She wandered pale, sweet light of a dawn
flesh-faced morning sun
Daybreak lingered sweet
spoke low of steam
of star wet dew
and dream-bright grass
of hearts lost along the river's shore

She wandered slow
through deep drunk fading night
the thoughtless shades of time
bleeding gently grey-green dirt
soft past lacing tree trunk branches
lost in winding summer waves

Breathing deep she cried to earth
of his unmoving heart
burning days
spoke in gentle days of sin

sleeping slow she loathed the world
thought better of her westward ways
dreamed lonely in her darkless nights
broke fast again to days

breaking daybright wandered pale
remembered long by broken-hearted men
whose eternal skin spoke lonely sweet
of long-sung songs and her ephemeral heat

Bright faced she spoke of star-wet dew
while weary men walked blind to clouds
bleeding still from their forgotten dreams

........................................................................................

I don't remember when this was from. Possibly a time when I was heartsick over the poet man?

variations.

Tell soft of dreams, of painted taste
drink cold nights slow
through everlasting haste
beat still the hearts of dying time
lost told the love of never-mind

speak sweet of steam, dream stars by cold
cry heartbeats lost along the river's shore
drown lost in light of stories never told
speak sweet of steam
through waste of our ephemeral dream

pass low through screams of dying night
sink soft through songs of thinking sand
burn bright away the self love does demand

fall low to altars of his burning face

......................................................................

newborn dawn of dreams
untold stories of a skin
speaks starlight low
dreams darkness long
drink cold nights slow

drowns in light of stories left untold
beats still the hearts of dying time
finds daybright close
lost told the love of never-mind

Cry heartbeats waste along the river's shore
see long dead life by dreamish light
though hearts stay shadowed torn
long dead through sunlit brite

deep into the bleeding river of our hearts
shadowed on the edge of flesh's pallor
sleep slow the death of our eternal night

..........................................................................

condensed this into that small piece? seems like it.

              painted taste
          tell soft of dreams
        drink cold night slow
               speak sweet of steam

         drown lost in light
            throw off the shore
                 shine fever bright
              dissolve the core

..............................................................

Was spending a lot of time with a poet-man, at one point. Was deeply influenced by him, and his writing - he was writing pieces a bit like this at one point. I basically copied him - and his were prettier. But still, I enjoy how this turned out.

Ugly (unborn child of a dead and screaming love)

As the leaves dance,
I celebrate our dead love

That once upon a time lived and roiled inside of me
that unborn child
now drowned by the blood of this slit neck,
thick blood pouring forth what was to be
silkily creeping down the inside of thighs.

Now this love unmakes us both
as you flit onwards, new loves already welcome in your soul, in your bed

(is her cunt as wet and tight as mine? does she cry out with you? is it good, is it good? Does she move with you there, as I did? Is there a making of love between you, as there was between us? or are you lost in that small black room, where no one has the key?)

And here I am, alone with this child of grief.
bloody body of this babe,
slick blood on my thighs.

.................................................................................................

And, just for the fun of contrast - here's what I was writing when that relationship broke. I will possibly regret sharing this deeply... (especially the melodrama of the brackets) but hey, poetry. is the art of making oneself vulnerable? Doesn't Alex Gray talk about the relief of art being taking what is inside, and making it into something outside? This was very definitely something that was inside, then, in an intense time. Also inspired by images from dreams I was having, then.

Lovers

We are the sun, the earth, a dreamy heaven's mind.
We are the forest, the trees, the water sweet.
We are the taste of love, running long and deep.

We are the dreaming flesh of God, the prayers of the world.
We are the darkness dreaming, we are all our dreams have longed to seek.

We are the endless flaming sun, the wat'ry moon.
We are the seed of the earth and her ever-loving womb.

We are the flesh of god made whole,
We are the all embracing forms and emptiness beyond the deepest place we know.
We are the dream of a waking sleep
We are the taste of water running soft and deep

We are the sun and the soul of the Earth
We are the dream to which she is giving birth.

We are the trees, the forest, its roots.

We are the sweet world of sleep together born,
the new dawn with its lovely breathing morn.

We are the soul of time forsworn.
We are the taste of love run long and deep
We are each other's promises to keep.

.........................................................

Wrote this one for a man who was my beloved and partner, for a handful of strong years. Loved him a whole bunch. yup. Was a Christmas present poem, at one point. Somewhere in the middle of those years. We were in Ottawa, at his folk's place. I remember his eyes, as I read it to him. Felt so loved. I really like this one.

Morning.

Sweet morning
Kiss thy sister sleep goodnight
And hear no more the songbirds cry

They have left us, morning
Left the dreams of sleep these years
For the song of  lonely human tears

Cry no more, the morning
For what a human heartbreak brings
And seek a lighter sorrow,
Which may, tearless, in the morning sing

Seek no more the heartache
Of a sweet and sleepless light
But seek a lighter dawn
Which is forever streaming bright

Dream, dreamsong, morning star
Crave a night which loves you
Yet knows not what you are.
You are the morning, dreamsong!

The morning smiles on lovers, and calls them softly to awake
You are a goddess, dreamsong, for lovers who have prayed
That you their soul may take.

................................................................................................

I seem to remember riding my bike, on a particularly pretty and beloved bike path, during my Peterborough days. And having these words come into my mind - and ceasing my bike riding adventures for a moment to write them down on some scrap papers.

Dreams of unborn children, stream forth.

We are the water, we are the cloud and the house from whence the rain comes.

We are the circle wherein the fire dwells.

............................................................................

Yoga teacher training, in Costa Rica.