Regret Me Not (I Admonish Thee)

For each tide that bathes’t thy evening shore,
tumultuous is rendered this ocean: my being;
For a fleeting sigh of thy intending and yore
heaves my dusted now in its fury receding.
Doubtless, adore thee for always and forever
I, though if even one black robin doth nest
‘pon thy heart with woe and woeful feather,
I shall leave thee for boulevards to better rest.

If Reaping Would Have Its Wishes.

To the angel of reaping that stares at me now
and the raven that stalks on its shoulder,
“I wish not to live on, if thou could know how
judge I do not for thy gaze growing colder”
Here! takest my limbs, takest my prison, even the flesh of my brow
but leavest my heart, and too my soul, for myself and my love to grow older.
Asketh do providence, O stand but a moment, not an eternal eon allow
for now I beseech it to let me do stay, my arms are longing to hold her!
O parting has dawned, with so much unsaid, and time has taken a vow
so I closeth my eyes, hoping for hope, that a passing wind shall have told her.

O God! (This Woman)

In a thousand shades of graceful glance,
in a thousand veils of restless grace,
O God I have witnessed this woman once,
but feel I have known before this face.
The nape that has no dawn nor sets
with one but two soft suns at rest,
and that into not all which lets,
O God this beauty rules that breast.
Her touch that feels like velvet lace,
the scent she has is warm perfume,
and as I taste her parted embrace
a shade of ecstasy her visage assumes.
Gladly I would caress her blushing
and reddened bends on which she lends,
her knees on sheets play always pushing
those ankles on which she ever attends.
O God, her gaze has left me yearning,
O God, that kiss has made me think
how can this fire live on burning
when she of hell nor heaven drinks.
She is a woman of touch and sense,
more than that? may the watchful wonder.
How her back can curve so tense,
and that between I taste while under.
From her goblet of the sourest
and all that, that must be veiled,
O God may I then drink most sweetest,
wine for which I pray lips sealed.
My God I must ask one last thing,
that fore upon our dance of souls
might fall the curtains of this fringe
may rest our bodies twixt our folds.

There Was Our Home, Where Were You?

In the cold winter evening my burning home is my comfort,
the sick trees with their cold shivering branches look on.
It was not always this way, I was not always this hurt,
I still remember our first sleepless conversation until dawn.
The first time you asked me to buy you a better bed,
and I half smiled and you understood me plain and clear,
you smiled back and said, “you needn’t turn so red”,
now in the flames, our nest must be burning my dear.
I still remember the first time you saw that house up yonder,
and said so sweetly, “who needs a house that big and bold”,
I thought to my myself, “what did I do to deserve you I wonder”.
Why did you have to go, why did you leave me standing in the cold?
I remember the first time you held my hand, and lead me upstairs,
you were so excited about something, and I followed like a fool,
I closed my eyes, because you asked me to, indeed fools come in pairs,
I felt the roof beneath my feet, and the night air so cool,
you were over joyed about something, but how could I notice,
you were with me then and there, and that was my entire world,
I finally opened my eyes, because you told me to with a kiss,
and I still remember the northern lights on the sky unfurled.
There is our home my darling, here I am, where are you?
In the flames burn our pictures, the big one with our newborn,
I told you we would have another one, you knew it was true,
you always blamed me for his death, yet I was equally torn.
I still remember our first anniversary after our child’s death,
I made you dinner, I lit the candles and waited for you hopefully,
those two hours were eternal, but I waited holding my breath,
I called the doctor, and he told me you had behaved wonderfully,
that was why they let you go home, a whole two hours early!
My throat went dry, knees went numb, and look how the telephone breaks,
grabbed the house keys with fingertips, look at the snowflakes so pearly,
Why didn’t you come home that night, it was a perfect dinner for Gods sake!
I cut the rope of the branch, and I loosened the noose,
I still remember you were wearing my favorite perfume,
I kissed your frozen lips and broken neck and refused
to let you go, but then dead flowers never bloom.
I tried living on without you, but really its never the same,
I never knew what to do or when, I only ever knew how to love you,
the northern lights called, and the frozen skies came,
it never made sense to me, you were the only reason it did make few.
I still remember the first time you said you felt cold in our home,
you always complained the fire was never big enough for us,
that it was really I who warmed you and made this house a home,
today for the first time I felt cold, without you, without us.
So I decided to pour all the gasoline we bought the first winter,
the lighter I bought from the gas station that one time,
it never really lit a cigarette, just candles for me and her,
this time I used it to commit the most heinous of crimes,
but before I decided to say goodbye to everything we built,
I stood at the front door, for a moment to recall,
and everything came rushing in, everything without any guilt,
our child, our home, our memories, our fall,
but that one moment, the one I wanted most to remember,
it ended there, that first time you made snow angels in December.
I dropped that flame on the wet floor, the wet floor,
the footprints you made while rushing from the shower,
everything burned, for the last time I passed the door,
I’m sorry my love, your loss was too mighty a tower.
I hope you’ll never say that you’re feeling cold my dear,
look! I burned an entire house just for you, don’t cry,
no, no, no, I mean a home, yes a home, now its clear,
the thick smoke rising under the wide northern sky.

Thank You

I owe thee much, much more than odes,
and thank thee too for so much more,
thou stole my rest and well thou bode,
for sleepless nights and endless sure.
Thou brought me back to life and then,
showed me how to breathe and dance,
if thy name would come again,
in my thoughts by choice or chance.
Thou handed me a goblet fine,
taught me how to swim and sink
in my lake of thoughts and wine,
and also how to take a drink.
Thank thee I, thou brokest me,
eternal rest my restless days,
and what a life, for never free,
in fields of joy, my regrets play.

May I Envy The Blossom

Amidst a flurry of dropping blossoms pale,
I watch these moth wings fragrant so much
turning white in a lifeless sail,
the arms and branches praying as such.
In wait for autumn, the progeny of colors,
while patiently all the watchful turn old.
Would it be too much, to envy the pallor
of fleeting lovers drifting in the cold?
An empty shade, with receding light,
another hour has come and gone,
another moment, the blossoms in flight,
fallen, found love, waiting, found dawn.

Last Monsoon

When the drops of rain shall deign
to cease descending on my land,
harken they shall not just vane
most sunrise but too days most bland.
Surely I shall miss most sorely
the scent of warm and humid earth,
and of my darling sweating only
to have my kisses fulfill her dearth.
Hard has been this monsoon dear,
dark have been my noons so grey,
but then I recall light so near
has never made more lifeless clay.
Pools shall linger, stand and wait
for all those steps of playful lovers,
wilted feet to warmth shall mate
and sun in greatest sight discover,
no more drops of earnest thought
nor ripple shall those mirror moons,
and all those days I dearly sought
shall depart with our last monsoon.

Silence Our Only Words, Breaths Our Only Goodbye’s

An evening is due, and so is a word
among the flurry of the white moths wings.
The wind languid, the returning bird,
and the song of the sunset it sings.
Me and you, and the night insidious
painting our love on the fading light,
drooping shadows and thoughts assiduous,
of the vanishing sun and the fleeting sight.
Come hither love, and partake embrace
not a soul that can make an anxious cry,
a fire less night, its cold we must face
and the words I hear companion to a sigh.
“We lived for love, and time our foe,
our abode the home of the fireflies,
we saw the sun and then the dark,
and our breaths our only goodbye’s.”

The Swan Season

You see the feathers how in loves season,
they float away to unknown shores,
in pairs or lonely from exhausted passion,
extinguished flames in lakes so placid,
how you yearn and so does she,
your lovely swan companion true,
to have your feathers but drift together,
away and further on the delicate water.
Hope shall find you, O lonely bird!
and so shall love when the time is due,
in waters icy, and frozen nests,
warm embraces, and her soft caress,
for she is the one, the only one,
and how can two hearts be so wrong?
look upon the misty gardens,
where upon swim your fellow swans,
no one is as broken as her,
and neither is one beautiful as She,
not a time as fruitful as this,
not a season as wondrous as now,
shall come again to the icy garden,
where love, fire and life can sleep.

Someday We Will Meet.

Someday we will meet, someday very soon
someday when I am wise, but still a hearty fool.
I know that I disgust you, I know that you feel shame,
to know that you once loved me, and now I feel the same.
Someday under the giant oak, that shades over us all,
and bears the fruit of love, yet worries of no fall.
How delightful would it be, to reside in your embrace?
to feel your comely warmth, to see your loving face!
I dream of this and more, without you by my side,
and see you as I look, find you as I hide.
Everywhere I turn, I am reminded of you,
the red branches of autumn, that warm subtle hue,
the soft glowing fire, in the kindling wood so few,
the falling leaves of maple, all the ones I knew,
for everything I feel, I feel for me and you,
like the sleeping grass is drunk, on the morning dew,
and as I hear a budding flower, and its petals strip,
I hope the silence ends, with the parting of your lips.
You can walk amidst the shadows, but I see you far and wide,
that deep blue scarf of yours, with the scarlet by its side.
I dream we sit sincere, before the dying sun,
and make the most of light, before the light is done,
the strands of hair left on my cheek, I pull while weeping late,
and how they fall so languidly, lifeless like my fate.

Someday we must meet, and speak what was unspoken,
make what was not made, mend what was unbroken.
Though you may forget me, I will not forget you,
you were the first I loved, the last, and ever new,
we both gazed at each other, pretending not to care,
concealed within our hearts, that we dreaded to share,
you waited for me, as did I, to let someone be the first,
to taste what is servility, to drink or die from thirst.
For all the sleepless nights, and all the listless days,
all the chasing shadows, all the gathering haze,
I regret not even one, I cherish but all the wake,
and the trance that I was in, for life and livings sake.
When all our youth shall have been wasted, in guilt and recompense
loss shall have been our legacy, and lost shall have been our sense,
to remember what never happened, to recall what never must,
and someday shall we turn, from flesh to lifeless dust.
The world remembers no one, and neither one mans deed,
then why waste our time, for reputes we do not need?
Behold the starlit ocean, and the floating heavens within,
how only the brightest we know, and forget the rest therein,
we live not for remembrance, then why this shame of fate?
give yourself to me my love, let us leave this world of hate!
Care not for words of hatred, we are but mere pariahs,
our sojourn the graves we dig, and this dirt but our messiah,

Someday we shall meet, a day I pray come’s soon,
perhaps an autumn evening, or maybe a summer noon.
You complain, I never knew you, but how can it be true?
for words may surely evade you, if my silence you misconstrue!
I admit we never spoke, and there was naught to share,
but love is more than that, if only you would care,
for the air you breathe is the same as mine, that was how I met you,
the dirt you tread is the path benign, that is how I know you,
the trees you touch and the fruits so fine, that is how I feel you,
the wind you grace to which seasons resign, that is how I greet you,
the drinks you take with lips align, that is how I touch you,
the moon that glows and the sun that shines, that is how I embrace you.
I own you not I set you free, frolic as you may,
but once you return restless, anon and ever stay,
know that I watch over you, care not for what they say,
for they are only mortals, so play my “zenith” play.
But shall you tire of running, from me and from yourself,
shall you find no due refuge, in thoughts of someone else,
look to where the paths diverge, and tread the less walked by,
come to where fields turn to gold, and behold the weeping sky,
red and pink, with tears of the sun, no end or darkness neigh,
come to where the time stands still, and waits for you and I,
but make haste to find the blessed path, for when the day shall run,
away it shall for a thousand moons, and the day shall never come

when among the strangers of this world, to each other we shall owe
a smile though old and wrinkled then, but its meaning we shall know,
“this life is but a passing wind, and we but grains of sand
to where it leads, worlds unknown, but still we grip its hand”.
If all was lost but your embrace, If all was gone but your presence,
know that I would love nonetheless, I have loved you for your essence.
But I feel that I disgrace you, and I know you must feel pain,
to know that “love begets love”, but ours yields nothing to gain,
I promise you no throne, for a kingdom I do not rule,
I promise you not tomorrow, for time is no mans fool,
all I have to give, is the promise of my passion,
an undying one at that, and a will your whims shall fashion.
To you I may be no one, no more than a face in a crowd
but dare not pity me fallen, for that face is hurt but proud,
and the drops of grief that fall below, the drops you may call tears,
are not for you but me, are not for grief but fear,
that I lost my heart to you, and you have no heart to give,
but I fear that I learned long ago, how without a heart to live.
Time may not be on my side, and its grip shall seal my fate,
and to live for love while waiting, is to die from love found late.
Yet I live on weak and aimless, and I wander to find my reason,
then I recall the day I saw you, and how the changing season,
brought the winds of winter, the words of poems and rhymes,
and the one I whisper to myself, which reminds me of my crime,

“That someday we will meet, not someday very soon
when days of wine and roses, shall come when past their bloom”.