poet’s things

fire can be green and see, and burn like eyes.

horses can be blue and the sky a meadow
in black and white, with scarlet dreams in evidence
looking like poppies that grow yellow wings
all of a sudden and lure a sun into a moon
beginning in sepia within clouds as pulpous as oranges.

skin can have tides and the sea legs wrapped around the sand’s hips
with boats beached by kisses setting upon breasts, because the wind
can have a mouth and seaweed be fingers playing preludes
for orgasm and seagulls upon sexes of foam.

and a guitar can be the muse on the floor with
the poet in concert, inside. Then, the poem can be
a whole shedding of accords in shades of warm flesh.
A page that is eaten and yet explodes in more and more cherry trees
until it looms by the window of very ripe souls;
through which a fire as green as eyes can be seen
burning into eyes as blue as horses set free.

it is one more book being invented, created
from absurdities which are all but scientific, yet
a perfect book of precise breath with no proof
but in colour proofs where truth is colour-blind
and the air is the sensitive absolute.

you don’t understand? ask the poet; and he will
paint you, yes, butterflies with letters in intelligible flight
and grey roses, hued of rain, under a rain that, of rose-pink,
can, unexpectedly, flood everything
in time for the epilogue.

© 2006 Alexandra* ~ OneLight*®

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Hello, dear friends, it’s good to be back!

Please stay tuned for an article – or maybe a couple of articles – about the events of a most extraordinary weekend, full of conscious awareness of dream, art, poetry and happy people!

Meanwhile, many hugs, with lots of

Love&Light*

Alexandra*