Thursday, March 3, 2011

My lover . . by the door . ..

The berries of winter - 2011

My love  . .  I remember you by the door
                                            of the red, red room in the city . . .
you holding the key             
to our entry as you paused a moment                             
                                gazing down, looking pensive . . .
there you were, standing beneath                                            
a moon shaped bulb and
                                                     your face reflected that dim light
like a pearl under water . .  misty and
distant and yet so close to me I could smell                    
your fragrance . . .
                                           and I felt something beneath my rib cage
beckoning and moving                  
like a child within my womb                                    
ready to escape to play
                                              in a large and wonderful world . ..
something in that moment                                    
                            moved me and enlarged the scope
                                                                    of my comprehension .. ..
my heart tender toward you. . .                                             
deep inside
                                          this poignant echo of time . .. as the winds
of eternity flashed by us in a storm . .                                             
                             you looked at me with your liquid amber eyes
while a flash of lightning                                                       
imaged there . .                               
                       and I saw the shadow
                                                of my smile when I fell and landed,
         at home in my world
on your lips . . .                                                        
there I tasted your love . .

but you,
                                  unknowing reached into your
                               paper sack and handed me 
                  an apple - rosy red,
                              lush and sweet as if picked
                         in a state of ecstasy . . .
                       and forever preserved
in my memories . . .


This poem is dedicated to someone very special to me.

This is the music I was listening to while writing this poem . .. a strange music . . . to blend my background thoughts of reality and fantasy. 
This man sings with a winsome and melancholic tone . ..  dreamy and floating through the atmosphere like a fragrance . . There is a guitar and other instruments backing him and lifting his smooth voice. The songs themselves have a mystical, almost surreal aspect, and it felt like I was floating in a timeless place on warm waters . . . relaxed and at one with the powers.  I felt a comfort and a peace that doesn't often come with listening to this style of experimental/pop music . . nearly reaching a calming state of fugue. .. 

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