Sahara

The setting sun now breaks my drifting dream

and threads that needle to my passion’s flight

resplendent in its dignity, our scene

compels imagination with delight.

The fading sun now cools to lighter air

and calm, our camels rock the dusty swells.

A steamy haze along horizon’s flare

where desert’s dying colors cannot dwell.

Sahara maze, mysterious and stark.

Intrigued, I hasten to his silken tent.

I hurry to my soul in evenings dark.

We coast in caravans of eons spent.

Slow burn and then the quickened, bold desire

as when Sahara sands alight with fire.

The Choice

The best of dancers ruined by a host

of other loves that to the heart may call.

Some choices must be made or not at all.

The dance too brief ; the song may end for most

and fly away from splendor of romance.

Crescendo reached and still the dance she owns.

Life is too short to settle, oh, for less.

Eshoo the heart; don’t make the dreadful choice!

Her soul now hovers.  Grief is like a plow

that pushes every goal to here and now.

 

(Was watching the Movie, “The Red Shoes” when I wrote this.  The agony of being forced to make a choice between two over-whelming loves can drive one mad.)

“The Gift”

How may I give you

my unconditional love?

Pent-up, it is difficult.

Placed in this small box

it presses hard and escapes

this tsunami in my soul.

The Sodoka (a pair of Katauka) is a single poem which may address the same subject from different perspectives.  It consists of 2 to 3 line Katauka, the syllabic pattern 5,7,7.
Image I was using was a pair of hands holding a small, wrapped package.
 

“The End of Love”

credit: Dreamstime.com

“The End of Love”

That end to our emotions mixed with doubt.
That chill is in the air and she’s a thief.
Her danse macabre comes with September’s rout
when green things turn and wither with relief.

When colors drunk with abnormality
cry out; their bloody cost then tossed to ground.
Their voices hushed. Dry, crackled brevity.
Plain-parted things, their dust cannot be found.

Forgotten now.  Dead thought without a trace.
And no one may recall our summer bloom.
That part of us inflamed with our embrace
now cold; dispersed to darker, solemn gloom.

Oh, dance, dear heart, before our final year;
before our fateful day brings winter’s sere.

The Flowers of the Field

Photo by Priceless Times PhotographySiyah with Dad

“The Flowers of the Field”

The reach within your baby hands so sweet

make father want to hold back ticking time

but even you, my child , are forced to meet

a different kind of father in this rhyme.

He’s called old Time and steals your innocence

Allows your golden play be thrown away.

You’ll not recall this moment with your Dad.

Time’s jealousy will steal and cause decay.

For now, a trust and love for father’s grace.

For now, your world is safe within his arms.

Within this moment is the safest place.

A moment, stilled, with all its poignant charm.

Yet, all the flowers of the field we know

must yet begin to stretch and then to grow.

For Johnny

 

IMG_20141215_211007_1

(Photo by Jacqueline Casey)

“For Johnny”

When silver leaves sigh, trembling to the ground
a brilliant gold is sprinkled everywhere.
Sure, then I hear your laughter mid the sound
of steps that shuffle up abandoned stair.

When scarlet leaves dance, hesitant to part
lay deep in dusty shadows, they intone
and whisper “I have been here where my heart
knows sad farewell to memories we’ve known”.

When days grow short and bitter is my soul

among the frost and starry branches bare,
remember warm your humor I may hold
before the light grows dull to dark despair.
 

Once more I sense your autumn presence where,
among the jeweled leaves, you’re smiling there.

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When Love is Gone

A world abandoned,  nature now attends.

She grows her roving vines; surrounds the door.

The sound of children’s play is heard no more.

Around the gnarled roots that grow and stray

she grabs at windows once held curtain’s sway.

No human voices echo through her halls

No more the roaming Jasmine odor calls.

What mystery escapes her stucco walls?

What place is this once held such loveliness?

Mad roots now rave and overrun her past.

They strangle unknown cause so long forgot.

When love is gone, then covered is the heart.

overgrown house

Remember Us

“Remember Us”

Like pictures on a screen in seconds, lost

or blips upon a monitor turn long

old memories are flown with deadly cost:

as quarks may separate eternal song.

The picture caught though words may flutter by

though hole is in my net and so I sigh.

A set of words surround my broken thought

say: “You and I” when, clearly, love is sought.

Before our memory may grab stale air

Before time takes the brain and makes a mush

Before the hurt that makes us want to share

Before the mind’s become a muddy lush;

inscribe upon some stone where century

from now our love survives for all to see.

Haiku for Lovers (photo by Robert Doisneau)

The Morning After

Rain

 

“The Morning After”

Push open all the doors to house at five.
Breathe deep_ the morning air; keep lungs alive.

A birthday celebration leaves its claim;
confetti on the sofa_in the drain.

We held the starry night so drunk with love
but now, in morning light, squint eyes above.

The dying ash in fireplace now complains:
“The day is new but we are not the same.”

I listen to some early, startled birds
that shout outside my window with their words.

The clouds roll in; leave both our souls to blame
as we, the night before, try to remain

stalemate with the smoke, Chanel No. 5
the lingering scent of arriving rain.

Kyrielle rhyme pattern: aa,bb,cc, bb,dd,bb,ab

Martin’s Dream

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” Martin Luther King, Jr.

Martin’s Dream

I fall into the blackest hole in space
my soul now travels through the darkest scene;
a foreign place where there’s no time or grace.
I move through tunnels of relentless scream.

A message from my minister of flight:
“From swirling depths you’re not allowed escape.
And you will fall forever out of sight.
It’s written here for relevance of hate:

You broke the rules! Your punishment will end
when darkness turns to morning’s crashing fuss;
when love’s the rule regardless of the win
and Rosa sits beside you on the bus.”

The clatter of my clock begins to sing
as Monday calls all sinners to its ring.