what of those remembered patterned hills
upon which I once imagined
heroic conflicts of bloodless wars
while driving in a summer’s idyll
to holiday beyond the shores
from one land to the next we travelled
passing the scars of history
that litter still my bosomed home
rendered mute against a lost past
that scattered broken hegemony
which sanctifies this landscape still
as all is framed so beautifully
by those remembered patterned hills.
this stone embrace
marble veiled
sublime
and held in time
forever
shall
for all its grace
not know the peace
of frail heartbeats
together.
the poetry I really feel
remains inside,
unrevealed.
on occassion, if they decide
these words themselves
no longer hide.
but if they choose to not be free
please do not think less
of me.
for one day soon as you will see
they’ll all come out
eventually.
the last man who knew everything
had never picked a rose
nor questioned righteous hegemony
in which corruption grows
and failed to find the beauty
of a simple happenstance
or the eternal truth one sees
in accepting innocence
what was this sand before
it filled the hourglass
are there parts of mountains
measuring this past
like ripples on the morning shore
left golden by the waves
the grains that fall into what was
show time cannot be saved
let these lips just play with you
and have you stroke them back
each dip and peak in temperature
each heartskip, beat and crack
reserved for this soft whisper
this all exquisite kiss
a flawless crystal shard of time
the moment held in bliss
there are faeries in this brook
who hold my desires under key
so when my pleasures float downstream
the thoughts which build them you can’t see
they keep them safe until the day
I reveal myself to thee
and hold their tongues on my behalf
while I debate what is to be
with each soft dream I dream of you
inner secrets I compel
to the wee folk in the stream
lock them away and do not tell.
celebrate the butterflies
which fly inside your brain
fill them full of nectared thoughts
to make sure they remain
for they keep your dreams alive
upon their silken wings
and who knows if those dreams are sweet
what in waking they may bring.
In the sundown dance green ghosts
lichen clad among the trees
and in their footsteps moss doth glow
dressed in moonlit draperies
that caress the velvet coats
turned twixt and twain by shallow breath
verdant flesh upon the bones
in this decaying cheating death
this passion is a dragon’d flag
unfurled to know no chivalry
in matters of my desires for you
I dare not show an amnesty
for in thee must my love prevail
or not this war is won
surrender to the arrow’s flight
‘fore the battle has begun.
