happy crumble on lips ( Read more... )

she took off her night-gown amain
(true painters know such rapture)
threw aside on the green food ungracious threads
(each minute deserves its own thought
she thought)

her spreadeagled patch
under azure of sky scented with
jasmine and a little more coffee
behind her oath
like a shadow of her back
the blind path
snaked
bleeding

A Broken Altar, ineligible service ( Read more... )

Before I lean back
To think,
You breathe at night
And in a dream I drink
Kisses from your distance -
My body, every cell
Glorifies God - gentle Autumn
Graze of Eternity -
There, there, you?
I've caught that instant,
I'm enceinte, dear..

In Fingal's Grotto
I'll be running deep.

...And subtile leaf will rise
More subtle by September...

Be wrong be right be more than white
Maritime fog praying to November's...

Adagio of a tree, painless, painful,
Eve for Christ - a soul beneath the palm...

And when they wanted wine, the mother of Jesus saith unto him, They have no wine.
Jesus saith unto her, Woman, what have I to do with thee? mine hour is not yet come.
His mother saith unto the servants, Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it. (John, 3-5 ( Read more... )

***
I see and try to hear
Creamy butterflies,
Hovering.
Splashes
Of little birch leaves.
Under and behind
One here
Another there,
Leaning for a moment,
Speaking gently:
«Follow me, leave this order
Of trembling, form of shadowing
To there, there in the deep blue high
Of free joy, and dance, and balance».
They are/were pondering, tied up
With the dark green light ( Read more... )

Bereshith

Could this, which I feel be the soul of God? The Rest,  peace
When I create the world at the sunset along gentle caressing
Of piano keys, floaty azure rivers, nigun of waves,
Yet keeping seagulls morning wake, releasing from heat of sands,
Belonging to itself or
It was birch tree leaves reflecting through a window
Of an open wonted balcony ( Read more... )

The end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time,
Through the unknown, remembered, gate...

T. S. Eliot

We rise in God, and fall there, poising on His palms
There In Silence we find our dove-colored shapes,
Like clothes they are. We even do not need them but
Psyche needs Liturgy... We touch them early in ( Read more... )

Oblivious esthesia, Parnassus' dainteth paths,
Your bracing spirit and soigne design,

With breath of thine, o mirrorlike
Birch garlands,  thy menuet at the sunset,
Draining the lees,

Burdened with children's laugh, and
Chanting song of crickets,
Picking the mirrorwise balcony door.

Soliciting posture of the blinking world
And crockets, murmuring a ( Read more... )