-Let Me--
Let me caress your lips of twee
And let me get drunk in your breath.
Let me trace your body of balmy
And let me sleep under your heartening clasp.
Let me hold your hands of the blandest.
And let me not loose your entwine hands from me.
Let me stroke your hair of satiny
And let me animate my thrills in sense.
Let me gaze into your eye of pearls
And let me opine my futurity into deep drop.
Let me ascertain to your voice of philomel tone
And let me caper my joy along full mirth bound.
Let me call your name of dulcet
And let me chant your name in my everyday prayers.
Let me lie on your back which of celestial
And let me stay by your side together ever .
Let me come to you in your dreams of soothing
And let me feel eachother while we stay aloof.
Let me love you with all my hearts of entrust
While you live in full blooms of thyme
And let me leave you some lines of rhymes.
So that you would know I would love anything of yours
If you let me to become yours.
:Dawa Zangpo.
Categories:
philomel, anxiety, earth day, easter,
Form: Blank verse
Fair Apollo, may I borrow your golden lyre
So I might strum a heavenly chord full of fire
Else, let me pluck a laurel from your grove
Towards greatness, ever I strove
But alas my fingers are not nimble and quick
My wire sung words sting and stick
O Apollo were I as fair as the tree
Perhaps with second sight I could see
Fair Apollo lend me a voice as sweet and rich
A harpy in church, I rasp and –*****
I’ll drown in myself if I not throw it out soon
I’m hopelessly blocked
And Half cocked at noon
Fair Apollo, may I borrow your golden lyre
So I might strum a heavenly chord full of fire
Else, take me under your bright wing
With your guidance, let this Philomel sing
Categories:
philomel, art, creation, motivation, muse,
Form: Rhyme
It was a sunny day, half year gone,
the sky cloudless, the wind dry.
I had to imagine a rain, it had to be done.
The magic dyed the sky with gray
and made tears flow from a happy cry.
On a timber ladder, we seemed to pray,
but we only had kisses to share.
Who left the pages open, the tale untold?
The last words we already know:
they will be the same as the years unfold
layers of dust and cobwebs with his wings,
even if the wood’s trees cease to grow
and mute the music Philomel sings.
Fatal words those words are.
When I was a boy, too young to love
I loved you already under the rain,
sleeping the dreamless sleep in a grove
with your arms wrapping my chest;
Or thirty three years old in a boundless plain
of camphor scented fountains and lasting rest,
When we did as we did, were you aware?
Categories:
philomel, imagination, love, rain,
Form: I do not know?
O fair lark who first sang with
Much summery mirth
She casts her gaze upon
Fresh pastures and dark waters
O sweet lark,
What see you in bright dawn light?
By day the mockingbird entertains
thoughts of freedom
Her throat holds caricatures of
joyful songs
O mockingbird,
Whose hymns do thy warble
In the noontide fair?
By the afternoon crows gather
to witness a murder
feast on the bones of their lovers
O thy villainous creatures
To whom do you confess your sins
in the milky twilight?
O beautiful philomel,
O love, by night fall
her song falls on deaf ears
She cringes as the cold sets in
O fair philomel, where are you
in the dusty hallows of the eve?
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philomel - old poetic term for nightingale, from the myth of Philomela who is raped/abused. * Female nightingales do not sing.
Categories:
philomel, abuse, allegory, bird,
Form: Free verse