Poetry – Page 35

Vanishment

Two dance amongst the flowers,
stepping small, soft, stately steps.

Touching fingers, nothing more;
lingering into the pastel sunset.

Two dance away to vanishment;
stepping softly into the starlight.

A gothic stare,
dark wild hair.

So lovely, fair,
a beautiful pair.

Hand in hand
dancing in finery
giddy from drink

Glitzy amber dim lights
full of love down below
and up in the heavens

The dancing intensifies
a quickening tempo
feeling like letting loose

Side-by-side dancing
around the room foot to foot
gesticulating wildly

A crystal locket,
found deep in the indigo
shrubs; so familiar.
Inside, a photo of a
woman who looks just like her.

Photographs line the computer screen
showing pictures
of living and dead people frozen in time.

Pausing to look at one image of us
together as children;
Pausing, taking in the years just passed.

Pressing mobile phone keys in horror;
It’s impossible to telephone you now,
as they have no phones in your heaven.

Perhaps thoughts of those roses or
a drink of tea will do to think about
the way you said my name to me
and the way you spoke so kindly.

Hair moving in the wind,
reminding me of the ocean waves.

Wild, dark hair moving, whipping and
lashing at her face, neck and body.

Ocean waves gather force,
reminding me of the storms and cyclones.

Wild eyes stare away,
lost in the ocean, seeking a lost lover.

Hair moving in the storm,
she fades into the saltwater spray.

Walking with the trees
Majestic redwoods hover
hiding their feelings
Shy at first, one starts talking
wisdom from the ancient ones

Under the Southern stars
where the moonless sky meets the desert
The fireflies dance for us

Infectious, we begin to stand up
by the warmth of the fire, we move
Dancing freely with the fireflies

Her, my dream
a dreamed-up face
hers is the face of my dreams
charcoal stacks and grime
industrial revolution chimneys
her sleeping face is calm

when she is awake, I think soot
broken by her beauty
too young for her blizzard soul
a dreamed-up face sleeps
when she wakes, who knows

A dissatisfied tree
stands on the old highway
taking many lives.

A tree of no light
feeds on the departed souls
giving nothing life.