Bouguereau/ Psyche
FOR Poetry Potluck #48, we are given the topic of "Passionate Nights of Love"...
LAST BREATH
Frangipani under the bed,
wafting promise.
Tendrils of weeping willow
at my window,
when the embrace goes cold.
Dust finally defines my body,
remembering the past nights
when our touches
were made of dew,
as if Scheherazade
lived under my skin.
Am I dead still,
looking for a life,
or born all over again
to find your caress.
Banish tears from my pillow,
let your mouth taste my words.
If only last breaths
could summon up
the craze of passion
instead of fear.
copyright/all rights reserved/ 2011
http://www.minblu.blogspot.com
http://twitter.com/lynxny
Another week, another Poetry Potluck....this time it's Nature!! Plants, Creatures..the Cosmos..what a choice...join in!!
GREEN THUMB
It's clear to me
that I've got a green thumb.
Daybreak comes,
I'm eyeing a dry patch,
watching a drop of morning dew
swell and slip
into the seam
of a leaf
flat as paper,
not even enough
for a hummingbird to sip.
But there it is,
magnifying the distant sun
to focus a ray
that urges
some emergent bud
to make haste.
It might not have anything
to do with me at all,
but I think
that my seeing it
spreads the word
to the universe
that good work
is being done here!
@copyright/all rights reserved/2010
http://www.minblu.blogspot.com/
http://twitter.com/lynxny
