PORCELAIN HEART
A cheek so pale
Pollen sleeps
A meadow's breeze
Across your cheek
Your hair in waves
Sweep your face
You drown in dreams
So far away
Lips so sure
Part not with need
Your one true wish
A buried seed
Your porcelain heart
Such fragile art
I dare not touch
So risk your love
Your flesh so sweet
Oils made
The land of Queens
So far away
Limbs so white
Like snow on trees
In soft moonlight
You bend with ease
Through the blinding haze of the blizzard,
It was the only visual for eyes afar.
A gleam from it rose to the sky,
Making the view as ethereal and high.
A blink then again one more
Built its glory to reach evermore.
Moors have been swept in search,
Lands turned into white dust.
A pale glimmer arose so glazed
Marking the spot where it stood unfazed.
A flutter in the wind brought some light
In came the view of the porcelain white.
A single white rose
Stood in the storm so majestic.
Could nature be more supercalifragilistic?
petals rest in a small porcelain bowl,
their faded colors holding
the last warm whisper
of summer’s breath
like a prayer released
from the hush of a chapel
their fragrance drifts upward~
a sweetness rising
toward unseen grace.
I sense the Holy Spirit
moving through the softened petals,
turning what has fallen
into something still glowing.
potpourri—a symbol of how God gathers
the small, the broken, the dried~
and breathes a lingering fragrance
into them.
Of what fascinates
In the feminine
Charmingly sweet, ere can, whose cause
Put a finger on
That serene, upstood
A gentler hand made
Exotica, cracks not o'er time
Puts in a trance one!
A thick porcelain shroud in a diamond vial,
Dabbing conceals the bruised moon beneath each socket,
A fine white mask stifles the shine,
Carving canyons to mimic where the pulse has retreated,
Brushing of a counterfeit fever upon the apples of the cheek,
Before a stroke of stardust illuminates the stifle,
Sweeping the lids with the velvet,
Ink the margins of gaze with a raven’s sharp intent,
Until the final petal of crimson seals the kiss,
The mirror reflects the tragedy of gravity claiming its heavy prize,
And beauty really is pain.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The table moans~
a sanctuary of overindulgence,
each plate a silent sermon
on the sin of gluttony.
I chisel my hunger into little gods:
the third serving, the midnight raid,
the gradual communion
of eating what cannot
be expressed.
And when my stomach preaches
its inflated gospel,
I kneel before the porcelain altar,
telling no one
but my own empty reflection
how even the feast
leaves me hungry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
fragile twigs tremble
first light cracks porcelain snow~
winter holds its breath
My fury for you is more than reasonable
I believe I’m healed until the seasons start to change
To the holidays
It creeps on, then suffocates me
Gasping for air yet again
Trying to catch myself before the walls cave in
To you, I was your play thing
Porcelain
A beauty with eyes grown cold
Your claws tainting my youthful soul
My beautiful skin
Dressed to your wishes
porcelain cameo in attic’s far corner
lit by the glow of a sorcerer’s candle
tiny tree growing out of her roots
sharing gorgeous flowers
dolls with bothersome blank faces
stark staid straight expressions
make my neck hairs stand up
prideful porcelain puppets
placid, plebian and plastic
looking creepily deceased
do not put them in my room
for there is a window
and I will not hesitate to use it
Porcelain boy,
Hammer in fist,
Building walls-
Cracking, his face twists.
So pretty, so alone.
Storm cloud mind monsoons from his eyes
"I am not worth it" he screams
His concrete ribcage contains
A monster of fire forged shame.
This phase in life,
Smoke is wrapping around his face
Porcelain is hardening-
Porcelain is stained.
Repair, remind, revisit
Heal, hell, high.
No pain stains my lips
When I scream your name
Only honor
To say it, to know it
To love you.
He tries.
I know, he tries.
Clad in bright white sapphire
Millions crawl, the exhausted lay to admire
Within its swelling eye thousands desire
At the back I lie, waiting to expire
Scratching the walls without respire
I danced into crossfire
With a soul which yearns to retire
Lips littered with satire
A heart prosecuted to hellfire
Still, my porcelain surface shone as if a luminaire
Slowly the winds fill me with tire
Yet for the last time, my body rose high of inspire
Amidst the silent woods, my mind's a wildfire
All that remains, a mind left in quagmire
She smiled,
The kind that fits
Like fine porcelain
On polished shelves.
She added the sugar,
Asked about the day,
But folded her voice
Into careful pleats.
No one noticed,
The twitch in her hand,
How the tea danced
Before the quick sips.
She laughed,
But her breath shook,
Like windows trembling
Before the wind.
Even the mirror,
Cracked behind her veil
Dared not speak
Of the quiver it caught.
She kept it hidden,
Polished with grace,
While deep beneath
The cracks grew teeth.
For grace, they say,
Is to endure unshaken.
But no one warned
How silence splinters.
How can a porcelain
Bear the aches?
Until the fine cracks
Become the shape?
Statuesque, in the literal sense
for of porcelain, she was sculpted.
So loved by the sun
that before drowning
in the sea, he whispered to her,
"A kiss bestowed on your brow,
to bring you to life.
Live during the moonlight's hours,
and each dawn she'll return you to me."
There once was a Marm with a dripping cold
Whose bright idea she feared would unfold:
Her deep scribed porcelain face
Was far harder to replace
Then a soaked sink her plumber could not hold.
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