Leaves

“Leaves” © Peter Wilkin 2012.

 

The trees have undressed,
the emerald of their leaves
softly on the horizon left,
while their russet robes lie crisp below …
a carpet, for us to tread on, to near them,
to watch their branches tendril in inky sky
by light of silver sickle moon.

© Quirina Roode-Gutzmer 2012.

 

 

Special thanks go to Peter Wilkin for giving me kind permission to publish on my blog—his exquisite image “Leaves”—which inspired me to write the accompanying poem.

Peter’s photography art exhibits the ethereal, the magical, the psychedelic, the metaphysical, and human perception. It is well worthwhile to pay his gallery a visit here.

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To Zephyrus

Photo: With kind permission from Rod Baxter © 2010. COLOURBLINDKID on Flickr.

 

In a field of barley, I see you,
most temperate of winds,
bringer of summer and all of its rain,
combing the fine and fluent hair,
into surging waves of shimmering silk,
ebbing and flowing, …
ebbing and flowing.

With your venerated breath,
the birds’ tiding songs sung are spread,
from bark walls through foliage verdure,
softly eddying on a ledge,
until broken by a hedge,
where vine looking leaves,
have been nibbled to lace.

Lone poppies, blood orange like fire rose,
know each other’s embrace,
only by the delicate touch
of dainty pollen-coated butterfly legs,
and then they fade, each
petal, into a pale shade of peach.

Whereas barley stands side by side,
rubbing shoulders,
only bearing ears,
when whispers …
are exchanged by a wind,
wafting the sweet balm smell of chamomile,
only as gentle as you,
my sapphire rose,
my belovèd
Zeph-y-rus.

Copyright © Quirina Roode-Gutzmer 2012.

Carpe noctem

“Purple flowers, Settle.” Copyright © Peter Wilkin 2012.

 

Darkness falls like a purple flower unfolding,
while the shell of day breaks like glass,
to the sound of birds’ trill and timbre tones.
The shell-shard shrapnel glitter
like diamonds on African skin.

Know the stars, when and where they shine,
watch them move across boundless black,
catch a planet turn like a top on the ecliptic,
and see the silent slow motion symphony.
Listen earnestly, … to hear each thought note.

Drink the night in cups, by day,
not sweetened nor made murky with milk,
but black and acrid, bitter and fathomless,
where danger lurks in Cimmerian shade.

Behold the night in a … different … light,
until you see shimmer, the moist flanks
of a black stallion, galloping with intent;
merlot, coursing through its lavender veins.

Seize the hot iron reins with both hands,
forge by light of candles lit on all ends,
under a banquet of stars and silver moon.
Feast on the quiet hours that know no bound,
and burn Earth’s oil beyond the midnight hours.
Harvest the mind fields of passion’s flowers.

Don’t stop. While others sleep, toil on.
Sleep can wait, for in death, it is boundless.
Shape with hammer, upon anvil, with will.
There are no interruptions of mundane day.
Polish with patience “The Great Work”.

But the night is wild; like fire, like ocean.
Honour this mighty beast, give him deservèd respect,
and humbly learn the gentle art of whispering.
Once on its bare back and holding his mane, …
seize the night, carpe noctem, carpe noctem,
before the darkness of day seizes you.

Copyright © Quirina Roode-Gutzmer 2012.
All rights reserved.

This poem is linked to dVersepoets for Open Link Night Week 46.

Special thanks go to Peter Wilkin for giving me kind permission to publish on this blog, my poem with his image “Purple flowers, Settle”, which I find intoxicatingly beautiful. Peter’s photography art exhibits the ethereal, the magical, the psychedelic, the metaphysical, and human perception. It is well worthwhile to pay his gallery a visit here.

Tranquility

© Copyright Quirina Roode-Gutzmer 2011

You are welcome to use this image, provided you link it back to my website. If you let me know I’d be very much obliged. Thank you.