a poem (of love)
a poem (of love)
just a poem for you, who i love very dearly
winter called suddenly each day
so predictably stark gray and deathly
i sent it quickly on its way
and wrote you letters when it lingered
near the sunroom by the by
these oft took shape as strings of loving verse
else clumps of snow gathered up in my bare hands
assuming forms of roses made of snowflake lace
else wreaths of floating snowballs all aglow
like restless icebergs blushing barest blue
these all seem unprepared to leave the fold
for 'tis a land of ice you see
that occupies me then as now
where just like me all born of cold
seem so slowly to emerge
but of necessity in this wild frozen place
a sort of long slow symphony takes form
amidst the thrum of constant longing
and the trill enduring fondness plays
for all who do not melt away
and so i softly asked the winds
to carry word to you with care
equal to your distance on the other side of time
where i'm told long days still tend to bend
around and start each night anew
in much the same and dreamy sort of way
i've been so well accustomed to
else 'trusting faith to rolling seas
which in their watery wisdom
never promise yet accept
sometimes without question
seeming to rise to meet me
filling my hands with tangles of seaweed
i willingly accept in exchange for my hope
given it's in these wishing waves i often hide
the sorts of tales i'd tell no other soul...
for instance when i'd looked into the eyes
of a pure white wintry owl
and she'd stared back at me undazed
and with unflinching gaze hooed twice
when i'd spoke your name aloud
as though she'd known you all her life...
or the time i'd found a deep and murky chasm
far beyond the icy mount that marks land's end
wherein an ogre's made its den these many years
where once before two dragons built their nest
for several springs
before they too vanished into hanging mist...
or the time i'd had to cross the great ice sea
astride a dark and wild seahorse ten hands tall
having to jump perilously from ice floe to ice floe
with little more to light the watery way below
than the squishy eerie throw of a black and toothy lanternfish
for moonglow had been swallowed up by fog...
or the time a great winged stone lit up the mirthless sky
dripping flaming amber sparks that shone for weeks on end
so bright that people doused their candles and their lamps
and dined and danced and frolic'd 'bout the frozen lake by night
exclaiming all the while that they'd never in ten thousand nights
caroused to such a thrilling cometlight...
or how the whales had all at once been joined
large and small in the greatest gathering ever
encircling the north sea in its entirety and not once yielding
til they'd circled every shark of any size of note
until finally they'd conceded to a shark
the whales had this time got the better of them...
or when i'd simply thought to simply catch a cloud
for fear i'd go unbelieved for my life filled so verily
with tales of the type meant only for your ears
thinking i'd bring to bear this cloud as living proof
amongst the other things of many curious truths
i've seen and lived in your absence these long years...
a great expanse of earth and sky i thus staked out
til guided home by freshly planted buttercups of stout
which to clouds as to snails are irresistible diversion
it was drawn in with unclouded thirst for inner happiness
til firmly caught by its own silent admission
within a cloud-pen shaped like a wind-filled sail...
how a snailish cloud sulks we may never know
but its preference is to wander with the wind
so out of deference to a fellow soul i bade it go
whereupon with smiles bold enough for both of us
it flitted right back to the same old patch of sky
from whence it and winter had so often quickly come...
and thanked me wordlessly whilst ambling flew away
not just with sunbeams or moonshadows mind
but dripping heavy sheets of perfect silver beads
that tumbling lined the pockets of the rumbling earth
so exactly like the rain
yet tasted so of teardrops that i wasn't even sure...
so much like those that fell that very day
you'd first come home to stay
or else the dream of you was first recalled
from dwelling far away for far too long
your heart just softly all ablaze
like throngs of burning stars so easily observed...
and true to these unending horizons
from which it's difficult to take one's waking eyes
you seem to go on and on here too
so dreamily and certainly the fabric of the snowtime
that i'm forced to grow more quiet now
because i can't be sure i didn't dream you too...
i've lost and found so many tales just staring at this sea
riddles the flaming dragons cannot hear
songs the lightning whales have never sung
poems sleeping bears might one day cherish
through their own unending winter dreams
yet soft speech comes pouring out as frost...
and not enough as strings of loving verse
these frigid far-flung days when songs like snowflakes
grow whilst shyly sinking in the night
not falling but just dreaming you'll be close enough
to melt for when they've made their snowy way
back to the earth or to the very heart of you
else lost to time forever waiting to be found
somewhere in the rolling seas or trees of distant spring
(C)2011 lacrimange
just a poem for you, who i love very dearly
winter called suddenly each day
so predictably stark gray and deathly
i sent it quickly on its way
and wrote you letters when it lingered
near the sunroom by the by
these oft took shape as strings of loving verse
else clumps of snow gathered up in my bare hands
assuming forms of roses made of snowflake lace
else wreaths of floating snowballs all aglow
like restless icebergs blushing barest blue
these all seem unprepared to leave the fold
for 'tis a land of ice you see
that occupies me then as now
where just like me all born of cold
seem so slowly to emerge
but of necessity in this wild frozen place
a sort of long slow symphony takes form
amidst the thrum of constant longing
and the trill enduring fondness plays
for all who do not melt away
and so i softly asked the winds
to carry word to you with care
equal to your distance on the other side of time
where i'm told long days still tend to bend
around and start each night anew
in much the same and dreamy sort of way
i've been so well accustomed to
else 'trusting faith to rolling seas
which in their watery wisdom
never promise yet accept
sometimes without question
seeming to rise to meet me
filling my hands with tangles of seaweed
i willingly accept in exchange for my hope
given it's in these wishing waves i often hide
the sorts of tales i'd tell no other soul...
for instance when i'd looked into the eyes
of a pure white wintry owl
and she'd stared back at me undazed
and with unflinching gaze hooed twice
when i'd spoke your name aloud
as though she'd known you all her life...
or the time i'd found a deep and murky chasm
far beyond the icy mount that marks land's end
wherein an ogre's made its den these many years
where once before two dragons built their nest
for several springs
before they too vanished into hanging mist...
or the time i'd had to cross the great ice sea
astride a dark and wild seahorse ten hands tall
having to jump perilously from ice floe to ice floe
with little more to light the watery way below
than the squishy eerie throw of a black and toothy lanternfish
for moonglow had been swallowed up by fog...
or the time a great winged stone lit up the mirthless sky
dripping flaming amber sparks that shone for weeks on end
so bright that people doused their candles and their lamps
and dined and danced and frolic'd 'bout the frozen lake by night
exclaiming all the while that they'd never in ten thousand nights
caroused to such a thrilling cometlight...
or how the whales had all at once been joined
large and small in the greatest gathering ever
encircling the north sea in its entirety and not once yielding
til they'd circled every shark of any size of note
until finally they'd conceded to a shark
the whales had this time got the better of them...
or when i'd simply thought to simply catch a cloud
for fear i'd go unbelieved for my life filled so verily
with tales of the type meant only for your ears
thinking i'd bring to bear this cloud as living proof
amongst the other things of many curious truths
i've seen and lived in your absence these long years...
a great expanse of earth and sky i thus staked out
til guided home by freshly planted buttercups of stout
which to clouds as to snails are irresistible diversion
it was drawn in with unclouded thirst for inner happiness
til firmly caught by its own silent admission
within a cloud-pen shaped like a wind-filled sail...
how a snailish cloud sulks we may never know
but its preference is to wander with the wind
so out of deference to a fellow soul i bade it go
whereupon with smiles bold enough for both of us
it flitted right back to the same old patch of sky
from whence it and winter had so often quickly come...
and thanked me wordlessly whilst ambling flew away
not just with sunbeams or moonshadows mind
but dripping heavy sheets of perfect silver beads
that tumbling lined the pockets of the rumbling earth
so exactly like the rain
yet tasted so of teardrops that i wasn't even sure...
so much like those that fell that very day
you'd first come home to stay
or else the dream of you was first recalled
from dwelling far away for far too long
your heart just softly all ablaze
like throngs of burning stars so easily observed...
and true to these unending horizons
from which it's difficult to take one's waking eyes
you seem to go on and on here too
so dreamily and certainly the fabric of the snowtime
that i'm forced to grow more quiet now
because i can't be sure i didn't dream you too...
i've lost and found so many tales just staring at this sea
riddles the flaming dragons cannot hear
songs the lightning whales have never sung
poems sleeping bears might one day cherish
through their own unending winter dreams
yet soft speech comes pouring out as frost...
and not enough as strings of loving verse
these frigid far-flung days when songs like snowflakes
grow whilst shyly sinking in the night
not falling but just dreaming you'll be close enough
to melt for when they've made their snowy way
back to the earth or to the very heart of you
else lost to time forever waiting to be found
somewhere in the rolling seas or trees of distant spring
(C)2011 lacrimange