Four palm trees near a house
rattle neighbours green and brown;
all are rising from a core
with stems that gesture into yellow,
translucent as they swish and grow:
September ancients rising from a floor.
Four palm trees near a house
orange and green, can you see
the sun catch edges on their rind,
rattling a cache of sound.
This is a soft place; sit with me,
four palms and a house behind.
Leaves are golden through the sun
and, as the early clouds begin,
I’m thirsty in my head
for a lady away asleep
from yesterday when day was gone
and now she dreams through early heat.
Late September, autumn soars
and leaves tremble their own tone,
musical in ochre air:
pleasure’s here, pleasure’s there,
our time vibrates away and then
moon no longer stirs in silver hair.
It’s hours since an ashen moon
fled the air, the sky, and soon
between the spiky leaves that blur
the air with rustle, there I hear
a breath arising softly, blow
a salty wind, a single word.
Four palm trees near a house
stained green and golden, can you see
honey fills them to the core;
the colour of her hair is more
like grey and gold, come see
and hear and feel this elemental time with me.
A magical incantation I feel here. Feel, the key word here. Some sort of mystical algebraic formula has got me under its spell. Yes. Let's just say that I like it.
ReplyDeleteYou paint a beautiful picture with these words.
ReplyDeleteIncredibly written, very well done!
ReplyDeletethis is very moving, yet peaceful. I wouldn't mind sitting there. nice!
ReplyDeleteJulie Johnson
busywriting.wordpress.org
Lovely still life painted with words. Refreshing and with lot of insight. Calm & delightful.
ReplyDeletejust right for this moment :)
ReplyDeleteMoments to share ~ thanks
ReplyDeleteSuch a beautiful, rhythmic piece. I found myself mesmerized by the bounce of the words and the images dancing with the rhythm.
ReplyDeleteI especially liked:
"our time vibrates away and then
moon no longer stirs in silver hair."
Nostalgia packed in stanzas.Beautiful.Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDelete