Summer's unfolding her lush picnic basket
From its place packed away amid the heady scents of barbecue memories and first loves
Where it has been stashed, sealed and secured
Unseen since the last sunburnt sweaty dream.
Even as I sink into a steamy, sultry, waking jazz fantasy,
Even as the sidewalk bakes and breathes on me,
I know that it's the one who holds me as the fireworks rip the sky into rainbows
That will help me build my myths and history
As the seasons slide by.
And I
Would carve our names into a heart on a tree
If I could ask the tree's permission
And yours.
Instead I will thread our story
Through the blades of grass
A weaving of our paths
A tell tale tapestry of our shared steps
And we
Will fall in
Among the mystic dreamers and the urban legend of everlasting love
And perhaps never even notice
The icons we've become.
(Summer '05)
1 comment:
Insipid inspiration...
I'm a poetry major in this made up army. I write poetry like it means something...like it matters. But in this world of starvation, procreation, masturbation, sin and sensation it means no more then asking "do you want fries with that". Did you want lies with that?
Drawing experience from memory --this sertonin path of sagehood --pontifacating to the rich, while swindling the poor. The whore of babylon, smells a little babel fishy. But I babble on...wards, dividing unity and making my spinster aunty, Eris, happy. Eris is my Eros because spontenaity is the only true beauty...impulse the only true response. Love is chaos and by trying to order it --more often, then not, we kill it.
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By the declining day, man is a state of loss, save those who believe and do good works, and exhort one another to truth and exhort one another to endurance.
Sura 103 ~Qu'ran~
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You should join myspace...it kick's blogspots ASS!!!!
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