Tag Archives: first of spring

Truest Prayers

On our way to Rochester for the summer.
We camped along the cold, dark river.
She sits by the water, praying and muttering.

Spring is starting to green the cold and dead.
We made it through another winter by the sea.
Fire and warmth, human touch, truest prayers.

A priestess will bless us, sanctify our dreams.
Rochester, where the angels dwell in caves.
Our motorbike will make it there once more.

The cold, dark river is answering her curses.
Two more days ride to the ancient forests.
That we’ll make it together, prayer answered.

All that can be hoped for in these winters.

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Summer In Color

A young woman, my crush, walks barefoot.

We are in the woods behind the subdivision

we’re she’s lived for years, and I’ve just come to.

It the first warmth of spring, like the sun might stay,

and the flowers are budding, the grass sprouting,

and the leaves coming back, giving modesty to the trees.

She knows a secret place, on a trail she’s worn down

with her feet in hiking boots, or bare in sunny warmth,

the trail to her heart, still pure and free and so very wild.

Over a hill, and down into a grotto and a waterfall,

a deep bowl carved out by the endless waters,

a secret place to swim and baptize yourself in innocence.

She takes off her tank top and cut off shorts,

revealing the swimsuit she wears beneath.

It is blue and white, one piece, summer in color.

I take off my shirt, already wearing my trunks.

She takes my hand in hers and leads me to the water.

The sun is soft. The sky is blue. We are separate from the world.

Our breaths catch in the cold water, and we go under,

into the ancient waters, into the font of unspoiled time,

pure but with blood on it’s claws, free but sharp of tooth.

And we raise above and she is now a mermaid, a spirit

of the unfound places, the dream of which I run towards,

in the emptiness of my days, the darkness of my thoughts.

And she wraps her arms around me and we entwine,

and I stroke her cheek and we kiss, weightless and cold,

and the sun looks away in honor of the moment.

She carries me down to the endless waters,

the stars in the depths, the moon in her melancholy heart,

and this moment will make we with wonder and loss

forevermore. Forevermore.

Sunny Day

Light and flaxen pixie cut, white and black striped shirt,

and black capris with her brand new ballet flats.

She is walking light as the sun has come around again,

giving warmth, comfort to her, and fat, spoiled house cats.

Winter is over.

A latte, and a cheese Danish, sitting in front of the coffee shop,

watching the world become bright, the people seem easy and kind.

She sips her drink, a rare treat, and feels hope, mad, welling in her breast.

The cold nights, the winds through her heart, have slipped from her mind.

Winter is over.

Down at the park, feeding split grapes to the ducks that swarm and honk,

finding amusement in such a childlike thing. Such a simple thing.

She sees a young couple walking hand in hand, and she smiles, no knots.

She’s not reminded that she was nearly choked by a diamond ring.

Winter is over.

Winter is over.

Happy Birthday

It’s almost spring, a chill in the air,
but the sky is bright again,
and the first buds are on the trees.
It’s my birthday.
I ride my bicycle by the canals.
I’m going to my friends house.
She has a present forĀ  me.
It’s my birthday.
She’ll wrap it in pretty paper.
She’ll wrap it in a big, red bow.
The present chosen with care.
It’s my birthday.
She’ll be waiting for me.
She’ll be smiles and love.
She’ll wear that teal dress.
It’s my birthday.
And we’ll share a cupcake.
Sit and watch tulips sway.
We’ll talk, enjoy each other’s company.
It’s my birthday.
It’ll be a perfect day.

Black, Persian Curls

I dreamed of her, with her head of black, Persian curls,
and her dusky and warm skin, not like the other girls.

The snow on the mountains seem so distant in spring.
I dreamed of kissing jasmine lips, of giving her a ring.

She was a stranger from across a bright, blue sea.
She wore some other face, but I did not turn from she.

On a spring afternoon we talked by the soccer field.
The sun so bright in our magic, left a dream unhealed.

And she spun the words of countries long past.
Of golden ships with silver angels on their mast.

Once, I held her hand, as stars peaked through twilight.
Her love, her dreaming angel eyes, where my delight.

In my dreams it is spring again, and we are young.
There, only there, did I kiss her as my wife, as bells rung.