Deja vu – Sailing

Sailing so close to your shore,

navigating by stars

that fell through dreams,

and burning arcs of light

that spanned the impossible.

 

When first this chart was drawn

I missed them completely,

the sharp rocks and shallows

between my battered boat

and distant orchestras of you.

 

Then it was a fair wind on the sea.

Mermaids danced for me as I set sail.

My canvas swelled like swans

and nothing choked my passage

to your anemone arms,

your oyster thighs.

 

Now,

within reach,

I am scuppered.

 

Throw a rope

or wade out among these salty teeth,

take my prow,

guide me home.

 

photograph and poem by clinock.

Deja vu = edited redux from 2013.

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light (memoria italiana)

“We’re in Italy,” you said,

“together”

and laughing you fed me oranges,

purple wine, cannoli and kisses

as Mediterranean light

danced through the window

and Italian voices rose

echoing

from the street below.

The beauty of your words

released me

from my traveling trance,

illuminating and

washing me in wonder,

amazed by the simple beauty

of being alive,

there, with you

in that blue and yellow day.

It poured through us,

that shining moment,

an ocean of ecstasy and liquid gold

and we helplessly surrendered

to its luminous tide

drowning willingly

in the deeps of colour,

the smells of olives, fish and sea

and the sound of distant singing.

Chair, roof tiles, window glass,

an arched Italian sky, your mirrored face

and the bright calling of bells

reflected radiance everywhere

dazzling and dissolving

behind closed eyes

as we inhaled each others breath

and exhaled the sun,

igniting southern stars.

 

poem and photo by clinock

dark (almost)

Dark, almost.

The trees already gone

and the reflected sky

not far behind.

Another clutch of breaths

maybe, before

utter blackness

shrouds the scene.

Just time enough to notice

that one surface

has begun to break.

poem and photo by clinock.

light (angel)

Doors opened in light.

Light arrowed

to winged promises

of flight.

Floating.

Falling.

Rising.

By this illusion of paint

and light

beacons are ignited.

Old desires,

not yet too rained upon

to catch a spark,

burn, fierce flaming

for my remembered

fallen angel.

They are not all

as they appear to be,

the angelic ones.

Some wear paper wings

easily dissolved by tears and time

or ashed by fires of passion.

Some wear cardboard halos,

pinned carelessly to fragrant hair,

creased and crushed by kisses.

She was not at all

as she appeared to be,

my angel.

Her moonlit votive

melted in the sun

blistering the heart

with burning tongues of wax.

Her skin absolved mine

with scents of white lilies.

Her fingertips traced

ecstatic ascensions to heaven.

Her miraculous eyes,

a mirage of turquoise lakes

in an empty desert,

blinded all seeing

like god at high noon.

Photo and poem by clinock.

Saturday Haiku

everyday magic
these sensual gifts of earth
offered so quietly

 

haiku and photo by clinock

Friday Haiku

searching by moonlight

stumbling through deep shadows

dreamers lose their way

haiku and photography by clinock