coming suns.

~

Old year, new year,
in the glow of your sun
it all rises, it all sets.

~

What is longing? –
her lips below audible
sighed in the wind,
as her heart
before her leapt
and went spanning
the endless distances,
through the grass
gliding silently
and shuddering, burning,
following a thread
weaved with fingers
older than time.