Haiku # 603

Midnight lightning…
my secret life
transpiring in flashes

~

A momentary life…
the autumn wind holding
the leaves as they fall

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Free Verse # 430 (poetry, poetry…)

L’air
à la touche de mes lèvres
devient la pluie
qui imprègne ton corps…

~

Ever since I walked in your light I knew that no darkness could diminish me.

~

Off the curves of her lips
light, like a wave,
seems to break, frothing,
a song of sweet sensuality,
a silken shawl tenderly wrapping
the heart of the wind.

~

I touch her and she flowers
as though autumn
has been slowly
gathering its fires
of gold, brown, and red
in the sea of her skin.

~

Silence takes me down
to the roots of poetry
and I find them rising
from the sea of your heart

~

At the corner of the street
I am suddenly caught
in the fragrance of a jasmine
stirring from a hidden garden
and all I can remember
is the image of your face.

~

On the good days
as on the bad,
your presence surrounds me
like a stillness in the air.

~

Poetry, poetry…
one more shot to make
this happiness weep
from the fountain of my heart

~

Poetry matures when she is able to live again in her house of childhood joy.

~

This longing in my soul
I live it
the way the flame transpires
into the stillness of the night,
reaching ever higher
into the unfathomable
elevatudes of your soul
even as I burn
into a thinning thread
of laughing ash,
even as I burn
and am no more.

~

We touched
and the sap of ancient roots
rose into our veins

~

She took flight into him
flapping her wings
with the intuition of a bird
who knows his migratory path
home —
she took flight into him,
rooted like a cloud
ever drifting through the sky
of his soul.

~

His touch
rises through her limbs
the way a flame descends
down through the wick
burning into the blissfulness
of her core

Wandering Thought # 79

We are creating for ourselves a world in which it is impossible to live; and even if life was still physically possible, it would be undesirable.

~ ~ ~

Once it is over we’ll discover it — modernity was a big lie. Modernity — an incredibly rich soil that nonetheless did not allow the growth of anything great.

~ ~ ~

Thirty six; the year I discovered the truth about myself.