Bright, yet beautiful
Light fills the room with a glow,
Almost like Heaven.
Autumn shaded leaves
Fall gracefully to the ground,
Lighter than laughter.
The constant burn of
The sun, lingers on your skin
More stable than love.
A winter wind blows
Snow, across a field of black
Like our differences.
A hard rain falls down,
Causing a pool to ripple
Like problems we face.
Poised, and elegant
Its spine broken and torn
Leaves left devoured by silverfish,
Corners crumbling with age -
My hands tremble as I open the book.
Carefully, tenderly, I turn the frontispiece -
Shabby, tattered yet holding up together
With a dignity that only books can have -
I shake out the dust and faecal matter.
The book is still silent, slightly embarrassed
But not showing any -
Like my mother, paralysed
As I clean her with wet cotton blobs.
In the left corner of the first page
The book said -
‘With all good wishes to my son’
Signed, my father, forty years ago.
Illusive whiteness covers the ground
on the happiest of them all.
Fantastic. Festive. Familiar.
Where there are joyful faces, lit with expectation, lit with innocence and hope.
Where there is wishful thinking and dreaming, perhaps, for the daylight to make all their needs into flesh and blood.
Flesh. And blood.
On the happiest of them all, the fog, the dim light, the cold silent darkness is subduing the image.
My image.
On the happiest of them all, my bones ache and my muscles are tearing.
I apologize.
For you to have remembered the features of my face.
For kind, soft words we've spoken so many times.
For being the representation of a lot less than you deserve.
I apologize.
The snow's falling.
Slower...faster..hurricane.
Led by the song of the wind.
Faster. Slower...Stop.
Gosh, I wish you were here.
The snow's changing.
Pearly, white... innocent.
Silence in a hurry without a worry.
Light, whole, covered.
Oh! I can almost feel your warmth on my feverish body.
The snow's hiding.
Always. Awaking. The silence.
Nostalgia comes to life.
Over. And over. Again.
And I'm still yearning.
Alone, I walk fields and woods we loved
Seeing you with every step
Hearing your laughter
Smelling you sweet as a flower
Keep you safe within my heart.
Years slipped bye so fast
Old age slowing down my pace
Hair white as snow
Thoughts focused upon
Memories we shared
And I keep you safe within my heart.
I find myself smiling as I walk, lost in our future.
Holding hands and smiling,
seeing adventures in hidden places:
rain, sun, snow, through any storm you are mine.
nothing can drown our parade, not now; not ever.
you aren't a guest like the others before you,
they only stayed until it was no longer convenient but you,
you seem to be permanent
always there.
I lose myself in daydreams of you and I,
lazy mornings and busy afternoons,
having fun and loving...
when you love.. oh god you love with your whole being,
you love with your heart, your mind and your soul;
you bore your soul to me and I felt that love too.
I understood how you gave everything for one person,
they pass & i turn
but you know this
the act
revolves around itself
my time
goes marked by letters, some
enthusiasms vanish, in arguing
with you i've used up many books but
the work is too much. i have no
energy
to mould them sky darkens now
the snow is grey sounds of cooking a
movement of plates
this room is cold
and i'm in trouble
wall of remote
heights & bends
of listless fields
turn savagely
to the river
where the trees
snap in the snow
a bird watches
the frozen mice
deer
i am sick
of talking about
vietnam
these bridges:
stringent iron
under which
a light snow
a had been fallen
the brown most showed
knoll trunk knot treelings' U's
The Sound marsh water
ice clump
sparkling root etc
and so far out.
That the neighborhood might be covered
by one roof, occured
this morning, Snow on the ground
phonepoles, flagpoles,
windows, so many chimneys,
even up the hill
grass smoking out west
the tides, clouds from the past
vanishing rain
the base.
beaten out,
death when you don't want it what you like
is a plain object
the long-trunked clouds
a weltered event
shale fish broken off
winter takes a break everybody has the london flu
takes it easy so why not him our backyard is an
icebox turned on defrost. through all pores drips
melts runs how vulgar can you get. as snow dis-
appears old garbage reappears and i read
" a nest is a bird's house "
i've known this for a long time people have told
me for a long time it is such an old story in
fact i hesitate to repeat it. nests are places of
intimacy designated by an attraction. there does
not exist an intimacy that is repellent. its being
is well being. and memory is a wardrobe with the
presence of lavender the history of the seasons
enters. what dreams are reserved for us if we re-
call the land of tranquility. memories come crowd-
When books are trapped
in the snow
they could be camelias
or bald headed men
collected predicaments
magnificent translations
a shape
something to remember
and relearn
When music is siphoned
through a weather vane
water will freeze
on the strings of the violin
The ice age will sound
silently
A time will come