told no one
that I had been
writing
did not
scrawl speaking words
to illiterate graves
no
i wrote with a finger
across my forehead
as to remember
i was writing
to a thimbleful of light
sat in the dark
under a low lamp
long before
the sun could read words
told her
she who lives
in a thimbleful of light
told her to sit it out
play her part for a while
tell no one
we will be sexual
in that tiny thimble
nothing more nor less
we will shape an acorn
with an erotic script
one only we can read
willing fingertips
can shape an acorn
out of a thimble
hands and lips can
mold that silent speech
going to plant
a meadow
a river
a nocturnal sunrise
inside of her
deep down
where nothing can be named
no
not even
a meadow
a river
or a nocturnal sunrise
not writing
not talking
just planting ourselves
in the one body
pushing down
gardening
not writing
we won't tell anyone we know
about this
sex is an open and closed secret
a small mystery
hidden under the earth
and above the sky
however
at all times
it should be revealed
to look like
a perfectly ordinary
thimble
Categories:
thimbleful, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Before you are carried away
With leaves that come tumbling down,
Before you succumb
To the crumbling of the hour,
I will give you a love
Like no other love you have known.
For that which can never be stolen,
Time will devour.
We measure our love by the lifetime
A thimbleful only of sky.
To the mountains, and oceans, and stars
Just a moment that passes by.
Time brings a death to each season
We think that to measure, we're clever.
It follows no rhyme or reason,
While love embraces forever.
A butterfly lives but a moment
Yet it knows that love grows within,
It turns moments of life into hours
Through the love it reveals on its skin
So love with the love that each butterfly brings
For a lifetime, a moment, or hour
And live to reveal the song your love sings
Like the butterfly kissing the flower.
Categories:
thimbleful, butterfly, emotions, inspirational love,
Form: Rhyme
I took an oath! I’ve declared this with a life of mine,
Would thou doest the same verily unto me?
And would thine life sacrifice so I contented be,
Because we’ve sharèd love, a thimbleful of red wine?
I panic, my sweet, when my mind dares to think
If thy heart would love me still, when I am dead –
With sad hymns sung and grave built over my head,
Because I’ve taken an oath, with a pen that bled ink
Unto paper that so my hand quivered,
Then sealed my life to love thee to death,
While thy soul, strange, yearns for wealth –
For love alone, I’ve all my dreams withered,
Yet I can never go back on my word, for good or bad,
I dared to die for your love, and then lost ev’rything I had.
Categories:
thimbleful, betrayal, death, love,
Form: Sonnet