The cliff juts high, it towers over water
Its head is dyed with silver-green and orange grass
I got the camera eye of watching walker
To reach the future that next second turns to past
I like to see the strangers who can’t see me
I sniff the scent of lavender and clover
I’m envying the trees and bumblebees
That buzz around, and when the walk is over
I switch to you, to see your smile again
To hear your words, if you may share some news
But fortunately, everything’s the same
As yesterday, and all those days we used..
I have never known love like
the moon and his lily,
separated by immeasurable distance
but closer
than the cells that build their corporeal forms.
hearts intertwined tight
with akai ito,
the way lover's hands intertwine
in moments of passion.
tied so tightly with silk red string
that could cut off circulation
but not quite sever their bond.
The moon and his lily
are one,
in the way nations join
to form another,
the way two halves of an apple,
with the hard, bitter core,
are forced together as a whole.
The moon and his lily
are innocent, pure;
kind hearts that cannot be tainted
by cruel intentions.
They follow their paths,
parallel but somewhere connected
in some cosmic junction.
The moon and his lily
are friends of mine,
always present
though physically afar.
I will never know love like
the moon and his lily;
Nothing else catches the focus
or their heart's camera eye.
to know love like
The moon and his lily
is a rare treasure
preserved under glass.
I dream of dreams
already dreamt.
Sometimes I dream dreams
that someone has lent.
Images so clear,
that I know,
I am there!
It's winter,
and a young boy pushes a sled
with a box on top,
through busy city streets.
It is the evening rush
and the cold twilight,
is tangible.
Something...someone
is in the box.
Film noir like
my camera eye focuses in...
on the mighty truth
the box conceals.
My body jerks awake
with awareness of who
and where I am, and
the dream is gone, not
to be recovered.
Over and over I see
these borrowed dreams
of incredible reality about
to reveal their truths
and I awake to reality.
I want to know if there are no
great truths,,,or
if there are.
Fashioning the favourable foul,
Cutting the caustic cordial,
Rearing a rabid recall.
Pardon the potion
When blind and blundering
We fathom the favourable foul.
String along the slug
When casually and crazed
We concede the caustic cordial.
Split the sauce
When tardily and turbulently
We receive the rabid recall.
Behold the botheration of the booze!
Jilt the jitters of the jug,
Surrender the stress of the spirits.
Do this in the name
Of the bright, the blue
And the holy camera eye.
Amen.
© 2016 Margo Cami [www.margocami.com]
From across the ocean
Far, far across the sea
We drink our morning coffees and chat
Through a camera eye
I watch you and you me
As we casually talk
About our yesterdays, today’s and tomorrow’s
Past vast distances
Beyond the winds of the world
Outside our closed winters doors
We laugh
Making plans for the future
Today
It is no longer that far
To when the seas will dry
The winds will cease
And the earth shall fall away
A time when
I will see you again
Face to face
For the very first time
The city's august hell-heat
choking lungs and stinging eyes,
stranded car and driver hoods agape
spew boiling geysers to a summer sky.
And we, as cattle going to market
slowly inch our way toward the promise of relief.
Beside me in the traffic
I (with shutter-camera eye)
briefly caught the image
of a sister of the search.
Her eyes were your eyes
were eyes of longing and wonderment.
The city's august hell-heat
now unnoticed faded into memories
of a summer long ago
when we, beneath a backyard cherry tree,
would speak of transcendental Love and Truth.
Your queries were more answer than question,
your requests, an unexpected gift
that like the sylvan canopy above my head
gave refuge from a singeing inner heat.
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