Month: March 2017

Haiku # 467

Pierre MhannaLeave a comment

الشمعة المحترقة
لم يبق من نفسها
الا عتمة الليل

~

تحت ضوء القمر
ياسمين بشرتها
اريج يحترق
كالشعر في الليل

~

تحت ضوء القمر
عطر شعرها يفوح
كالشعر في الليل

~

فوق أمواج البحر
نجوم السماء
قناديل ليل ترفرف

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Free Verse # 400 (only love)

Pierre Mhanna1 Comment

Across lifetimes
we beckon each other,
two birds calling
from the leafy boughs
as the tree of time
grows and sprawls,
its roots rising
from eternity,
its branches spreading
in the sky of love.

~

His touch seethes the sun in her skin.

~

In his web of words
rocking gently
as the fire of his being
burns her body
to a slow gush,
her sultry water
his cup of wine,
the ink of his poetry.

~

Dawn…
in the white silence
our shared breath,
flowering

~

Her poem
rubs against his fullness,
sultry waves probing
the deeps of his ocean,
her flowers imbibing
the light in his words.

~

Dawn…
her body over mine,
her being in mine
shuddering
as the world is born again,
as from the ash of our poem
we are reborn.

~

The love of love
for which words
are messengers,
vessels carrying
the eternal flame.

~

His touch is not physical
yet it binds her;
his shadow
comes over her
and her ocean
is at the root
of his mountain,
waves unfolding
from her core.

~

Dusk settling…
in my heart the winged
dance of poetry

~

Love sighs and we scatter,
embers in the wind,
our bodies
the dust of ancient stars
catching fire once again,
burning in eternal light.

~

His words in her mouth
a succulent ferment
of a thousand poems
burning all at once.

~

In this transient world only love endures.

Free Verse # 399 (a chapel on the hill)

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In a loud world
my heart
is a calm chapel
lying somewhere
on a green hill
where birds sing
and streams murmur
as your voice
inside of me wanders
like incense
like prayer
like the prophecy of poetry

~

Cracks
where moss grows,
the chipped lips
of the cup that once
flowed with our wine,
burned hot with our tea
as we made poetry.

~

Sometimes I touch you
and this touch
swells my heart
in rivers of poetry;
manhood?—
rooting myself deeper
in the sanctity
of this touch,
annihilated as your being
becomes my heart’s poetry,
swimming inside
your throbbing sea of light.

~

A fiery death,
a moth’s death,
in her kiss I feel
the boundless force of life.

~

Poetry has always been a way to polish your face in my heart, to bring its light to a greater shining in my soul, my life.

~

Dawn,
I wake up drowning
in a sea of your sighs,
your breath
a shawl curled
around the limbs
of the world,
its heat
rising from the earth,
raining from the sky.

~

Traversing
the wet ponds of night
her shewolf howl
arrives at dawn,
a tremor shaking
the sea of sleep,
a primal bite
in the flesh of poetry.

~

Her fragrance
an assassin’s knife
stealing through the night,
the fire of its steel
burning against my neck,
blazing the dark forest
of desire and poetry.

~

Her skin absorbs his words
like water the light
as she fills with the glow
of his states of mind,
the wine of his poetry.

Free Verse # 398 (axis mundi)

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His roving hands
an ocean sinking
to the deeps of her skin,
shaking from her womb
the stars of the night,
the poets’ dreams.

~

I saw you
before my eyes could see;
and now when I write
I follow in the trail
of that sacred knowing,
that ancient memory.

~

The syllables
of every written poem…
crimson sighs melting
in the light of your eyes

~

Axis mundi…
the ray of light
turning in her eyes

~

What is the poem?
Something that teaches the man
how to touch the woman;
something that teaches the woman
how to respond
from the ocean of her heart.
What is the poem?
It is the space
between the man and woman
where their longings merge
to annihilate past and future
on the altar of the present,
where their beings incubate
the desire to rise
beyond themselves
and in their hearts embody
the expanse of their sky.

Free Verse # 397 (surrendering my breath)

Pierre Mhanna4 Comments

They made love,
two primal creatures
flung out
from the sea of poetry,
and in the froth of their lovemaking
the sea rose and again
drowned them
in the ripple of eternity.

~

Surrendering my breath
my soul will drift
like fog in the sky,
at dawn and dusk
lacing the earth
with the dew of your name,
the freshness of your touch.

~

You are the presence
inside the poem
drawing me deeper
into the place
where words vanish
and all that remains
is your mystery

~

Always at dawn
your bird at my window
and my heart swelling
with the white of your song

~

My life
a book of longing
burning in the fire
of your calligraphy,
the strokes of your pen
a surf of waves constantly
rolling in my chest.

~

In the poem
I listened to you
and your voice
was the sea of presence
submerging my life,
animating my soul.

Letter, March 12, 2017

Pierre MhannaLeave a comment

Woman, by virtue of being woman, casts a light upon the world — and we poets, aware and ravished by the sacredness of her ray, find our hearts burning and our words rising like smoke from within the burning. And what do all poets hope for?—well, their life at its deepest root aches to get to the source of her light, to travel her white stream upward and back into the source, the core. This, poets with a fine intuition know can only be achieved through and with a single woman. Women are many but woman, in a sense, is one. The woman the poet loves, writes his heart to, and in whose light he lives is one and provides him with the highest possible unification of life. Through her he asserts himself and reaches his peak and harmonizes his strength; through her he becomes more than a poet, he becomes a man, and, dare I say, achieves his freedom and independence of women. He finds his calling in the arms of the greatest woman of all — life. What woman entices him from now on?—the woman whose light is so ravishing that, in her presence, he feels that the physical world cannot contain him anymore. You, my love, are such a woman.

One Quiver, One Drop

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My breath of words
inside of you travels,
a shawl of mist stroking
your hidden sea of dew;
the red leaves in your garden
shiver wet
as your damp limbs and boughs
gently sway;
your skin flowers
into a blood red moan,
from between its petals
a river gushing,
scarlet whispers hushed
on a quiet summer eve,
one drop from its flow
diluting a thousand aching seas,
one quiver of its passion
burning a thousand universes
on the altar of eternity.

Free Verse # 396 (a life of wandering)

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Dawn; the silence a sea
of radiant heat,
a universe permeated
by the want of our touch.

~

Night,
the wind trembles
and in the scatter of leaves
I hear your voice,
an ancient yearning
reaching into me,
opening my soul up
to the clear obscure dance
of desire and poetry.

~

The bird on the branch
sings the end of winter
as a flower slowly
takes shape in my heart.

~

A life of wandering,
taking in the world
in still images distilled
with the lens of poetry.

~

In the shadows of the night
your breath comes to me,
page after page of a poem
burning in my chest,
its words, set free,
buzzing in my veins.

~

In the bonfire of longing
my poems to you burn,
freed from the paper
their words rise,
the wings of a deep intimacy
taking flight
and like a song of praise
covering the world.