Flur Through The Blur

She is the skipper at the porch with a storm of perfume,
Husky are her eyes as the Correa dusky,
Her cheeks like the dawn of day,
And her hairs dark as the queen of the night.

Then spake to an old sailor,
"Last night, the moon had a golden ring,
And tonight its blur, we see!

I pray thee, put into a port,
For I fear a hurricane."

Sharper and deafening blew the wind,
Gales from the northeast,
The snow fell hissing in the brine,
And the billows frothed like a cleanser.

Down came the storm,
The vessel in her strength;
It didn't shudder her, unlike a frighted steed,
She just wrapped the storm in her sea man's coat.

She lashed the helm, all stiff and strong,
With all face turned to the skies,
The lantern cutting through the blurry sky,
And she fixed the storm with her glassy eyes.

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Wine From The Cask

A wish fluttered in my heart, A desire soon to be fulfilled. There's a grace she carries in her beauty, They belong in the heart, in the superior guild. I look into her heart, The beauty I read gave me realization; A fine lady, with warmth and good at the core, Covering no picture of physical description. Her beauty taught me what eyes are, And the words that create a poem; The story is engraved and made immortal, Unfurling untold takes in an exquisite rhythm. Unwittingly intoxicating, Words pour out like wine from a wooden cask. Drunk on stories and high on poems, I fall on her lap with a million stars to dusk. Leaking and dropping, It fell on me, feeding me peaceful sleep. I drowned, died, and was resurrected; I was dragged to a side unfathomably deep. Bright like a crowns smile, The charm turned my world around. In it, grey sky spoke of her fair fac...

A Girl

A Girl, Her soul a deep-wave pearl Dim, lucent of all lovely mysteries; A face flowered for heart’s ease, A brow’s grace soft as seas Seen through faint forest-trees: A mouth, the lips apart, Like aspen-leaflets trembling in the breeze From her tempestuous heart. She gave an apologetic shrug of the shoulders, as cold hands took hold of one warm and sensitive breast, Such: and our souls so knit, I leave a page half-writ The work begun Will be to heaven’s conception done.

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