Sunday, June 10, 2012

Clearly I dream

The muse soothes my sweating brow


Paper cut trees silhouette the dawn

Shed shadows unforeseen on the drawn blades of grass

Minuet Ladybirds painted in scarlet and the depths of time

Fossicking in green drifts the lazy moonbeams

Patience treasures all that is born upon the earth

Lay my head softly lest it disturb the dead

Close these tired eyes and scan the insides for colours of red

 

I find that the candle shimmers in the passing of the precious light

One can only be given thrice in forgiveness of this love

Just in mocking I lay as one beneath the sun and stars 

Left to be as the pleasure flows through me

Sleep as I wake in these times

Waking the timid butterflies soaking in the tepid light

Separate faiths lay in burnt stained hands

 

Not so long ago when the sun was shining

Fragmented and refracted prisms of harlequin jade

Scattered upon the ceiling wicked dreams

Lucid in fantism of sallow affect

Purse my lips in the maelstrom

I blow the dust from my powdered palm

Alone I can remember your face

 

Clearly I remember

Clearly I recall

Clearly I hear your voice

Clearly I soothe in all

Clearly I forgive 

Clearly when looked upon in brazen light

Simply things marry

Clearly I dream when dead

12 comments:

Mary Ann Potter said...

Oh, a memory in beautiful words and drama. That ending really clinched it. This is magical.

Abin Chakraborty said...

the incantation like final stanza can have a haunting effect.nicely done again.

Susie Clevenger said...

This feels like a dream to read it...to see the shifting views and colors...Nice work

Susan said...

Dead, not Dead, practicing to be Dead, wishing to be Dead? I could not tell, but wonder if it matters. Sleeping or not sleeping in a cemetery, next to my love, I would carry no thoughts, only images of the life we led.

Mary said...

I love the repetition in the last stanza.. Points well made!

Kerry O'Connor said...

You have included a glorious assortment of words in this piece - I love the paper cut trees. and the harlequin jade. The visual images fall so readily on the inner eye.

Brian Miller said...

there is a great classical feel to your language and you are very deliberate with it from the beginning using it to build the tone...the paper cuts, blades of grass tot he dead...this is delicious POEtry...

Scarlet said...

I specially like the first stanza but your ending lines are lovely too ~
dreaming when dead, I like ~

Brother Ollie said...

the last stanza is perfectly intense

Anonymous said...

Very nice. Clearly I dream when I'm dead.

shawnacy said...

there is a tone in this that one has when speaking to oneself at night.
drifting words in low tones that speak in fables and imagery and say all the things that cannot be said of love and death and dreams.

Anonymous said...

Seems such a journey through your words and one that is art from the heart, collected, mourned, saturated, choked, tearful but balanced with a yearning that is profound if only the soul knows the depths of flexibility xoxo