The Moon, The Swan, The Rose
I see an enchanted image that you’ve never dreamed of
With reflections twinkling while dancing on wave drops
Of a dreamy blue lake that is a mirror of one white swan
A dancing beauty with a pureness that blesses this water
She floats like a princess with such an elegance and grace
As splendor ripples through a lens of her divine existence
A canvas painting as one masterpiece beyond compare
As the moonlight manifests a sweet rose in my dreams
Beautiful to desire now that nothing shall be disturbed
Within a frozen memory a brilliant diamond illuminates
As the full moon’s image enters the depths of her soul
And a sad, certain loneliness leaves her spirit exhausted
Arising before my eyes on the wings of angels I see all
Clearly now with an excited, fluttering magical heartbeat
Believe me—that this eternal blue sky is incredibly real
With a golden orb of light colors reflecting so exquisitely
Now as majestic images of God’s Heaven appear above
I see His very image of the Moon, the Swan, and the Rose
Anne-Lise Andresen, Gary Bateman, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 2, 2015 (Unrhymed Tercet)
Copyright © Anne Lise Andresen
I am a heart full of love
that shook the pilars that held her colussium up
her heart filled with sorrow,
I swing such fury toward her heart and soul
she cowards away from me,
in fear of falling in love and not knowing what is in black
and not searching what is in the light of pure white.
I am a heart full of love,
she runs and takes the long dirt road,
through the raging mountains of the quiet countryside,
as the meadows of lilacs slowly die when Spring comes,
the blooming of the rose,
like the blooming of my heart,
a blossom on a cherry tree fall and harbour in the wintertime.
I swing toward her, she falls in fear of wanting attention and love.
Lost in the midnight twilight,
the flaming torch guides her through the dark holes of meaningless souls.
and like a frightened hummingbird,
she flees away from the secrets of falling in love.
A heart full of love ready to love,
it is diffcult to feel and to show,
but as if a rose that blooms in Springtime
my love is ready to bloom.
Pettles lay along a darkened atmosphere
lit up only with four wax candles
a portrait of a woman hung over a mantel piece
in honour of my one true love.
As the twilight shine though my bedroom window,
I show a heart full of love,
to take and to hold for eternity.
And as she slowly moves forward,
she takes me home with her,
and opens her chest and shows me her heart
with a glass of red wine and charming cigarette.
She sheads tears of pain and sorrow on my broud shoulder,
I curise her hair, silk laced hair,
shining against the twilight and the moonlit sky.
My heart full of love,
so divine, so original
a one of a kind.
We make love in the midst of the twilight,
as my dream girl is now reality and my pain is no more,
her pain is no more.
Too show such love makes a man feel free
and his soul lighter.
She holds him there,
as the sun rises over the mountains.
The birds sing a tune of cheerfulness,
and they talk about everything beautiful and kind,
that is still left in this cruel and empty hearted world.
Romance and love shared
with a heart full of love,
smile and kiss upon smooth lips,
feel me against your tight body,
and love me till the morning
when Blue eyed Death is staring us in the face.
and we go with him,
and play a game of risk,
and together forever,
onto a diffrent world
we shall love each other forever,
for you and I both have a heart full of love.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski
The peaceful, humble beauty
of a white lily drifting on reflective night
hums a sweet melody
of contrasting light.
Trusting the darkness
to be his throne
and the moon of loneliness
to crown his soft, unheard moan.
I watch from bushes of scorn
that mock him cruelly.
His fragile crest is pierced by the thorn
of rejection and bleeds its sorrows silently.
The rejected jewels of nature are mourning
for the king of the skies to raise his wings
but he can't see beyond remembering
and can't see past the thorn's stings.
Oh, scarred heart of grace,
spread strenght and flee with wild freedom
unto priceless solace
away from this desolate kingdom.
Oh, jewel in creation's crown,
look not to stirred reflection
for it is mere perversion, a frown,
of the white rose of perfection.
Go now, leave behind only
a legacy of despised beauty.
Copyright © Robyn Thomas
I do not know?
Oh, humming bird, you are so flick,
You kiss as fast as your heart beats!
Oh, blooming rose, you are so prick,
Your thorns are true but your beauty cheats!
Stop your wings and do not come close,
Your beak is not gold to kiss a rose!
And who is good enough, may I ask?
Fulfilling your demand is too hard as task!
A young maiden with heart-shaped lips
Walking hand to hand with her pair.
She may have too delicate fingertips
To bring your core to live in her lair.
You wave your bill to kiss and fence
The same weapon against any defense…
But my darling, this is my power
I can choose, while you as a flower…
…Will be kissed by any stranger
Me? Away, spare me from this ploy!
Hush, there may be just one real danger:
You may beg for more and enjoy!
Copyright © João Camilo
The crushing wind blankets my skin in goose bumps.
A gentle aroma of cyclamen arises.
Green foliage plants itself in the lonely dirt.
Trees stand quietly and whisper dreams.
A bird chirps kindly overhead.
My skin continues to tingle.
But inside I feel warm.
An ant desperately clings on to a rose petal.
The petal dips towards the earth.
It looks as if even the almighty rose
The king of beauty
Is bowing down to such effort.
Sharp vines hug a tree at its trunk.
The angry embrace is softened by the tree's wisdom.
My soul dissolves with the wind.
Copyright © Niki Borghei
For the first time ever,
a Cardinal's nest lay cleverly hidden
in a juncture of two branches
of the red rose climber
on the south wall of our garage.
Over the years, we'd watched with pleasure
as House Finches, Eastern Phoebe,
Bluebirds, and Wrens nested in flowerpots,
birdhouses, spruce trees, and on porch walls.
Purple Martins snootily passed us by
in spite of elaborate housing provided.
Once, a Rufous-sided Towhee deposited
her eggs on the ground, underneath
a large cedar tree near the driveway.
We mowed around them, shooed turtles
toward distant woods, and watched
eggs hatch, babies fly into the future.
Cardinal babes were a new and welcome
experience. Almost daily, we peeked.
But grief came quickly with eagle eye,
hooked talon, and razor-edged beak.
A Cooper's Hawk left a shattered nest,
a mother's heart ripped apart, and us,
feeling her pain to the marrow of our bones.
Copyright © Cona Adams
I do not know?
Held him captive
To your beauty.
Matched only by the cosmos
Of the night sky.
Your lips that bloomed
Like a red red rose.
Your hair silky
Like that of a petal.
Your voice greater than a mocking birds.
You'd stole his heart
And as his vision blurred
For all who paled to you
You gave your heart to another
Danced with your devil.
Copyright © Sybil Berry
Having not done the things I wanted to do
and the things I've done not being what I wanted to do
I sit here looking at lichen on the north side of trees.
cheerful and truthful expression
grouped in platoons, sharing the point.
The tribes travel together
first finches, then chickadees
following the squirrels every morning.
What luxury, abundance! Handful after handful
of grass seed thrown, into wind.
The corn ripe and the rye with it.
The other main families: pines, roses, peas,
lilies, daisies, heath, birch and oak.
Maple, honeysuckle, pink, mustard, cypress, mint, olive, buckwheat,
primrose, willow, buttercup, saxifrage, snapdragon, cactus.
Truth may be ascertained by considering
the truth we feel, the truth we're told,
the truth we reason, and the truth we've seen.
It is so good to be a chickadee.
To tell the truth cheerfully and joyfully.
In a way that makes others want to live.
Copyright © Robert Ronnow