Song of the Flower

I am a word uttered and repeated
By the voice of nature;
I am a star fallen from the
Blue tent upon the carpet green.
I am the daughter of the elements
With whom Winter conceived;
To Whom Spring gave birth; I Was
Reared in the lap of Summer and I
Slept in the bed of Autumn.

At Dawn I unite with the Breeze
To announce the coming of light;
At eventide I join the birds
In bidding the light Farewell.

The Plains are decorated with
My beautiful colours, and the air
Is scented with my fragrance.

As I embrace Slumber the eyes of
Night watch over me, and as I
Awaken I stare at the Sun, which is
The only eye of the day.

I drink dew for wine, and hearken to
The voices of the birds, and dance
To the rhythmic swaying of the grass.

Iam the lover's gift; I am the wedding wreath;
I am the memory of a momemt of happiness;
I am the last gift of the living to the dead;
I am a part of joy and a part of sorrow.

But I look up high to see only the light,
And never look down to see my shadow.
This is wisdom which man must learn.

Kahlil Gibran

Long Distance II
Tony Harrison



-----

Though my mother was already two years dead
Dad kept her slippers warming by the gas,
put hot water bottles her side of the bed
and still went to renew her transport pass.

You couldn't just drop in. You had to phone.
He'd put you off an hour to give him time
to clear away her things and look alone
as though his still raw love were such a crime.

He couldn't risk my blight of disbelief
though sure that very soon he'd hear her key
scrape in the rusted lock and end his grief.
He knew she'd just popped out to get the tea.

I believe life ends with death, and that is all.
You haven't both gone shopping; just the same,
in my new black leather phone book there's your name
and the disconnected number I still call.

Forbidden Fruit
Michael Lally



-----

all the forbidden fruit I ever
dreamt of--or was taught to
resist and fear--ripens and
blossoms under the palms of my
hands as they uncover and explore
you--and in the most secret
corners of my heart as it discovers
and adores you--the forbidden fruit
of forgiveness--the forbidden fruit
of finally feeling the happiness
you were afraid you didn't deserve--
the forbidden fruit of my life's labor
--the just payment I have avoided
since my father taught me how--
the forbidden fruit of the secret
language of our survivors' souls as
they unfold each others secret
ballots--the ones where we voted
for our first secret desires to come
true--there's so much more
I want to say to you--but for
the first time in my life I'm at
a loss for words--because
(I understand at last)
I don't need them
to be heard by you.

the railway bridge - stefan holmes

we met under the tired charcoal bridge
in Frisby on-the-Wreake.
where for years, children had laid stones on the tracks
and hidden among the weeds as the oblivious wheels clambered by,
leaving a warm, flat clone in its wake, for excited collection.

the hour was late now, though.
for both of us the day had meandered and turned slowly, like autumn’s ebb,
from a series of eventualities to a progressive certainty:
that we would stand
here, in the inoffensive breeze of a certain, cloudless night,
on either side of this track.
you facing West, and I, East.
as we approached the spot, we saw tentatively, silently;
it was the ferocity of our dogs’ affection which catalysed conversation.

smiling for no reason,
you twirled a hook of auburn hair with an index finger, as you spoke of…
phatic, unknown things which slipped immediately from my memory, because,
because I was dancing.
dancing under a shroud of stars and a blue-blood blanket,
with you facing West, and I, East.
our escorts continued to sniff and familiarise themselves;
i prayed that boredom would be lost on them for hours,

as I pulled back from my ballroom and
mumbled something about your coat, and how
cold you must be; perhaps…

then, now.
i need no photographs, no film, no recording
no witness, no justification.

i recall precisely how you threw your head back; how you laughed a mist into the moment.
i recall how long it took, how your eyes creased at the edges in the most delicate manner, and how the world vanished momentarily.
i recall the sudden increase in wind, and how i did not flinch as the engine signalled its approach with a roar of its bell, before ploughing thoughtlessly between the two of us.
on and on it rumbled through, so close,
expecting to tear my senses apart but having no impact on my Easterly gaze.
and then it finally passed, whistling around the corner, past the shop which still sold sherbert lemons by the quarter and liquorice by the dozen sticks.

i stared in front of me.
i stared East, at my empty soul and my resignation, and waited for a moment before closing my eyes and turning around.

i could not bear to see you in the distance, walking away.

gorgeous.

starkitty said:

glad you like it honey.

for my good best friend:

paradox of a friendship

you're the cookie jar on the highest shelf
that i cannot reach
you're the fastball with a curve and i'm batting
out of my league
you're a powerful, mighty wave and i'm drowning
in the sea
you're all of Shakespeare's sonnets and i'm only
beginning to read
you're a beautiful enigmatic Dali
when michael parkes does it for me
i am in awe and i am amazed and truly touched
that you bother with me.
you're as expansive as the Grand Canyon
all its wondrous sight to see
you're the seven wonders of the world
and you're showing them to me.
i'll watch in wide eyed wonder, read and
listen to every key
and hopefully along the way i'll show you
some reciprocity.

-jmh

IF I KNEW
> >
> >If I knew it would be the last time
> >That I'd see you fall asleep,
> >I would tuck you in more tightly
> >and pray the Lord, your soul to keep.
> >
> >If I knew it would be the last time
> >that I see you walk out the door,
> >I would give you a hug and kiss
> >and call you back for one more.
> >
> >If I knew it would be the last time
> >I'd hear your voice lifted up in praise,
> >I would video tape each action and word,
> >so I could play them back day after day.
> >
> >If I knew it would be the last time,
> >I could spare an extra minute
> >to stop and say "I love you,"
> >instead of assuming you would KNOW I do.
> >
> >If I knew it would be the last time
> >I would be there to share your day,
> >Well I'm sure you'll have so many more,
> >so I can let just this one slip away.
> >
> >For surely there's always tomorrow
> >to make up for an oversight,
> >and we always get a second chance
> >to make everything just right.
> >
> >There will always be another day
> >to be in the mood "To love you,"
> >And certainly there's another chance
> >to say our "Anything I can do?"
> >
> >But just in case I might be wrong,
> >and today is all I get,
> >I'd like to say how much I love you
> >and I hope we never forget.
> >
> >Tomorrow is not promised to anyone,
> >young or old alike,
> >And today may be the last chance
> >you get to hold your loved one tight.
> >
> >So if you're waiting for tomorrow,
> >why not do it today?
> >For if tomorrow never comes,
> >you'll surely regret the day,
> >
> >That you didn't take that extra time
> >for a smile, a hug, or a kiss
> >and you were too busy to grant someone,
> >what turned out to be their one last wish.
> >
> >So hold your loved ones close today,
> >and whisper in their ear,
> >Tell them how much you love them
> >and that you'll always hold them dear
> >
> >Take time to say "I'm sorry,"
> >"Please forgive me," "Thank you," or "It's okay."
> >And if tomorrow never comes,
> >you'll have no regrets about today.

i had a topic, the intent to write
while sitting in the doctor's chair, 2 hours to waste
when i saw the rain, and wanted nothing more than
for her to turn the lights out, to stare into the grey and think
of you. speaking of hematology and WBC's, needle in my
vein my sights drifted to the bend of the trees and
the turn of the leaves in the wind, the weight of the drops on
the ground and my mind. the realness of the distance in so many ways,
the possibilities of what could happen and the probability that it never
will.
i had buried you in the back but the rain washed you clean, planted
firmly in my conscious.
the streams on the pane and the streams on my face. i wanted nothing more
than to bridge the gap.
the distance is real, as is the harsh fluorescent light preventing me
from fully enjoying and rebuking the grey.
rain, rain
go away.

Campfire



A small sliver of India touched me today
and wet my pallette for colours and smells I am not accustomed to

Her warm beach I found protected
by coral cliffs and pink sands
i let myself be tripped through her jungle

you surely tricked me
i don't complain
But seven days is all we had to celebrate and that i regret

For we will have another seven days
Hopefully it will be soon
Cuz, I've been waiting....quite patiently....

around this campfire that we built



Milty