Black Sea
Posted: October 7th, 2006, 12:09 pm
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Black Sea
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Posted: October 7th, 2006, 12:19 pm
your coal eyes, my kohl eyes
our waves from beach to bitch
in longing and in farewell
we ship, we sheep
we wander into threadbare sands
following the tracks of crabs, clams, ahoy in buoyant whispers
this larger than universal scream
aloft, in lost torrents crest after crest
my sealegs turned to fins
i swim towards where last you cried
oh, siren of my soul
i swim towards you.
our waves from beach to bitch
in longing and in farewell
we ship, we sheep
we wander into threadbare sands
following the tracks of crabs, clams, ahoy in buoyant whispers
this larger than universal scream
aloft, in lost torrents crest after crest
my sealegs turned to fins
i swim towards where last you cried
oh, siren of my soul
i swim towards you.
Posted: October 7th, 2006, 5:09 pm
Cold sea roar at me and I will stand naked on your shore and roar back at you..........
Posted: October 7th, 2006, 7:45 pm
Reminds me of a dark place I visited just three days ago.
October coolness and gloom made tourists scarce and void.
No traffic jams just emptyness on every corner.
As the beach looked more virgian than ever.
October coolness and gloom made tourists scarce and void.
No traffic jams just emptyness on every corner.
As the beach looked more virgian than ever.
Posted: October 8th, 2006, 9:41 am
DELFT
( after the film:
”The Girl with the Pearl Earring”)
He lurches to his model:
just a slip of white
down the black bed curtain;
the fold under a thumb and finger
smells like a fishload of day-old love.
Past the Flemish fog that gang-banged in,
the northern sun
stipples the plate of ripe fruit.
Vermeer pulls his socks on
and stamps down on
the cold parquet.
Through the bottle-bottom in
the leaded pane
he watches his ship arrive,
sniffs the bowl of a china pipe
then the stem.
She's in there too.
--Z
( after the film:
”The Girl with the Pearl Earring”)
He lurches to his model:
just a slip of white
down the black bed curtain;
the fold under a thumb and finger
smells like a fishload of day-old love.
Past the Flemish fog that gang-banged in,
the northern sun
stipples the plate of ripe fruit.
Vermeer pulls his socks on
and stamps down on
the cold parquet.
Through the bottle-bottom in
the leaded pane
he watches his ship arrive,
sniffs the bowl of a china pipe
then the stem.
She's in there too.
--Z
Posted: October 8th, 2006, 10:33 am
Been a long time since you posted a poem
I wish you would post more
u knocked my socks off with that one.
I wish you would post more
u knocked my socks off with that one.