Month: November 2019

Haiku # 659

Pierre MhannaLeave a comment

Clinging to summer’s heat
the autumn rain balming
the lips of flowers

~

On her white petals
the autumn rain clinging
to summer’s heat

~

Steering the rudder
the boat staggers
as drunk as he

~

This path to nowhere
I walk it alone
with nothing but a bag

~

Deathbed haiku…
the poet’s last breath
returns to the sky

~

Photograph by Jai Johnson

…قلبي وما بقي منه
طيور تهاجر
في قمر الخريف

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Wandering Thought # 90

Pierre MhannaLeave a comment

A little poetic sensibility is enough for you to know that you do not inhabit the same world as that of men. They pass you by as if they were holograms projected from another dimension, barely aware of their immediate surroundings and the intricacy that holds everything together, sways and moves everything to the same rhythm; they pass you by as if they were humans that never completely materialized, remaining half-ghosts, not really aware of the currents and tides of their own bodies, and how these merge with and echo the infinite beauty and chaos of the world outside. A little poetic sensibility goes a long way. You open your eyes, and realize you’ve been blind. You hear, feel, smell and touch as if for the first time. The world is alive. The world, as it is, is spirit, is art, it is poetry.

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.

William Blake

Free Verse # 441 (what is love?)

Pierre Mhanna2 Comments

What is love?—the inwardness of a relation that, to the lovers, is greater than the earth and sky.

~

A kiss that is more
than a kiss;
a fusion of two bodies,
two souls,
two hearts,
two poetries…

~

Day and night
I journey to you,
an invisible thread
tying our hearts…

~

We are nameless, except in those moments when we are touched by love.

~

I am a poet; when I love a woman, I write to her; she lives in my soul, and becomes my poetry.

~

By your mere presence
you filled my life
with a beauty
I could not imagine,
with a light
I could not understand.

~

I sip my morning coffee
and listen to the autumn rain,
the quiet hush of her breath
wrapped around my neck
like a brown shawl,
and my fingers ache
to caress her hair,
to touch her face.

~

As I kiss her
all the wounds of the past
rise up to my mouth
and I feel them melting
between our lips

Tangled & Merging

Pierre Mhanna3 Comments

Night falls,
her dark hair in rivulets
fills its lonesome corners;
the candle of her breath
ignites somewhere
inside the vast darkness,
casting a play of shadows
against the spinning walls;
a cloistered world,
an intimate world
of poetry and wine
and our lips
and our naked bodies
tangled and merging
somewhere deep inside.