The Artist’s Model

 

a flower

on her shoulder

in black

and in white,

her soul twines

beneath

sun

magnified…

There are birds

in a circle

that swoop to a call

from deep

in the loop

surpassing it all…

The conscious sky beats

to time

engaged

in a frenzy of sweet

inner chime

on the stage….

Pools of light

hold her heart,

soft on your eye

keeping exquisite, forever alive.

 

 

Tango King

 

Suave breeze

whispers

musssssk

a journeyman

a tango king…

Moving hands rest

split second

above lace,

gravity is his boy

and

flesh?

Well…..flesh is warm as dimpled dough

Two Weeks

Two weeks,

aeons when

succumbing to the insanity of Love.

Two weeks of yearning buzz,

confused bee’s

flutter in the chest

while ivy struggles for clear path.

Two weeks of living,

incomplete, drenched existence

stormy child

frightened, dying.

Meeting oneself on a muddy track,

holding back, not holding back.

A jungle of a life time when

eating an endless dessert of tinned plum,

red, rich,

sickly, sweet.

Two weeks.

Stop!

I turn against this instructed combustion

and welcome clean and easy light,

a glow of love without the eternity.

Calm the drama

rest the finger picking

and wringing of old bells and hands.

Be still  bee’s

you know your queen,

fly straight.

Two weeks,

a string of life lived,

a little plant growing through

a brazen crack.

Two glorious weeks of crisp sheets

and windy nights

and peanut butter

and coffee and yellow dog and paint.

Two weeks.