23.9.04 | Her




Bellezza


May 6th 1991

Running spinning haywire
Early morning drinking tea
On a garden bench; dew
Upon the grass (and i'm
So tired) catching blossom
From trees!- white and pink.
To be children again.
No.
The moment is lost
In shivers; step into
Sunlight and warmth
And tranquility
I rest
And watch you
Chasing and laughing
Together, yet apart
From me. In love,
But only with love

And finally
In the noon-time
when you sleep
I touch your face,
Bid you farewell
And i am gone.
Carrying blossoms
Like memories
Of a morning
In the spring sun

-The Saturnyne. (May 1991)

three there were. two remain. one picture only.
three.
two.
one.
go!

7 comments :.

  5:29 am :. Blogger The Saturnyne hollered thusly:

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.


  2:33 pm :. Blogger Cece Martinez hollered thusly:

Oh my goshness. What a lovely lady!
Did you take that picture?


  8:00 pm :. Blogger The Saturnyne hollered thusly:

Yeah. She's one of my very best friends. She was the first person who accepted me for myself, without pre-conditions. And that's something i've always regarded most highly ever since.


  6:46 pm :. Blogger Cece Martinez hollered thusly:

Yes, especially that last piece of the poem. That part made me weak in the knees. Except I am sitting on my ass so I guess it made me weak in the ass, but that doesnt quite sound right so...it made me feel melty warm in my gullet.


  7:23 pm :. Blogger The Saturnyne hollered thusly:

yeah, it seems everyone likes the last part... it's a pity i don't write poetry anymore...coulda gone pro... it mighta made me an extra £10 a year...

=}


  1:25 am :. Blogger The Saturnyne hollered thusly:

thanks dearie! if it makes yer day that extra bit spesh, then i'm happy.


  3:21 pm :. Blogger Marlene hollered thusly:

My, your poem was at least surprising ... Could more people read it, and you´d probably be famous.
I rarely find poetry good - It´s something that is always on the verge of "dejá-vue", or vulgar. This poem is not. It´s dense, it´s musical, and, like the others have told you, it goes straight to your senses.
If i were you, I´d write more poetry.



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