Gustav Klimt, The Kiss,

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Like doves that fly by in pairs,
Let those that see us praise.
Lovers that brag of knowing love hush now, silence.
Not does the baker parade with bread,
Nor the tinker with his pots.
Love is best enjoyed in silence,
When wolves howl not,
Witches and wizards when they slumber.
Like imaginary dreams of riding wild stallions.
Love is like Gustav’s the kiss
Let it walk your imagination
Step by step,
And savor its scent in grave quietness.
Like a kiss love is enjoyed with one’s eyes closed,
Loosely shut like a maiden smelling a daffodil.
Slow, slower like an oiled flowing stream of Arabia.
Dance not in our praise,
Nor carnival like in Rio.
Let’s like a candle in pitch darkness burn in silence,
Care not of the wind,
Eyes far in darkness will sing
And their shades around us dance.

And for us praises they will scream.

The Births

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From when the sun sets,
Twilight in her golden dress departs.
Birds set for nests
Waving farewells to a day that melts
Into a time of slumber,
Pillow talks marshmallow soft
Salted laughs shared in exchange.
Touches and caresses as tender as a serpent’s deceit,
Bodies be one,
That time when clouds in darkness hide,
Camouflaged by night’s tuxedo.
Thoughts separate like fingers,
Fingers that explore under nylon sheets,
Tickling nipples like blind hatchlings
Till in months after,
Babies rain.

When am i going to see you again

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We were strangers,
Whose sights seemed related.
That day by the mill
I remembered your scars,
Like I pictured my birth
Yet with inaccurate thought.
I heard my mind race,
As your breath’s warmth
Reached for my eye as you blew.
It touched my adrenaline’s youth,
I stood glued to imaginary sanity,
So why do horses run in my thoughts,
And why now does looking back become a nightmare.
Was i lost or was I in a dream,
In dreams people fly,
Like paper kites only to fall in a storm.
In dreams people are rich,
Only to rise to a stink of the old screaming bed.
But I saw you,
I felt your lips,
And your tongue’s tip
As they sealed like a concrete.
And sight of you became a harmonica,
That once blasted in prison,
That month I there grazed
I see you as much as I hear it.
Measure for pleasure and toil,
All is and always will be at par.
When am I going to see you again?

Lewd lines(Finding Paula)

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There she lay in peace,
As if by a surgeon’s medicine sedated.
Undressed,
Calm, confusing,
There she lay all spread
Like a bride’s gown
Like she welcomes the day’s breeze
That touches her thighs.
There she lay carefree,
On the river’s sands.
Her breasts a perfect pair erect,
Her nipples a sight soother
Similar like they bore one another.
Will you picture her navel,
That there rests like a gold mine of Orion.
Or like a royal’s diamond crown
As it sits on her belly that lacks fault.
Is it the sun she enjoys,
In such open nakedness.
Or the day’s zephyr.
Is it the singer bird’s song she hears from the woods where I stand,
Or the wind’s gentle whisper.
Far are the bright city lights,
The church knells,
The carols,
And the Preacher’s calls.
Here Paula rests lifeless,
Found, by me
God bless her Soul.

Moment of demise

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I have been in love with death,
That calm moment of demise.
When body and soul part,
And all ends.
When life departs slowly,
Like a dripping stalactite.
I have been in love with moaning,
And silent wails
When a being there rests
Lifeless in a wooden cascade eyes shut.
Garlands laid and velvet palls there spread ,
That silence in the cathedral
And the piano gently weeping
The flowers scent, the burning incest.
Bless, bless the preacher prays
Amen.

North and South(Passion’s Death)

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Let i ask Thor
With his bolt to separate our worlds
You take north and I on south root.
Let I ask God,
To wave his magical wand
So you be fire and I water.
That if in each other’s paths we cross
There shall rise a brawl.
What pain is this that burns,
Like the blazes of Rome.
I shall this carve on my southern city walls

“Feelings lie, eyes see wrong
Hearts are easily enticed.”

Let I ask the sea,
To between us flow heavy and wave like the triangle of Bermuda.
So vessels and feelings there perish.
For how do I stop loving,
When here the same breeze we breath
And on the same soil walk
How can I stop loving you.

To a childless woman(Let us Pray)

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Dear Lord.
Make her cry not those tears of blood i see flow,
Must she weep not when it pains
Or when she see toddlers play.
Arid the Sahara is,
Yet there cactus stands blooming.
Like a first season flowering apple tree Tell he her fruits will bud,
And she will glow.
Patience,
Sarah in her old age bore,
Her barren orchards yielded fruit.
Make this beloved maiden weep not,
Let her dance under hope’s rain.
Wombs carry evil,
And Angels too at times.
Allow her in great expectations to smile,
Blooming like one’s youth
Or like a fairest maiden’s breast.
Till joy she embraces.

Amen.

 

 

When Sycamores Bloom

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When sycamores bloom,
In greenness and sweet redness.
I remember lady Rose,
By the barn when she there sat
In days that wore each other as nights.
The dawn sunlight kissed her skin,
Its touch gave her hair a fiery glow.
She sang to the day’s bloom,
“Ave Maria”
Her voice like the air thin.
She sang to life,
And to the day’s youth,
The meadow danced slow
To her tune’s fondle.
I remember her true,
Her bright smile,
That to summer moon’s shine ascribe.
I see her in my thoughts
As clear as day
Drenched in dew
And the morning’s frost,
The sun slowly plucking it off her
I remember.
I picture lady Rose still,
When on Sundays she roamed the meadow,
Picking wild berries
Slow and careful.
Gathering these
That poisoned her.

Elegy to a Nun that here passed

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Let us plant flowers,
On her grave black and white.
And there kind words on her epitaph carve.
Let us call the finest alto,
So she’d color her departure white in holy opera like hymns.
Let the Bishop her pall bless,
And the holier for her pray.
For here she slumbers
On a cold wintry day,
Mary, Mary a song in her empty heart sang.
Farewell the morning prayers,
The holy rosary
The vineyard of prayers
And the hope.
Let us call the diocese virgins,
And the damsels to weep
In cold silent wails,

“Here melts a Holy Soul”

Amen.

Singing Bird

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Little bird that every morning sings by my window,
From where do you borrow such a voice so sweet
Like from a beehive it is born.
Your voice dear bird is smooth
Wisp and willow it flows
Like an Angel’s feather
It brightens my day
Polishing my mornings bright.
You sing like a million heavenly trumpets ooh bird,.
You sing from your soul to mine
Dear jewel so pretty.

So tell me little singing wonder,
Will you always here sing,
In that holy voice like a fairy.
That flirts with my love for it till it blushes. .
Will you chime like happy bells of Taj Mahal
Or fireflies that glow,
In my dreams when of my love I dream.

First spring morning

Now that winter bids farewell
I love spring more,
Spring apples do dangle true,
Vines in yards too sway more
Rocking to the wind’s nudges.
Bees do fly by slow,
Along with bay leaves that fall
Riding on the soft spring zephyr.
Lovers walk holding hands,
By and by on dewy paths.
Loving doves together high fly true
Greeting the morning birds that in unison sing.
Breezes unnamed mingle
Around polishing a spring day till it glows.
Fawns in meadows race,
There wild Garlands and magnolias bloom.
Snow drops and daffodils along bloom too,
Shaking off that wintry shackle.

Ode, To a Blooming Rose

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I saw a Rose bloom,
To the sun’s kiss
And a morning dew’s caress.
And still I stand here gazing.
Astray in wonder that chariots my reasoning wild,
How can beauty fit in such a flower sweet.
Its scent new to my nostrils
Riding on strands of thin air.
A serenade for the butterflies that here around it dance.
In the scene’s rum
Here I stand tipsy
Wrapped in an imaginary trance
Peace dear peace.
Beauty crashes in one’s face,
But is never felt.
Yet here I weep from beauty’s impact,
From its robe
That here now this flower adorns.

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