Free Verse # 422 (her light is my blessing)

Could it be that this fire
burning under my skin
is a remnant of an ancient star
that still recalls your name?
That in this star
you and me
burned selfsame?

~

In this life
we love a little,
we dance a little,
then are folded
back into the sky.

~

What I wrote you
during the day
I wanted to read to you
at night,
but you are nowhere to be found;
and so, I’ll whisper it to the wind,
and pray the wind
will find your ears tonight.

~

With every poem
I am making my way to you,
through the loneliness,
through the crowds,
through every day’s toils
and misunderstood smiles,
so I write to make my way to you,
to fill my chest a little
with the breath of homecoming,
to be able to survive.

~

Not much has changed, sister,
my hair is still growing grayer,
our dad is still waiting
to win the lottery.

~

Her light is my blessing;
to touch her is to know
the essence of my heart.

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Free Verse # 421 (stay with me)

Longing
is that great distance
which, separating me from you,
reveals to me the boundless
heart of love

~

My poem remembers you
like a drop of water recalls
being one with the sea

~

I write
because I need to feel my fingers
caressing your skin,
because the poem
is my only way
to be with you,
to tell you what I
in my infinite solitude
can tell no one.
I write
because you understand.

~

Que notre sensualité, amour,
soit douce dans sa férocité,
tel le rêve qui anime
les fonds de la mer,
telle la chaleur dans le souffle
des fleurs à l’aube.

~

Stay with me,
the night is silent,
my ribs are cold,
and solitude is a lover
who doesn’t play right.
Stay with me,
the tea is steaming,
the poem is warm,
and love is a flower
that grows in your light.

Free Verse # 420 (something men have long forgotten)

Fervently, silently
I am writing for you,
Words etched
On tree barks
In hidden forests,
Words inked
With burning letters
On the skin of silence,
I am writing to you
As the wind breezes,
As the flowers bloom,
As the trees intuitively
Reach to the sky,
I am writing to you…

~

The night is silent
but I am calling you
with a thousand tongues hidden
in the flame of love

~

Every year the snow falls
and every year as it melts
it flows down the same streams,
and back to the boundless sea;
whenever I write I feel the words
streaming through her skin,
in their flow an ache
to melt deep within.

~

The world within this world,
the source, the primal spring,
the silence rooted in the openness
of the poem’s heart –
I touch your fingertips
and I am there,
I just look into your eyes,
the idea of you
flashes inside of me
and I am there,
a breathless flame
burning in your heart.

~

The poem I’d live with her one day…
all these years together
and every day I’m still learning
the shades of her smile

~

Dawn is on the rise…
again I feel you in my skin
a flooding beam of light

~

Poetry
was whispering something
men have long forgotten –
how to touch her soul,
how to listen to her heart.

~

Writing to you
always feels like meeting you
in that place
where our love first flowered
in the mysterious flesh of spring.

Writing to you
is always a beginning
of something that never ages
but is eternally youthful
in the heart of God.

Free Verse # 419 (la rue de ce poème)

Nuit d’hiver,
la rivière dans la vallée
gronde avec
la gueule blanche de la neige,
et moi, dans ma chambre,
assis auprès de la fenêtre,
écoute le souffle de la chandelle
mêlé au silence.

~

In the hush of dawn
I hear your voice,
the light of a distant star
dewing in my soul.

~

Dans mon cœur
je suis toujours
à l’écoute de ta voix

~

Dans la vie il n’y a qu’un poème à écrire, le reste est de la grammaire.

~

Pour rendez-vous je te donne
la rue de ce poème
où tous mes mots
courent comme un fleuve
qui désir se noyer
dans la fleur de ta peau

~

When I write
It is always like this,
I imagine your lips
Drinking the words
Sip by sip,
But my heart
Is the goblet
And my spirit the wine,
And the breath
You take from me
As you sip
You return,
Mouth on mouth
Relishing the poem
Of eternal love.

~

If this love
I did not give to you
In poems I would go mad,
But poems
Can be anything really,
A touch of a fingertip,
A shared breath,
A hike in the forest
As the sun sets,
For a poem, really,
Is synchronicity,
And two hearts open
To the source of love.

~

You visit me
When I’m about to leave
So I change my mind and stay,
But then, as I’m going, you call
And I stop to listen
To what you have to say,
So it seems that my life is nothing
But knots circling your being
In ever larger circles of mystery,
And a listening to the stillness
Of your soul.

Free Verse # 418 (my poem comes nearest to her)

Her fragrance
is a knife
held to my neck,
however I move
I am gone…

~

Her silence weakened me
and I hated it until I learned
it was the only force capable
of revealing me to my bones,
shaking open my truth
on the altar of the world.

~

Let us kiss
until nothing of us remains
except the light
of the first star

~

Rain falling at dawn,
I am awake
writing shattered notes
to an unknown lover

~

I am waiting for you
on the other side of silence,
covered in dew
and holding out
the scarlet fire of my heart.

~

Aux moments silencieux
je retrouve mon destin,
fleur couleur du vent,
fraicheur de l’aube,
les yeux de mon bien-aimée
lumière du monde.

~

My poem is a painting
in which her soul is blushing;
my poem is an attempt
to touch her light
with shivering fingers
and an aching soul;
my poem comes nearest to her
when it is silent.

Free Verse # 417 (the focal point of her heart)

I am searching for you
like a jasmine flower looks
for her lost fragrance
in the nooks of the evening sky

~

To live every day
as though it were a poem
inked with the fire
of your love

~

I wandered too deep
into the breath of God;
now I am a flower
wafting on the wind,
in the dewdrop I am
the face of the sky.

~

Completely alone,
invisible to the world’s eye,
born and reborn,
born into full color
from within the eye of love.

~

Her light is the veil
that hides her
in the act of revelation;
so I am condemned
to chase her
in the luminosity of things
ever longing for her core.

~

She smiled once
and it did not matter
if darkness was
the ultimate reality;
she smiled once
and darkness was the mesh
carrying her light
to the end of space and time.

~

Long after her form
vanishes from my mind
her light will linger
in my heart

~

Skin on skin,
the soft warmth of her body
pressing against mine,
engulfing me
in the torrent of her fragrance,
bending time and space
in the focal point of her heart.

~

She is not a body
but a river drowning me
and tugging me down
and deeper down
into the ocean of eternity.

She is the fragrance of the sky.

Free Verse # 415 (in the layers of poetry)

Her body is the place I come to when I long to remember, when I long to forget. Her body is the image at its fountainhead — the soul embodied.

~

The image of her hands
comes at night,
the burning wings
of a fluttering moth,
a candle’s breath
dreaming.

~

Sedimented
in the layers of poetry
the moonlight that once shun
on the shore as we kissed,
the frail scent of a basil
kissing your cheek at dawn.

~

Lovemaking is not unlike breadmaking, and when the bread rises there you have it.

~

The death
growing inside of me
shall one day blossom
and waft me like a sigh
over the sea of eternity

~

A te toucher je frissonne
comme les débuts du printemps,
comme un feu qui prend souffle
de l’intime corps de l’amour.

~

Silence descends
like a spring-shower;
in the openness I listen
to the voice of the One.

~

I’m disappearing in you again
like the tolling sound of a bell
in the fog of memories

~

Autumn night reading…
the birdsongs I follow
through the branches of words
always somehow lead
to a clearing in the forest
where I am one with you