Kingsley Station

Original Poetry | 11/25/2003 | January24th

[Camachee]

pharaoh
declared
an epicenter
of politics
and perfumed
processions
during which
none dared
refute
his bemusement

[Camachee]

she laughed
at the full moon
knowing portugal
lay off the bow
and some promises
are kept

[Kay Syrah]

she laughed
at the full moon
knowing portugal
lay off the bow
and some promises
are kept

- Adeus, disse ele...
- Adeus, disse a raposa. Eis o meu segredo. É muito
simples: só se vê bem com o coração. O essencial é
invisível para os olhos.
- O essencial é invisível para os olhos, repetiu o
principezinho, a fim de se lembrar.
- Foi o tempo que perdeste com tua rosa que fez tua rosa
tão importante.
- Foi o tempo que eu perdi com a minha rosa... repetiu o
principezinho, a fim de se lembrar.
- Os homens esqueceram essa verdade, disse a raposa. Mas
tu não a deves esquecer. Tu te tornas eternamente
responsável por aquilo que cativas. Tu és responsável
pela rosa...
- Eu sou responsável pela minha rosa... repetiu o
principezinho, a fim de se lembrar.

O Pequeno Principe, Antoine de Saint Exupéry

quanto tempo ficamos
numa sombra, no solidão
esses esperos sem vontade
nossa rosa, então

[Camachee]

good night
thought
the fox
freed
from a box
of impression
regretting
the loss
of truth
that made
man
important

[Camachee]

a minor seventh
seduction in candle light
rum and rumba love

[Camachee]

loving you
is a ritual
of surprising
revelations
and endearment

[Soaring Feather]

a minor seventh
seduction in candle light
rum and rumba love

So beautiful. Both of the poems.

[January24th]

My muse goes whistling now,
having left song and instrument
for the careless warmth of a new sun.
She gives me a knowing glance as she turns
quickly on one heel,
strolling devil-may-care
and by-your-leave
upon the bowers of spring blossoms.
Swinging hips
and saucy thoughts
were never so determined
to march me into madness
as I follow along, helpless...
trying to keep apace
lest I lose sight of her
and she fall into some mischief
or merriment
and leave me wanting and wondering.

Ah, she is grand, to let me find her!
She playfully waits for my addled senses
to arrive in the moment she has made,
and there stand I,panting for breath,
and she, laughing and sighing.
One more sidelong smile, a flash of inspiration,
and off she goes, with swinging hips,
saucy thoughts,
whistling a forbidden tune.

[Soaring Feather]

Love your piece, thank you.


Spring doesn't really care
that I need warm breezes
in my hair

Nor does she care that working
in my Spring Garden of Delights is
a pleasure that comes only once a year

A selfish, fickle lover she,
dancing around in a promise of
things to be
of warming nights and walks
on starry nights
nor that following her
in Summer fair with
her demands of sweat
and really wet hair
of oppressive heat
not sleeping some nights
because her Highness Summer
is dancing with Leo

A moon child I and really
rather shy
I prefer the warms nights
and love in flight and even
afternoon delight...

Or walking in tall reeds
looking for him hanging out
playing hard to get
oh yes, that's him
my lover of whim
and dancing with him
under a full moon
walking the star strewn path
to a lovers paradise....

Oh yes, Spring come soon
and tempt the moon for
all to soon you'll be gone again

bentfeather

[Camachee]

One more sidelong smile,
a flash of inspiration,
and off she goes,
with swinging hips,
saucy thoughts,
whistling a forbidden tune.

i know
your muse
resides
in the resonance
of shadows
and the hint
of harmony
in other poets
music

maybe
you've outlived
the seduction
of seasons

[Kay Syrah]

Nightstand

Marginate, the infusion
of peripheral distractions,
and considerations weaves
her comb with the fragrance
of late night surrender and leaves,
the arrangement of brush and stroke
an afterthought half hoped
in the marbled expectancy
of dark that lays upon light.
Shifting and musing she lifts
her hair with both hands that pulls
her breasts high in defiance
and elbows a frame for her face
as she thinks of him again.

[Camachee]

praise
impressionists
the illusionists
caught up
in a rebellion
of genius
fighting a faux
art of conformity
fit for box tops
and circus shops
no longer concerned
with placating
the past

[Camachee]

we danced
giddy
gladly
in a danube
of white
moonlight
swirling
down chutes
of urges
and agreements

[Kay Syrah]

Moonlight and toboggans

We laughed
in silver snow
mutable angels
leaving the impression
of our surrender.

Under robes of ice,
in the tarnished shadows
made light in
our reflected eyes
we flared wings
against the night,
sampling its
simple solace
till the sun rose
to our delight,
and melted
the moment
in the dawn cold
day.

[Kay Syrah]

Desaparecido

She wasn’t panicked
by the ennui
that left its dust charged
to float in the squares,
described by window light.
She tracked instead a note
in the settled motes
that lingered in her
windless world
and drew conclusions
that wrote themselves
in what was left unsaid.

[Soaring Feather]

Exquisite work. Fabulous images. Thank you.

[Kay Syrah]

Banked

The fire isn’t the point
of the ash protection
that gets one thru the night
it’s the act of covering
the heart coals
with the mantle of respite
until the morning blows
a flame when
it is needed most.

[Soaring Feather]

Banked


Nectar.

[Kay Syrah]

Ding, ding , ding

We can dare
the signals
of grade
crossings,
but its
a notion
that requires
the edge of
a steel nerve
and a love
of the locomotion.

[Camachee]

moon smile nights
when the delights
of loving you
are lilac
and the lavender
of remembered
shadows
lingers