Wandering Thought # 50

The invention of aviation was not a utilitarian invention. Reading through its history one realizes that its root and outgrowth came the human imagination, from an irrational fixation on the reveries where man saw himself flying, felt himself in flight, and so ached to achieve flying that from the profundity of a love that persisted through millennia he was finally able to materialize his dream.
 
In the end, much of our modern inventions with which we pride ourselves owe themselves to this — poetry and witchcraft, the ability to imagine new things, impossible things. For all his rationality, man, more than he knows, will always be close to the poet’s heart — his passions, which are inescapable, will make sure of this.

Free Verse # 408 (this music I heard)

My shadow softened
into her light,
a rose finally knowing
what it is to blossom.

~

She is not a body
but a constellation of stars
and each night, eyes closed,
with my breath I trace her,
trace her in my heart.

~

In my imagination
I work her body
the way the bee patiently builds
the intimate chambers of her honeycomb
using the fiery nectar of the flowers.

~

This music I heard
when I touched your heart
I do not want it to end

~

She is beautiful
the way dawn
caressing a rose
smiles in his white heart

~

In her touch
I want to burn and keep burning
until I am no more
than ash in the wind

~

Dans mon imagination
je travaille son corps
comme l’abeille patiemment
façonne les chambres de sa maison
avec le feu brulant des fleurs

~

In every poem I read
I search for the whiff
of her fragrance,
the secret intuition that led
the poet’s pure vision,
the hidden hand that guided
the fervent spill of his heart.

Haiku # 502

With the candle’s breath
etching her name
on the light of the moon

~

Sunday mass…
smiling as I gaze
at the pretty girls

~

Inspirations livresques…
page après page
feuilletant sa peau

~

How to touch a woman? –
learn by gazing
at the silent moon

~

Half-moon in the sky,
the other half shining
in the sea of her eyes

~

Even with no electricity
people will not look
at the passing moon

Free Verse # 407 (better than poetry)

Love came bearing
the gift of the moment,
the gaze of eternity
burning in her eyes.

~

In the timber of her voice
a candle burned,
its flickering light painting
the face of the night.

~

I am waiting for you
on the edge of the night,
my heart a candle stirred
by the silence of its light.

~

The words I write,
wisps of fire etched
into her fragrant breath
as it escapes her lips,
wisps of fire etching
the fragrance of her breath
into the moving skin of the world.

~

A brook running
amid her curves,
the waves of the sea
lapping her white shores,
I could touch her for all my life
and it will never be enough.

~

Better than poetry
we shared the silence
the sky makes at dawn,
and our hearts were filled
with a single prayer falling
from the radiant face of God.