Queen

Do you remember how she walked?
I could almost swear
she forgot to touch the ground,
or that she didn't know
that's how most of us do it.
She laughed, sometimes,
and the trees would laugh with her.
I wanted her to be safe here.
I wanted to tell her it would be all right,
that it would always be sunshine,
and all the other little lies
we want so desperately to believe.

Do you remember how she loved?
She was kinder than the rest of us,
but never proud,
never gave herself airs.
The children loved her so.
Remember the day they made her a little crown
all out of cardboard and glue, and glitter that stuck in her hair?
They called her the queen of town,
and she kissed their little foreheads, one by one,
and squeezed their little hands.

Do you remember how she left?
She wouldn't say what took her away,
but her bed was made that morning.
A little note we couldn't read
told us all we needed to know.
We put the golden crown on the wall
and hung it by a nail in the living room.
Sometimes I see it and remember.
I don't shed many tears these days,
but sometimes I see it and remember.

(Photo credit: "R0011196.JPG" from Sigfrid Lundberg on Flickr)

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Rain-Cloud Girl

Go listen on the greening plain
and tell me what you hear,
if dust clouds or a sweeping rain
might visit us this year.

She left so long, the rain-cloud girl,
with eyes that made you die.
She'd make the flowers all unfurl
and all her lovers sigh.

That girl I loved so long ago
and never knew her name,
I see in every winter's snow
and every summer's flame.

(Photo credit: "Wet" from Hartwig HKD on Flickr)

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Here's Your Mystery

"Oh, look at me, I'm so mysterious."
That's what she says.
Then she picks up the menu
and doesn't look at you.

"I'm just, you know, having a very serious meal here.
But go have fun with your sandcastles."
That's another thing she says
when she says what she says.

It wouldn't be any good to tell her
(again)
that they are sand sculptures!
Very different.

But how would she know the difference.
She's got no heart, is what I heard.
It wouldn't be practical.
She's too busy for all that.
Her lips don't long to laugh,
there's no strain that waits for release.
It just wouldn't be useful
to let those lips be kissed so sweet.
She's quite sure she doesn't want to be touched,
not a finger down the neck
soft and gentle as a feather.
Not a hand on her back,
or an arm to hold her close.
She's just not interested.
Of course she's not playing coy.
She's just not interested.

(Photo credit: "0239" from CIA DE FOTO on Flickr)

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The Green Land

This is the happy land.
This is the green land
where no pain has ever come.
You don't have to be afraid to love here,
you don't have to be afraid to sit in the grass
and look up at the broad blue sky.
We have no fear here, no need of fear,
no hate, no anger.
They will never make us cold,
they will never freeze the warmth in our hearts.

We were made for loving,
carved from cloudy vapors
snatched from the happy valley.
We were made to touch,
the gentle pressure of a hand in a hand,
a light finger down the skin of the back.
We were made for these bodies,
we were made for this earth,
and we enjoy them
without guilt, without worry,
without doubt.
Without the million calculations of conquest.

Our bodies are not battlefields.
If I win, you win.
If you lose, I lose.
No struggle for supremacy.
No battle for dominance.
No call for submission.
No fear.
No hurt or be hurt.

Only simple desire,
shared pleasure,
and the trickle of water
across the green field with birds.


(Photo credit: "Chocolate Hills (Bohol, Philippines) (View on Black) (kthxbai)" from Mendhak on Flickr)

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Depth of the Ocean

She is moonlight on the mountain,
clarity and breath of midnight.
She is the sigh of the deep ocean wave
collapsing onto the shore.
She is the free bird's wing,
leaving the earth far below.
She has seen a thousand centuries,
and yet she's young as the first dawn.

Can you hear her on the wind
when she sings to the morning light?
She sings to the birds,
teaches them to fly in springtime.
She sings to the seeds,
teaches them to sprout and make strong roots.
She sings to the flowers,
teaches them to burst from the bud.

Do you know her name?
She is the beginning of every new thing,
light and the stirrings of dawn.
She is the great ocean's depth,
the sweetness of clear cool water.
Hers is the truth that survives,
and hers the eye that witnesses.
Do you know her name?

(Photo credit: "Beach Goddess" from micadew on Flickr)

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Don't

Don't wait for me.
I'm not worth it,
and I don't know how long it might take.
So don't wait for me.
I'll chase you through the forests, over the mountain,
and past the glittering city lights.
So don't wait for me.

I don't know how long it will take,
but it's longer than you'll like,
so don't wait for me.
Don't imagine what I'm doing,
don't think of how I want you,
don't wonder how I'll touch you,
and don't wait for me.

In fact, I'd much rather
you took no notice of me at all.
I'm much too busy,
and I've got a career to make.
I've got no time to spare
for these feminine entanglements.
So don't wait for me.

(Photo credit: "Waiting !" from Craig Sunter on Flickr)

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And Your Line Is...

"Be my love forever?"
No, no good at all. Much too strong.
Besides, she might take it literally.
"Leave me alone?"
No, that's worse. Or maybe better.
It's true sometimes, at least,
so it beats the first one in that respect.
Hmm... "I love you?"
Nope. Generic, and too much.
Sounds desperate.
Plus she'll read too much into it.
What about "I hate you?"
No dice. Much too personal.
She'll think I'm just playing coy.
"You have a fantastic body."
Nopers. Too straightforward.
Too stiff, really.
She'll think I'm
not respecting her intelligence.
(They always like to figure it out for themselves.)
"How do you feel about leather?"
No!
Best to learn the girl's name first,
at least.
Guess it's back to the Gold Standard:
"Hey baby, buy you a drink?"

(Photo credit: "Tracks" from Kendra Miller on Flickr)

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Delicious

Can you taste it?
It's a bit like almond,
a bit like sugar.
Try it with dinner, every night.
It should take away the pain
in a month, or a year.

Can you taste it?
It's yours if you want it,
only if you want it.
Imagine the texture, if you like.
There's always a space to imagine,
always a little something hidden.

Can you taste it?
Hold it to your lips,
just the gentlest, intoxicating pressure.
You don't have to take a bite,
not if you don't want to.
But I think you want to.

Can you taste it?
Does it make your mouth water,
just a little bit?
It's unique, yet familiar somehow.
Just slip away
and let it melt in your mouth.

Can you taste it?
It's so sweet,
prepared with so much care.
What harm can it do?
A bit like almond, a bit like sugar.
Can you taste it?

(Photo credit: "boy meets girl" from frankieleon on Flickr)

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