Oh, how Kundera was right, the unbearable
lightness of being bears down on one like
a granite feather.
Lay me down with your warring waste.
I would purify you.
Knock me out with his demanding fist.
I would spare you.
Burden my ebbing youth with fallen heros.
I would set you free.
Upon daylight’s dais, idle hands and able
bodies know neither ballast nor blood.
A down and out vagrant, silently singing the
blues through scarlet eyes, weeps upon this
lustrous silk lap while we wait for her highness, who
sits on hands dripping with egg yolk.
Painted cheeks and impeccable hair—nothing short of
an illusion. We perform for them, for you, and for
us, but not for me.
Never for me.
Over glowing glass,
broken feet beckon shyly,
fearful of impassioned paths.
stumbles against broad shoulders,
steeped in the heat of her flame.
“Goodnight,” he chirped with a swing
of his cane and a tip of his hat. And at
that moment the sky came crashing
down. A delicate crown of light
slipped over my head, yet darkness
was all that I knew. The wind blew
him farther and farther away from me.
Tepid mint tea briefly lingered on my
baffled tongue. I was young once
Turn down the lantern,
Dear, for tigers in the night
seek out pulsating shadows.
Fierce claws pose no threat.
Where love’s mantle has been laid,
darkness shall never abide.
steam rises swiftly
from a metal colander
filled with moist soba,
echoing the unspoken
grievances of yesterday
Here, lies our love.
Long may love reign!
Clear, lies our love,
within love’s stark stain.
There, lies our love.
Don’t ask love why.
Near, lies our love,
in love’s jaunty way.
Dear, lies our love.
Love, can you stay?
Love doesn’t just sit there, like a stone; it has to be made, like bread, remade all the time, made new.
~Ursula K. LeGuin
I was challenged to write a “Love in Ten Lines” poem. Each line had to be four words long with the word love appearing in each line. Also, one had to include a favorite quote about love at the end.
This is what I came up with.
Three grains of paradise
remain in an abandoned
vessel, longing to be
summoned home. Golden
brown edges caress
colorless fragments as eyes
await the epilogue.
Three grains of paradise
up in the air;
Father, Mother, Brother
Violent squalls water cotton
carnations. Her tongue shall
not taste Inari’s holy harvest
even though hunger has come
On an unrelenting winter’s day,
three grains of paradise
covered in clay…
hot streaming tears of Job ground as fine as
stardust cloud a discolored cup, constructing
a dusky cosmos fashioned from the anguish
before the sun, thy broken body
shall be healed
In a frigid room
In a place I could not change
Out of carelessness
I snapped its handsome head off
to feel a passion for life.