Tanka # 102

May 22, 2017 Pierre Mhanna

Dans un coin du monde
la chandelle prie,
le clair-obscur de ses soupirs
des vagues chuchotant
dans le cœur du poète.

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Posted in French Poetry, Poetry, Tanka PondTagged my poetry, Pierre Mhanna, poète, Poésie, Poetry, Tanka

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Freydoon Rassouli, Fountain of Grace

Wells of Inspiration

Art of Haiku
Colleen Kelley
David Whyte – Many Rivers
Hermitary
Ibn 'Arabi
Odilon Redon
Peaceful Rivers
Philosophical Society
Rassouli's Women
Rivers of Passion
Rumi's Masnavi
Wasted Beauty
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By your grace | in winter's heart | flowers grow

Your painterly eyes... | the world a canvas | born of your sight, | a fluid river | of shadows and light.

Core of mystery, | Firebirds gliding along the inmost sky, | Secrets from radiant eyes weeping, | Living waters washing over the living heart.

From each set of eyes | a world of colour pours. | From each beating heart | the divine music of love.

Moonlit warrior | slicing through the air, | shards of silence.

Itinerant heart | In the source of now, sinking, | Rising a full moon.

Drinking the light of your face, | the fountain of my soul, | a lover's song bubbling with grace.

Born into colour, |The flower in spring’s white palm | Kissed by The One.

Flowers of chaos, | A wild tumult of colours | Vying for The One.

Full moon on the pond, | light breaking on cold water, | night, a silent breath.

Love, | let me cradle you | as the sun cradles the earth, | heart, an infinite fountain | of joy and warmth.

What is my heart if not your home | where the sun itself | unfurls from your womb.

His Poem

Like furrows of stars | his words ploughed through her skin, | fevered kisses along her curves | condensed into burning ink

Beauty has her face for a name.

Cradled in love's embryonic water.

Blossoming | the tree transfigures the garden | as you, in my heart, | birth me as pure light.

Submerged in this flow, | The waters of his river | Carrying her home.

Love's exuberance - | Our tangled bodies the seat | Where the sun unfolds.

Brimming with devotion | He planted his heart, | A kiss in her womb.

Flying to the moon, | Twilight birds drunk | On your silent call.

As the sky holds the earth | he held her into him, | his kiss into her forehead melting | a vaporous stream of wine.

Moonflow melting | into the bay of dawn, | her face.

She, plume of shadow, | And he the nocturnal ink | Burning in her veins.

Macerated in silence, | my poem a white moon | sailing her blue dawn.

In his touch | she longed to become, | poetry...

Entwined at the roots, | a bond taking them | beyond life and death.

A raindrop | hanging from the leaf, | falling, not falling.

Cheek to cheek | silently kissing, | a world born of love.

In the flowing stream | the light of the moon | is ever the same

Cradle of passion, | our soldered bodies melting, | house of flame and love.

This kiss – | Our open hearts | A single flame burning, | Subsumed into the living core, The heart of the One.

On the branch of dawn we swayed, | two birds lost in the silence | of our open hearts.

In the autumn wind | the howl | of lost voices

My poem I lit like a candle, | all night long she kept vigil | into the darkness casting | the firebirds of your name.

Inviolable | in the solitude of her soul | she stood, | the world like an endless poem | below her feet stretched.

Against the winter sky | bare branches stirring | the dust of memories

On her face | the flame flickered | a sea of memories

Shades of dawn – | the moon’s silent ache | sinking in the sea

Through the silent pines | the sun’s fading rays, | my heart | another bird | returning home.

Famished poem... | in the moonlight | her almond-flower skin | skyward heaving | a breathless sigh

In the glow of sunset | my heart alone travels | a ship without sails

Where am I? | In the whiff of your fragrance | Like a moth inside a flame | All sense of direction is lost, | And place is placelessness.

Quick to fade... | in the grey of dawn | the sigh of dewdrops

Silent joy of now… | a full moon whirling, | dervish in the sky

Moon | over the hill | wax in my dreams

My breaths... | shipwrecked poems | stranded in her skin, | stars burning | in a moonless night.

Against the winter sky | bare branches stirring | the dust of memories

Perfume of passion... | in the twilight air | the fragrance of her hair, | a mystic voice calling | night from its lair.

How music is made... | bodies entwined | like crescent moons, | their light quivering | the soul of the night.

His touch bathes her in a sea of light

Moon through the window… | a sea of poetry | aglow in her skin

Sobbing with desire | light in tender waves | relishing her skin, | Eros vanquishing | the absurdity of night.

Searing her skin | his night of poetry

The length of her back | a roaring sea, | a canvas of dark waves | in each shaded breath screaming... | poetry

Amid the shadows | I flourish… | moon in the sky

Light along her skin | erotica in sultry curves | exuding clouds of incense, | a softness that melts | the heart to poetry.

The exquisite pain of fire | curling along her fragile neck, | the unbearable gentleness | that brings each poem to tears.

From the nooks of her neck | my poem draws its breath, | a bird inhaling | the expanse of the sky.

Envisioning her womb, | the timeless mandala | where the seasons turn, | the timeless wheel of life | dancing its dance.

In the deeps of darkness | your voice was the starlight | leading me home

Free to walk the earth as a rain drop dissolved in the ocean of the beloved

Autumn’s playground… | the peel of lost voices | blowing in the air

Shared whispers | on the branch of dusk... | the promise of forever

Stranger to the world… | behind far hills the | cold moon sinking

In the fire of your eyes | poetry sheds her veils | and enters wordless, | its one desire to live | rooted in your heart.

A cup of tea | warming my hands… | moon over the snow

I see her and fill with ache, burn to merge with her in a totality of being that leaves no space between our bodies.

A poet's life... | from a branch in the mist | a bird calling

Dusk over the woods… | amid the rustling leaves | a world of shadows

Year after year | My green tea | Darker and more bitter, | Growing old | With my books.

Miniature fig tree | In the shadow of your leaves | Garden poetry

Haiku Pond

Haiku pond | the shadow of a bird | passing at dusk

The crow's black caw | a dagger stabbing | the heart of the moon

الشمس على عري جسدها | كل أغصان الربيع | تترنح ثملة

Come join me | a cup for two | filled with spring’s | holy nectar

In the fog | the limbs of cut trees | wailing

When I knew the highs of your kiss | I no longer drank, | I no longer prayed, | and all my poetry was writ | with the salve of your lips.

Le soir jette | son manteau noir ; | dans la mer de sa peau | mon cœur bat | en fleurs-étoiles.

Agé de dix mille ans | le haïku fleurit… | lune dans la rivière

Wild the dream | the moon's whirling skirt | a sufi in the sky

A ship longing | for its lost harbor… | her breath at dawn

Faded blue | waiting for a letter… | the mailbox of love

Red and luscious | it hangs from your bough, | the last of my poems, | the summer of my hopes.

Her warming flow of wine | in the early morning chill, | the areolas of her breasts | flowering starlike | amid my thirsty lips.

In dawn’s still hush | the breath of poetry | rubs against her cheeks; | full of sighs the wind | pours with dew.

Moon in the river | alone crossing | the banks of autumn

In my teacup | steeping | the white leaves of the moon

Clad in fog we vanished | into the mystic mountain of union, | inseparable we rose again | breathing open | wide as the sky.

In my book of love | and so long as I can remember I| ’ve been writing you | a poem each day.

My poem, a solitude on a journey of no return sailing ever deeper into you.

Her body she offers, | a sea to be crafted | by the ink of his fire, | exalted on the altar | of lust and poetry.

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

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

Shriveled kisses | in the midst of winter… | figs clinging still | to the promise of the sky

Locked in exile | until a word comes from you; | word after word | I chronicle my exile and imprisonment, | my hidden journey with you.

منسلاً عند الفجر | القمر فوق السطوح مداعبا | عري جسدها

The fountain of life's water, | the birthplace of the moon.

Lune sur mer… | mon cœur un piège | de vent nomade

God painting the world dipped his brush in the inkwell of her body

Clothed by his poem, | every word etched | with the ink of a fire | that burned for ages | on the altar of his heart.

Listening intently to the music interweaving the waters of their souls.

Unknown Artist, Somewhere in France

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