Look not at the mirror’s or the photograph’s disguise, your beauty’s truth is only there for someone else’s eyes. The Sun’s blind to his glory – the illuminated Earth is all he sees before him with her living, teeming worth. If he tells her she astonishes that with her face love was won but every morning turns her head to behold the shining Sun.
A man alone atop a ship Takes midnight watch, his people sleep Through passage narrow he must keep Sharp eye lest navigation slip. The large decaying moon glowed bright The rocks around were clearly lit But there a softer curve did sit Emerging forms born out of night Shine of eye, torrent of hair Dewy skin and throat demure Her concave yearnings salted pure A warm night’s wind breathed through the air And his breath caught as sure as hers His duty now seemed but a curse Mere threat of death could not be worse Than sailing on as course occurs Enchanted with her moonlit face Her beckoning limbs and burning gaze, And freed from the reason of his days The sailor leapt to her embrace Such vessels wreck on reefs like these with surface rippling over deep Their longing lives forever keep So many hearts are lost in seas Man in desperation torn And shore’s desire for kiss of foam Hid jagged truth: his final home. Now see in the red strip of dawn That legs of sand and smooth rose-shell Condemned his soul to briny Hell
——— I guess I was feeling Gothic, hope you like it! It’s a first draft, and may need some more tweaking. This was inspired by a poem by poesypluspolemics, a blog I very much enjoy reading. Go see if you can spot what I stole!
I leave you gently with the quiet din of peace like waves leave the shore
I wrote this haiku after breastfeeding my baby to sleep and then managing to extricate myself from her mollusk-like grasp to go do other things. But it could refer to other kinds of separation too.
It’s a traditional haiku because it ends with an image of nature.
Lover, press thy hand that I may like liquid curl in sharp sweet tendrils oil under water’s caress languishing in arabesque
My first version of this was kind of an extended Tanka:
Lover, press thy hand that I may like liquid curl in sharp sweet bubbles and separated tendrils of self meeting self, oil under water’s caress languishing in arabesque
I felt I needed to add a couple of lines to say what I wanted to, but I then I decided the extra was unnecessary. Which version do you like better?
I must say, I quite like ending with a rhyming couplet.
In other news, It’s the 1st of May, so goodbye Napowrimo 2013, and so long prompts I do not follow. I now find myself burdened with this blog, but I rather like it. I’ve been thinking of continuing, so I will do so with a promise: I will come here with a new poem, at least twice a week. Let’s say (tentatively) Wednesdays and Sundays, since they are the only days I never missed in the month of April.
That said, I have another to give to you before today ends.