Among your many admirers, all who flock and hang on your every word, who laugh and call your name out loud sits one, like a shadow on the wall: a drink his only company all night, and regardless of what you say or do keeps a watch on your every move, Till, when the juke box comes alive Drums beat, bass strums, he turns to the window and recalls the light blotted out by the approaching storm and disturbed by your dancing moving form thinks of the poems he has yet to write.
Forever ours is love
but we are men of shells;
and passing years and days
are silver-sounding bells.
Returning joys are dreams,
and age embraces sleep
where bygone youth and love
are burning bright and deep.
Love is long and death is brief;
for naught is death, but love is time
in selflessness becoming grief,
splendid, sacred and sublime.
Reversible Verse
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Your eyes, so lovely then,
Could cast a winding skein
To trap unwary men.
Abstracted by those eyes,
I lingered night and day,
Believing all your lies;
And when, in your ennui,
You let me slip away,
I still was never free.
Obsessed with you each fall,
When leaves of oaks begin
Their dark recessional,
I call your name alone
In throes of restless sleep,
A hunger in the bone.
No matter where I stray,
In Eden or beyond,
I’ll always be your prey.
A.Bloc
Technorati Tags: Bloc, Eden, Ennui, Hunger, Leaves, Lilith, Prey, Recessional, Restless Sleep, Skein, Sleep, Those Eyes, Throes
I have enough treasures from the past
to last me longer than I need, or want.
You know as well as I . . . malevolent memory
won’t let go of half of them:
a modest church, with its gold cupola
slightly askew; a harsh chorus
of crows; the whistle of a train;
a birch tree haggard in a field
as if it had just been sprung from jail;
a secret midnight conclave
of monumental Bible-oaks;
and a tiny rowboat that comes drifting out
of somebody’s dreams, slowly foundering.
Winter has already loitered here,
lightly powdering these fields,
casting an impenetrable haze
that fills the world as far as the horizon.
I used to think that after we are gone
there’s nothing, simply nothing at all.
Then who’s that wandering by the porch
again and calling us by name?
Whose face is pressed against the frosted pane?
What hand out there is waving like a branch?
By way of reply, in that cobwebbed corner
a sunstruck tatter dances in the mirror.
Anna A.
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A man falls in love through his eyes, a woman through her ears. ~Woodrow Wyatt
Technorati Tags: Ears, Eyes Ears, Love Man, Love Quote, Love Woman, Man Love, Woodrow Wyatt
“I shall always be a priest of love.” ~D. H. Lawrence
Technorati Tags: D H Lawrence, Love Quote
