Tag Archives: peace

Holy Kiss

A holy kiss, beneath Jupiter and Venus,
shining so bright, the twin gates.
Tenderness, at long last, after the war,
after the sorrows of our broken fates.
We lay beneath the old tree, Tree of Life,
the winter coming to an end, Eden waits.
The war is done, and we can be pure, free,
without shame or loss or anymore guilt.
Those thorns and thistles that cut our skin
and bled our souls will now fade and wilt
and all the tears are now only twinkling silver
and make a river with all of paradise’s silt.
A holy kiss, lay at peace in each other’s arms,
sleep awhile and dream such marvelous places.
And our thoughts are pollen in the air, mingling,
no secrets now, as old heaven, old earth, have no traces.
I smile at you, and I know the light that was always there,
and you the light in me, for we are now our true, holy faces.

Our Little World, Our Little Paradise

A simple, down at heel farmhouse, up in the Appalachian hills.
Our little world, our little paradise, just you and I, and our dreams.
We work the garden together in the bright of day, making our way.
And at night we sit and talk on the porch steps, hold each other tight.
Preserved foods and salted meat, our stores for the winter on it’s way.
The words we write, the words we read, the things we conjure in our hearts.
Sunday at the river, we swim nude together, free and innocent, without shame.
As we drift to sleep together at night, you place my hand on your belly,
whisper about the one more thing we could ask for, the most precious gamble.
Our little garden, our little paradise, sweetness after the fall, but another will come.
The world will find us, and this innocent place will be lost, and our sweetest selves.

Just Bird Songs Calling

A bathing woman, all alone, cool and deep waters.
The sky above is a sliver through the tall trees,
and she watches the clouds drift past as she floats.
 The day is quiet, just bird songs and the wind calling.
She is weightless in the water, free to dream and love,
dream of the shining one she always adored from afar.
 The water is cool, and the day is warm, growing dark.
She is free here, without there eyes, or their voices.
The sky and her are one, but she must fall back to earth.

Her Hands

I’d kiss her hands, so soft, warm and nimble,
that stroke and bend the strings so easily,
that make those sounds that fill the sleepless night
with it’s only sense of peace.
Those hands, small, thin and perfect,
those hands that will never touch me
yet reach out form the radio, from the distance,
to call up the songs of the dead.
If I could hold one of her hands in mine,
caress them softly with my own fingertips,
and lavish them with affection and worship
to show my gratitude, my thankfulness.
From a far off place, New York or Chicago,
she plays her music upon a stage.
The radio calls it out into the night.
Those hands play, giving me my only peace.