It was the first time
I heard the dove’s low call—
three minor notes
stretched thin across
a motionless prairie
on a shimmering hot afternoon,
the kind where even shadows
try not to move.
I felt like I should be
in mourning too—
but for what, I didn’t know
or had forgotten.
Black Cats and Roman candles
found no customers that day,
just heat, and a solitary girl
trying not to feel too much.
And later that same afternoon,
bruises of unknown origin
started blooming on my heart—
tender without memory,
as if the heat itself
had pressed something into me
I wasn’t ready to understand.
In the palm of the universe, only the mad ones dare to tread,
Mad to live, to speak, to be saved from the relentless currents of time,
Craving everything at once, like a blazing sun at its zenith,
They never yawn, nor utter the mundane, but burn with the brilliance of fallen stars,
Like fabulous yellow roman candles bursting into webs among the stars,
Their light dances upon the walls of my soul, weaving dreams I can never touch,
While sandcastles rise in my wandering mind, without foundations to hold them.
Marble staircases and crystal chandeliers waltz in the echoes of forgotten dreams,
Through the labyrinth of unwritten memories, I roam, lost and searching,
Unaware of the source of this sweet poison that floods my senses,
Oh cruel universe, why do you show me only shadows of happiness?
Let me glimpse the light that dances, yet remains untouched by any hand,
In the merciless universe, why reveal mere shadows of joy,
When my prayer is an echo of unfulfillment, a melody without end,
That is lost in the infinity of the universe, untouched and unheard by anyone.
Here I sit
composing juices spurting
spewing, gushing, splashing,
dripping every wall!
like Mount Etna awakened
my mind erupting with poetic
genius
like Roman Candles
on 4th of July
up hops lover, the cat
he tangles my hands
mounts the keyboard
demanding, purring
I say, "lover, have you no
respect for art, for my
exquisite, rarer singular mind producing --
he meows
needfully reminds me
"nothing more important than
petting" --
Time has two hands
a branch has it leaves
the sky needing clouds,
and I am lost
without you --
the face that brought everything
into clear focus,
the voice that made music of simple
conversation,
the smile that lit my heart like
Roman Candles on Fourth of July --
the calm that never returned
after our stormy parting…
indeed, even heaven and hell now
seem flipping in an unsettling toss,
that never comes to light – up in
air, a funnel of perpetual longing
the sad reality, seldom do-overs when
it comes to arrows of the heart
once broken….
Across borders
My Love was lost
hidden afar
further to breach
Like kids chase dandelions till they cannot be reached
I've cast myself away like a stone in the deep
Across borders
Across borders
I've shot crimson roman candles through my subtleties
Expressions I've repressed within the shadows of my grief
extends through out of my yearning like a hound tied to the leash
Across borders
Across borders
I wish to sojourn the tides like Ulysses
But I know "the hottest love has the coldest end" like quotes of Socrates
Across borders like renaissance statues with no sight nor speech
A signorina on the game
Met a chap whose pecker went lame
Pinocchio knew
What she should do
And Roman Candles rose to fame
(as did "Liar! Liar!
Pants on fire!")
her finger to his lips,
the mood like an eclipse.
she’s set the bed so it won’t quake,
not yet.
her satin gown shifts slowly,
like accentuated snowflakes.
the moon illuminates the hallowed place.
she flickers with the candlelight,
bare feet on rose petals, her wrists
orchestrating the space above the clouds -
a tender dance, sans music.
she needs him to hear
the deafness of the night,
then she can make love to him,
as if he knew
a world where only lightning can succumb
to the pitter-patterless rain; noiseless crackle,
the ebony sky with plumes of ziggurats.
afterall, she’s wont to create fireworks
in the marriage bed; roman candles,
catherine wheels, head over heels
in love with him,
and he hears her.
she kisses his tears.
he hears her quiet heartbeat.
the ornate swan and royal blue,
her charms,
the twining of vanilla and rose...
the honeymooners in vociferous throes.
this night of nights — the chamber undulates
as her spouse embraces the storm.
he craves fidelity*, her infinity.
6/25/2020
Sensuality Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
*state of being faithful; accuracy of details
Taken inside the bowels
of bassoons,
tropical heat from
swelling bows.
Sweat labors the brow,
full with carnal dissonance.
The throat is lunged
by a beast
veiled in foliage.
Spewed in a mass of
broken pickaxes!
Kicked again into the
thunder of claws!
In flames of foundries
lost.
Becoming Roman Candles
opening across the night.
But drinking cool women
in the thaw of glaciers,
smoothing their oblong stones,
clear cleansed lemon lime oboes.
Naked bodies bloom.
Raced around a corner
at top speed,
the pounding of industry,
a worker in goggles
forging metal.
Without notice,
still mesmerized by fire,
in the belly of percussion,
paused
by a dawning pond of sullen fog,
a brief dream
shrouded in ungrasped riddles.
Sudden conductor realized
in the grass of tones,
using his baton as a machete.
On a distant hill
A shepherd beckons.
Animated, beclouded,
a restless crow in search,
a cinematic fade-out.
The people’s choice
ain’t always the right footstool fit
Crown a throne sitter
with electric glam fanfare
Light the bright Roman candles
for a cancer stick spitter ...
See the fireworks in the air:
Inter
Continental
Ballistic
Missives
got voter arm drone sent
Cheek chicanery
is puffing pride hellbent
The home plate people say,
they know how to get around third base
The silent majority
whistle kicked a ballot bray:
Said they know how to rule and regulate
Mute mules got a gut promise packet
burst in their purse belly
White powder vows telly
is a politrician mix: Rublecon racket
Dressed to deceive,
they wear the gorgeous mink sable
Eyes often believe
spit paid broadcast signal on cable
Raw mink voltage
is copper wire insular selectable
Red carpet dotage
give Venus fly idol cries
to the froggy princes they chose
If the cold iron velvet glove
fits tight rightly on the bow hand
Send the poison arrow love
into bent hearts prone to knelling
Oh, the Fourth of July for a kid is a blast,
Though today not so much as it was in the past,
“Cherry Bombs” and “M80s” my faves when a kid,
And our throwing “Torpedoes” not all that we did.
“Roman Candles” shoot colored balls up in the air,
Blast of “Aerial Bombs” knocks you out of your chair,
“Bottle Rockets,” as well, were both cheap and delight,
With flame sputtering “Fountains” to top off the night.
Watching children light “Sparklers,” joy’s hard to contain,
They’re so bright that to witness burns path cross your brain,
There is something for old and young, “Buzz Bombs” that twirl,
War is nearly forgotten, the dead boy and girl.
Long Tooth
August 10, 2017
I thought I told you about it;
The dream I had with eyes wide open.
I met this girl whom sparked a world of curiosity.
The way she stares, the sparklers that melt away in her eyes.
She traced the sky with them, her stare.
Little by little like the stem I was devoured;
Lost in conversation we ventured along the fringe of the sky.
An internal combustion of our hearts; black cats and roman candles shot into the air as flares,
Tumbling down, Cascading into a world of thought.
Venturing off into the smallest detail, not wanting this moment to end.
This vivid display captured under bright shades of red green and purple,
This implosion consisting of her and I.
This fragile yet explosive feeling shot into the sky in quick bursts of fireworks.
Zooming head first into infatuation .
Such liberty given with the touch of lips. tender, passionate.
I thought I told you how bright you've made everything
Rockets flare in brilliant aerial display
Lighting the night as though were day
Roman candles fired at the moon
A celebration ended too soon
Like fireworks that light up the eyes
excitement and love fizzles and dies
There's danger in holding a short fuse
Fingers and heart you may lose
SONNET -- for Ian Guyler traditional Sonnet competition
To be honest
if we both wrote
A sonnet
delicately
plattered
delicacy
with everything
on it
we would know
our sparks glow
Roman candles
lighting a page
igniting
streaked
lightning
blinding
our minds
© Kim van Breda—17 September 2015
Fireworks creating, a huge celebration.
Independence day, uniting a nation.
Rockets zooming skyward, blazing bright.
Exploding with spectacular, shimmering light.
Catherine wheels whirling, sparks cascading.
Roman candles dancing flames, gaily serenading.
America, celebrating, the fourth of July.
Crowds gathering, where the stars and stripes fly.
Keeping up tradition, with a respectful manner.
Everyone singing, the Star Spangled Banner.
Reunions where people really belong.
Softly singing a patriotic song.
7/ 13/ 2015.
Winter warmer
Sky forgotten
Eye glass frost
Rotten timber
Room for rent
Random guest
Renaissance
Heart from chest
Molten eyelids
Roman candles
Romantic end
Milk from breast
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