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Frank Desena Poem
These are important,too:
Shadows cast by sunlight on the stone fence,
Steaming sunbeams cutting through the oaks,
Dappling my forest floor,
Breezes whisking through the berry bushes and laurel
That line my country road.
But the gently arching birch is my soul's mate-
Graceful solitary centerpiece, she sits atop a hillock
Behind my little house.
Today she whispers gently of yellow and burgundy days to come.
I have an urge to sit on one of her branches
But I will not test my stiffened limbs and climb her.
So I touch her grainy white bark instead,
Fancying I will absorb her pliant strength,
Believing that I will survive the many coming winter storms
And one day see me dead.
The birch and I have become quite the couple:
She is the ideal spouse-silent, non-judgemental,
Listening attentively to all my thoughts,
Suffering my changing moods with equanimity,
She shakes a bough in response:
It's entirely easy to love a tree.
Had I my way, I should be buried at her feet,
And let her roots grow round about me,
Absorbing my corporeal being.
She already has my spirit!
Perhaps she will sprout a birchling
Nourished by my flesh and bone.
Silly old man am I
Absurdly fanciful even in my dotage.
The birch and I are genial companions,
We welcome the morning light together:
The birch dripping dew,
I, shaking off thoughts of death,
As we greet the wondrous new-born day.
Copyright © Frank Desena | Year Posted 2009
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Frank Desena Poem
The rain has stopped
But I am saddened by the sudden,brilliant onslaught of sunshine,
Although the apple trees,drenched and dripping
In the steaming orchard,
Glisten in almost painful beauty.
The rain was comforting while it lasted
It suited my gray mood,
For I was caught up in reveries of blue yesterdays
And I traveled into the nether lands of despair
Where regret and sorrow dwell.
But now the sun touches every corner of the landscape,
Banishes melancholy
And will not be cast aside.
Gold dances on the perimeter of darkness
And hope most sweetly is restored.
Copyright © Frank Desena | Year Posted 2009
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Frank Desena Poem
My fingertips moved slowly up and over your lower dark region,
Stopping to caress your navel.
Towards the base of your breast,
Outlining the entire soft pendulous orb,
Savoring this before seeking the inflamed nipple.
Your flesh erupted in miniscule bumps.
Your body shuddered and your eyes closed.
Your pleasure a tiny,exquisite death:
A rebirth in paradise.
Copyright © Frank Desena | Year Posted 2009
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Frank Desena Poem
For common folks, I put on a common face
And I am happy,charming and full of grace.
The intelligentsia I meet with deep-browed grin
And we discuss, intelligently,the dilemma we 're in.
I have so many faces that I do not know
In which my "real,"my "true" face starts to show.
And if through revelation divine
Something of myself I find,
I am content and glad to grow
But,oh how I've yet to go
And,oh how much I've yet to know!
Copyright © Frank Desena | Year Posted 2009
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Frank Desena Poem
The trees no longer show to me
Their stamp of wondrous sanctity.
The whistling winds that nightly sing
No longer peace and solace bring.
The tumid sea so cold and deep
No longer lulls my soul to sleep.
The twittering birds so high on air
With me no longer songs do share.
The soul grown brittle from despair
Tries and tries but does not care.
Copyright © Frank Desena | Year Posted 2009
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