Sometimes ‘it’ happens: my mind fills up with a memory, a dream, a feeling and images translate into free-flowing words. Sometimes that becomes a string of free verse, as in the following. Like riding a wild horse, I just go with the flow; let it take me where it chooses.
[a poem by Sha’Tara]
Please speak no more to me
of the terrible things inhabiting your old dreams
for I have been too much a child of woe
My life, my dear life but a heartbeat
and then to die and not know why
except it is the way of things so
I’m told and must believe for yesterday
I saw a dead child on the seashore.
Please speak from a sea of promise then
for that is what I need today to drown in
and the feelings engendered in my heart
by honeyed words from guileless lips
these I wish to know in desire of sorrow and joy
For while I’m loved I do not think of death
but live in peace, rocked in a coracle
whose hull is weaved in strands of hope.
Do not speak to me of aging and passing
not today, for I am young and just got here
and barely do I know this world
I’ve not seen what there is to be seen
My senses are as those of a virgin
innocent even of the taste of a first kiss
full of wonder, stepping forth hesitant
as a kitten on a freshly watered lawn.
Let me taste the water in the fountain
at the center of the park and soaking wet
walk barefoot in the grass
stain my fingers with a dandelion stem
smile at a baby on a blanket
tugging on its mother’s jet-black hair, laughing
silly, pure, trusting, fragile, brittle.
Love me, love me, love – oh! love me
it’s all I want, all I need, all I’ll ever need
Let Occam’s Razor shave off the space
that lies discomfortingly between us
Don’t explain, don’t think about it for love
is crazier than I am, so easily lost
in kaleidoscopic images of
what could be, should be, would be
yet may so easily never be, lost
among layers of phantasmal fears
confused desires, twisted urges.
Live with me, in me, as I in you
though we seem so far apart in time
for love’s thorns have pierced my heart today
when you smiled and laughed a promise
A breeze stirred lambent honeysuckle
and having satisfied my hungry longing
with soothing words from reddened lips
in your masterful confidence now speak to me
skillfully, playfully, artfully of death, love
Then to the home you have readied for me
where I will, where I must (for do I not love?)
wait eternally, ethereal in endless labyrinths
among your silent catacombs tending ghosts.