poetry

Love is a Hungry Flame

Love is a hungry flame,
roaring through the streets of desire,
warming naked bodies cloaked in shame
devouring fragile carbon ashen liars
Love is an patient flame
defrosting cold shoulders of rejection
with gentle licks too soft to blame
melts ice to puddles affection
Love is an angry flame
fed by a jealousy that seize the brain
burns with an intent to maim
ends smoldering in the tears of rain
Love is a shy little flame
a simple glance enough to blush
bold to all but its target name
diffident in its ardent touch
Love is above all a mystery
seek it not and there shall it be
with its kindling crackling free
pinning rose crowns under Gethsemane
Standard
poetry

Beginnings are such fragile things

Beginnings are such fragile things,
New love’s delicate beau –
like morning mist collecting on leaves of honeysuckle
And falling off at the wind’s first sigh:
A dew! (I do!)

Beginnings are such beautiful things:
the first cracks in the white pupa shell,
show iridescent glimmers of a caterpillar dream
woven with mystery and homespun with leaves.

The first ray of light over a darkness will
paint redwood shadows behind acorns still
biding their time on the windowsill.

Later in the day, the afternoon sun
will scorch love’s petals dry as a nun’s,
cook the acorn in its big wooden shell,
fry the caterpillar in middle-age hell.

But time’s harsh rays are just rose-beams now,
And life will be beautiful before it would be foul.
Beginnings are fragile while the end is hard,
Nothing to do but dig in and start.Image

Standard