Sunday, April 8, 2012

Spring, for Poem

Love is surfing with his sons in the South, where the light is different
and I am still wandering at sixteen, my skin blistering with the burn
Kindness is East with his tall-windowed house on the coast and his big dog
Running slow laps around in the mist
And making the bed for his lady love
She’ll come eventually, more patient than I
grateful and with armloads of well-tended flowers
Power's face looked shadowed and he had suffered through another death in the West
Beautiful, beloved Power only wanted sex, (or did he?) but I said no
Music disappeared altogether, somewhere North
leaving only a book on mythos and me, wondering,
Did I make him up twice? Am I that much of a masochist?
Those rolling eyes, those fluttering hands, the running into the street to grab and kiss me another time?
Passion lives so far away
A different continent I’ve never seen his tattoos or been able to read his words in another language
Better than mine
Never even seen his eyes or a proper photo of his eyes
But sometimes I imagine the arms sleeved in ink as a kind of harbor I will never visit
Who’s left?
In a jaunty hat and a wink, so familiar I’ve known him for lifetimes
Contemplating the shadows of goddesses on the wall the erotic metaphors of death
The way the right word is worth a thousand pictures
Inflorescence, let’s say
Or mellifluous
Or marl
Reminding me that every word uttered from the soul is an extension of the self
And every self is connected by the right word
And Spring, Spring has arrived!


  1. i think poetry can stay. rock on!

  2. Plant poetry, reap
    hearts and sunlight
    and the shadows behind

  3. This is a beautiful poem! I love your writing, it is very inspiring to me!

  4. So simple, to swoon
    if one for a single moment's spinning twist
    believed, against hope
    (O how long against hope)
    that one's words might have reached --
    knowing it cannot be
    but wishing it could be
    who touched her heart again
    and then
    there would never be end to Spring
    and I would crown her Summer
    against all Winters
    and not even the snow could stop us
    our hearts too hot,
    and thaw
    would bring glasnost
    across this Iron Curtain.


    You probably heard this one many times at Phases. :)

  6. "Reminding me that every word uttered from the soul is an extension of the self
    And every self is connected by the right word"

    Francesca, does this make every word right, then?

  7. hmm. just read this and thankful for it. and miss you (the guy with the big dog). xo