If I know the answer to the question
before you ask it
Am I then still allowed to buzz in
Or will you burn me as a witch
Simple singular, shards of silver moonlight,
Fell magically, over shadowy bodies, that night.
In the lush, jasmined garden, innocent,we?
Canopied by an angelic, embracing oak tree.
Oh, that wicker bench, where we embraced!
To this day, remains, our loves' first, indelible trace!
August 30, 2020
8am PST
Simple, singular, shards of silver moonlight,
Fell magically over our shadowy bodies,out of sight.
Twas on that vibrant, virginal, bench, oh love,
My being so young, heard the angelic sound of turtle doves.
Oh, heavens, that with musical madness seem to fall.
On two sweet young lovers, who gave that very first kiss, their all.
May 20, 2020
7pm PST
Poem# 1284
That old chair in the corner
For years, it was my friend
Especially when I sat alone
With no one’s ear to bend
Its wicker wings and peacock flair
Crowned the little room
Perched next to my window
Dancing with my broom
Tucked inside its cushions soft
Of white and blue and pink
I would rest or maybe read
Sometimes, I’d just think
Perhaps, I’d sip a cup of tea
Imagining my day
Or wondering my travels
While dreams whisked me away
I’ll not forget the hours
Enveloped by its charm
That I enjoyed so blissfully
Leaning on its arm
Or ~ Breakfast in the Fields~
The animated, joyful couple, just you and I.
With our picnic, wicker basket wonderfully full.
Of Brioche,our favorite cheeses, fruits, Chai
and mirth.
It's so wonderfully quiet here except for the
sound of bountious butterfly wings.
And I can hear the sound of your soft eyelids,
moving with love, as you gaze at me!
This is our forever time!
Since we met, I have always been thine.
This is our time to enjoy, we are the happy couple.
Who very long ago, found me, just a pretty girl.
And you, my destiny, my eternally handsome
and sensuos, forever, boy.
You still drive me wild, ecstatically.
As it was, and ever shall be!
August 28, 2019
Noon PST
cat sprawled upon a wicker heirloom
perfect blend of humble and attitude,
Too often I have forgotten the nectar
of welcomed recollection,
Having been lazed out
in Sylvan grasses green,
lounging upon the footstool of the world.....
where the wood marries the wedded waters,
where the songster sings from his hooded perches ----
Where the dream is ripe,
with long, easeful melodies;
With wind chasing the swooning dapples....
A short sleep in the lilting sky for a pampered muse,
Could life be sweeter in some ghost-clap mansion hall?
where the forest doesn't whisper in the womb of a man's soul?
***(A plea for a swift arriving Spring/Summer....)***
In desperation of solitude,
Sanity struggles to stay afloat.
Dark clouds descend on paradise lost,
Escape disappears, madness provoked.
Shadows dancing under the pale moon,
Mischievous silhouettes on the walls.
In the company of misery,
An unsympathetic world revolves.
Tragedy collects inside her quill,
Trembling in her delicate hand.
Tears streaming onto crumpled pages,
Unseen words bleed onto her nightstand.
Child of darkness, product of sorrow,
A fallen star abandoned by Hope.
Haunted by the desecrated ghosts,
Past secrets sealed in an envelope.
Despair magnified by cold silence,
Stories untold, forgotten memoirs.
Drawn towards the pale light of the moon,
Alone she rides, shepard of the stars.
Cut from the quarry of life,
block by block by block
towed to haloed ground
cut and pasting
pyramids of the mind
time after
time after
time....
To open a seam in the sky,
heart in the king's chamber
the soul in the queens
great lost limestone eyes
peering into the afterlife,
eating the gaze of God
on heaven's horizon
but more often than not,
nothing is there
but a
great
great
great wicker chair,
the beast lounging beneath
firecrackers in powdered eyes,
igniting the burning reel
of a million lost lives
time after
time after
time.
Heart broken,
Heart unsure,
When we are forgotten,
For we are not pure,
We call names,
We hunt love,
Screaming things,
We never thought of,
To nurse pride,
Lost in shame,
All my heart,
Just your game,
As she runs
As I seek
Now her words
Make me weak,
For she lies,
And I’m lost,
Love is love,
But what a cost.
@};~
Gramma's sewing basket
Overflowed with bits of fluff
Ribbons from a cardboard roll
That weren't quite big enough
Buttons in all sizes
And colors rolled around
If it happened to tip over
And spill onto the ground
The yarn left from my mittens
And scarf and baby glove
She knitted on a cold night
Entwined with so much love
Shiny needles packaged
Some filled with tails of thread
Blue and green and yellow
And several trailed red
Tiny beads of crystal
Made into a ring
Lay there on the bottom
On a golden stretchy string
Lace wrapped on a wooden spool
Soft pink and pale blue
Left from making outfits
That we too soon outgrew
I cherish that wicker basket
That Gramma used for mends
It's like her life and love goes on
And never ever ends
©Neva Loretta Brown
Oh restful place
Weary are my eyes that watch in glory
Worn are the clay hands of my race
With lines and tales that rise upon my face
Oh restful place
With battened flattened ruby shoes
And America spirited sapphire pants
The whistling winds call the to trace
Oh restful place
I was but a warrior of my tribe
With my black and white plumage and my pride
Around my neck the jaw of 10 bears embrace
Oh restful place
A wiser man I am that has come to think
In the comforts of a rainbow painted room
I feel the desert sun has parched my breathing space
(Inspired by The Native American Ekphrasis contest
Photo found --http://joanfrederick.net/cannon.html)
They drop succulent, ripe and basket-bound;
with a quick turn, skill runs the juice masterful.
Yet jaded wicker lips so slash your fingers red
that with a quick turn, you drop your quirky quill
as caustic acid anesthetic muds the dusty ground.
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