I love You in 5 Languages
David J Walker
How more than once
A vestal dance
A nights romance
Gesticulates alone
Perchance we heard
The same music as we
Glanced through colored glasses
At the golden moon
Bowing in the ballroom
Vowing erotic promissory notes
Suspected but unconfessed
In the street corner confessionals
I love you said in 5 languages
While mocking the intonations of
foreign words and the
Meanings that one-night can hold
I will meet you in the
Abandoned public garden of
Lost calendars
That only we can know
Categories:
gesticulates, lust,
Form: Free verse
Flower rises and falls with
autumn's breeze,
wilted and forlorn,
winter's brutal decree,
rises in springtime,
its essence retrieved.
The tree is single or
part of a forest grand,
rises to the heavens,
branches like hands,
stalwart and steady,
gesticulates its plans,
deeply rooted in soil,
how nobly it stands,
And me and me,
came forth from the seed,
a child, a girl, a woman indeed,
tiny speck in the universe,
a glimmer in my day,
tree of many branches,
gently, I sway.
I am a woman of the earth
have been happy and sad,
laughed and cried,
tread naturally upon land,
a portrait of few, a grain in the sand,
dear flowers and trees,
how fortunate I am.,
Categories:
gesticulates, nature,
Form: ABC
Soulful eyes
eyes that speak without a word,,
thoughts exposed, though not unheard,
passion flares behind these gates
soul connectin gesticulates,
hypnotic eyes aint absurd...
Don
re: Dbbie Duncan "Strangers In Paradise"
Categories:
gesticulates, adventure,
Form: Rhyme
Natural Processes
That basket, the one that sets here, on this table, this table where he leans, leaning heavily upon his elbow, khaki left leg cocked-up. Where is it, his self-sought? In that rack of pipes from which he gestures, gesticulates with the stems, smoke, hot air? In that Bentley, in the basement carved out under the deck cantilevered over the brook that once powered a factory and made ribbons, is in pieces, in pieces in precise order? In that life lived under shadows, in the long partnership not waiting for answers not found in his corner, his pipes, his pronouncements? Is that the arrogance of the commonplace, refuge of the soon forgotten, those natural processes?
I hesitate to carry on, carry on, fearing what I might find in that brook, that basement, under the shadows.
Categories:
gesticulates, nature,
Form: Prose Poetry