[x]

window
shutting out the chill
moonlight spills in

Coming up from Aswan with his catch,
he tacks the course of his dhow
along the Nile of her dark eyes,
her long hair,
the narcotic of blue water lilies,

her lotus pose facing both
the rising, and the setting sun,

the young fisherman begs to know
as he sings upward with his might
and his desire, into the sail
that catches the crosswind--

What is your name, scented one,
in the smoke that rises
from the shores of the cataracts,
where I bring to you my bounty!

He peers into the azure above,
waiting for her answer to fill his sail,
calling out once more as his teeth gleam--
Ma huwa 'ismuki?

The Aegir TidesThe monarch's flock crowds
the shell of cliffs with its
violence, and with its rape

piercing the nests of
her bosom, the light without
and the lie within,

canon of shorelines
of broken ships and sailors
dashed along the cracks-

perilous mansion
without its windows intact
as her voice strains through

spirits that permeate
going into ribcages and
coming out nostrils-

winds of a sceptre
swarm over her bereavement
to reclaim its parish.

OppositeThe world glistened with abandon
in the electrical parade,

when and where the night skies too
seemed receptive and robust,

yet even while I'm still awake
I'm content in the quiet of my dreams

like the creatures and those who sleep
in the opposite place and time

where plans and promises of a new year
become folly, and no longer exist.

haiku of symmetry

cracking
the curve of an egg
with the curve of my hand

Season of Haiku1
pomegranate-
skin of its seeds
holding autumn in

2
hearing
trees yawn in the wind
I open my mouth

3
suburban sprawl-
fooled into the open
a young doe

4
rain traveling
the ringlets of my hair
creepers on a fence

5
clouds stretched-
I hold vigil
for the moon to reappear

6
awaiting winter-
the world
is already changed

Rubaiyat: Space in My EyesMy, how lovely is this quiet sea,
Breaking on the shores and on the lea
Curling, tasting of the air and wind,
Taking with its waves a part of me.

Give it back: the pieces I rescind.
Night calls for the cobwebs worn and thinned,
Stretching in the grass--a well-loved place
Fulsome, empty, cold, replete with sins.

Beautiful your midnight frosted grace;
Fearful is the night moon on your face.
Say I, come and walk awhile alone;
Beaches, silence, glitters bright deep space.

Stars breathe miles away in heat unknown
Scent of space and call of night intoned
Split the air with grace, peel back the crust
Letting rocks and trees their prai

Ocean EyesYour ocean eyes will inherit the earth,
and the gulls of the sea will not brace you
for what the waves and winds have broken down.

The pearls of your mouth are just now washing to shore,
and your endearing reach trusts with ivory naivety,
but your lack of profanity will not save you from perversion.

All I can do is sing you love songs,
and hope the world is still worth saving,
when your ocean eyes reflect the sky, still blue.

Sensual Moon: Love Haiku1

winter crescent moon
across my breasts-
he calls me wisteria

2

clouds under the moon-
his touch
yielding winter pears

3

open-air market
selecting ripe persimmons -
warm scent of last night

4

green shoots forced
from the gardener's manure -
we linger, moon watching

5

in bathrobes
on a moonlit garden path
too cold out to be tempted

6 our astrological elements

my air to his fire -
a position for
every phase of the moon

7

tangent moon -
the sounds he makes;
a night creature's song

8

after, my streaming hair
and moonlight
for his head to rest upon

9

outstretched limbs,
the low-slung moon
also in repose

10

moon tides penetrate

Strange FleshCarry me so my feet won't
touch the floor,
taste me when we arrive,

breathe your life into me
while entering the
wound of your obsession,

it consumes where I bleed;
deny me your veil
and salvage your religion--

sin upon sin wades in spume
each time you emerge,
to offer me its strange flesh.

Coming OutWith promises to be good,
you prayed every day
and waited for the sign,

even when a songbird touched
down on the roofs of Kansas
and went hollow on your shoulder.

The shedding of teardrops,
the coming out of a heartland
from its religion.

Breathing the smoke of its ash,
and being washed clean of what
you thought you knew.

The locusts never come,
the harvest will yet fail,
but don't deny the butterfly

that carries you over pastures
of dairy cows too busy
to look up at you and judge.

You are not an islandI have been alone. This man is an island.
The cliffs of my shoulder blades
hang heavy with grief, ore, suffering.
I am draped with the permanence of gravity,
So do not believe that you cannot move.
Come to me, water babes fully grown,

Allow yourself to be swept in salt and ash.
Tumble with your brothers into my arms
and be at peace, at last, on the shore.
I too was once drowned, but I arose
and as the caps melt, all things will erode
For no man is an island alone.

A Season's Echo of PassingRows of dried corn stalks bend
with the wind that
thirsts for rain
that will only come when it has died
and the ears of corn cease to rattle.

And the thunder's distant laugh
will chase after the snakes
heading for their mounds on higher ground,
their husks abandoned-
the flash floods may yet pass them by.

SolitudeTo spill and imbibe these words;
the ambrosia that fills me

distills the drug of you,
birth after birth-

and at last I'm sustained
until a night of lovers

breaks into day like lightning,
and again,

I'm beside myself with solitude
until the fever returns.

Equinoxbeyond shadows of
tall desert yucca stalks
from pine-pitch torches,

a moon-rising of whey
besets the constellation
of scorpion over
the old priestess-

about her face, the
mangled hair of woven
arachnid lace floats,

around her neck,
diamondback rattles
hiss with ev'ry move-

eldest sister to the Jaguar,
only she remains
from the
heresy of her wisdom,

with memories intact
for those gone
generations before...

when grandfather
was chief elder, and
blessed his granddaughter

holding her in offering
to the sky riders of
the autumn equinox

returning on this night-
spirit voices of
the seven caves are fad

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More from `jade-pandora

SnowiesThe owlets were coming of age
while grounded, testing their wings
as father soared overhead,
his children grouping for one more test.

Feathers puffed in awkward stance
one by one to Sunday school
beyond the tundra fields
of late summer skeeters,

to where fat lemmings flourish-
just fly over the last
grass-choked stream, said mother
(but they decide to wade across),

past wind-blown dunes of green, where
lies the sea beyond, with more lemmings
that hide and play near their burrows
than any snow owl on the wing could wish for.

MissionaryWhen he first saw her
she appeared unique to all things,

and the day they met, he already knew.
It was during their first time,

the way planets come and go
as time loses count of their orbit.

It never seems to end, then he
growls low in her ear as she swoons,

of how missionary will never
be the same for him again.

Of Random Thoughts and ThingsLast night, I thought of my first cat
when I was a child,

a jet black kitten with six toes on each paw,

and the lemon tree that grew
in the rear of my parents' backyard-

I couldn't climb that tree,
full of wicked thorns that tore my flesh.

So why did I think of the cat and the tree
on this particular night?

They came to me in a fog which
should have made me sad. After all-

five years later, I found my cat by the side
of the house in a pile of dried leaves.

I carried her to the back and sat vigil
under the lemon tree until she died.

It made me wonder, is it always this way
with all things, to romanticize years later?

I started t

little stirrings XXI: sleeperThe pages were empty from
scribbled words lifting off, drifting
toward a book of memories,

trying to catch up;
to become now and not later-

my chair rocked endlessly
while I, gimlet-eyed, pierced the calm
in a latitude of horses.

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Submitted: November 28, 2012
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Orion

by `jade-pandora, Nov 28, 2012, 1:42:12 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

To breathe the curve and then the coil
The bulge of arms, the pull and torque
He levels arrow true in place
As muscles flex in rhythmic tune
The grace and sinew of his bow
When then at last he lets it fly
Towards rearing Horsehead nebulae
While I'm in awe and full entranced

He ne'er gives me a single glance
Yet do I mind in spite the moon
It is for me that he aims low
To stay the target his first try
With stars that set himself ablaze
And claims the prize with self-same mark
What legend brands his epic deed
And 'twixt the galaxies we'll spark.

Orionby `jade-pandora

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

This is a piece that came about while I was thinking of the astrological sign, Sagittarius, the Archer. The constellation of Orion is known as the Hunter, usually with sword or club, and shield. This became the prompt for the poem, which takes place in the night's sky.

Preview piece of the Horsehead nebula courtesy of NASA public domain.

5/1/13 Featured here: [link]

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~Littleshag Feb 12, 2013 Student General Artist

The picture is actually the Horsehead nebula.

`jade-pandora Feb 12, 2013

Yes dear I know - if you read the first stanza, it mentions the Horsehead nebula.

~kabloona Jan 11, 2013

The first line doesn't work for me. It does not present a sensory image, or evoke anything in me, or otherwise draw my attention. But the rest of the poem works. A more vivid first line would more readily draw me into the rest of the poem. I like the subject, btw, the constellations.

`jade-pandora Jan 11, 2013

The first line starts to set up for the 2nd, and 3rd line, and so on. I'm not trying for a powerful opening line in this case. I appreciate you sharing your thoughts, thank you.

`FuzzyHoser Jan 2, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Oh, wow. This is lovely, Jade!

`jade-pandora Jan 2, 2013

gosh Rachel, I appreciate that!

And Happy New Year!

`FuzzyHoser Jan 3, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

You're welcome, and the same to you!

*BeyondJen Jan 2, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

I love how you took on the subject and personified it. Great read with pretty language. (:

`jade-pandora Jan 2, 2013

Why thank you, Jen...

I write a lot of astronomical poetry, and without me being that conscious of doing so, tend to personify. It's something I don't really notice until a reader points it out - which I thank you for sharing your thouhts on that very tendency. <3

*BeyondJen Jan 15, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

My pleasure.

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Orion

Orionby `jade-pandora

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