My Eye Was Listening

My Eye Was Listening

My Eye Was Listening

I was listening and preparing tomorrows with my hand
building cradles for a future earth, soil, seed, flame
a blossoming whole and complete. One degree separated
from we, she, me, be womb-man, needing soul
comfort, natural caressing on me, tongue propagating soul talk
speaking words like Psalms, an Ayat of perfection sliding off open palms.

I wear you like a garment, naked that only your I sees,
your eye been holding testaments and commandments, parting seas,
blowing at the wings of for-get-me-nots and feeding crows on
the path to peace. Shadows reflect on verses colliding, electric, eclectic,
concentric, essence bare and beautiful, my I a hunger.

See… I be searching for you, I be calling to you,
I be making pheromone proclamations, I be praying to your absence.
A million hands have removed my veil to touch my I but my eye
was listening to you before ever knowing you. See…
many have appeared somewhat, even close to, almost the,
but none ever… none ever be We.

(c) A Hannan



Born Knowing: submission to my Beloved

Labeled a Goddess, eight arms
seducing life and distracting death
to overwhelming endings, crushed
daisy’s between thumb and forefinger,
potential to actual broken glass
unattended, destroying language and flesh.

Slave to perception melded obtainable
to obtained. I stopped evolving.
Insular to mirroring unaffected,
growth and freedom retarded, I dissolved

my melody. Conciliated to appease
someone else’s destination I became death.
I personified freefalling, through
ten thousand lifetimes I died.
Looping unlearnings, stabbing at rocks,

I threw grains of sand at my heart
for not keeping it’s piece, it’s peace.
I paused on mapping confessions.
Meditation manifested cause
and spirit. Energy to motive giving voice

archaic acoustics, shaping the ending,
building blocks of Heaven and Hell
while pushing at 7th Heaven ceilings
examining and advancing, submission

centering my source. I metaphor on budding
roses, yielding newness from an endless
history, candlelight pollinating a dark smile
holding hue to infinity, atoning atoms
to blossom, cherry lips. I apologise.

One finger raised admitting my Beloved
never stopped watching. I held pain
in my hands and carried it Home, Knowing
on forever, atoned, shall dying Salat restore.

(c) A Hannan

The Business of Gardening

Some people sell their soul
for a handful of dirt,
With this I become a gardener.
In Autumn I tend my garden
burying an array of bulbs,
insular as Winter sets in
last seasons individual dies.
On sharing a sacred heart
as fern fronds slowly unfold, I
rotate layers under sunshine
while stem and petal scent
a pairing, I returned that dirt
knowing my value. Vivid colour
cutting blue skies, I become
a bird opening my wings
and taking flight, returning dust
to soil. Don’t talk to me
about anything but the earth,
the sunshine and the sweet taste
of honey. I became a gardener
knowing, Spring brings renewal.

(c) A Hannan

Love’s Infatuation

Different fingerprints exchange chi
with different hands, natural tendencies
tying me to starts, trying me to
a voice, Persephone humming
upon my ear rolling embers to flame,

blowing warm flesh to guilt in my innocence.
I run choruses on passions whisper
bending my image over violin strings,
negating sand from earth, sweat
from salt, ash from soot. Undiscovering,

I watch winds rub charcoal over
your naked frame, like an artist,
discovering common without knowing
a part of me dies. Each line, each curve
calling to me as it resurrects chaos and I

melody over your harmony like a requiem
for Love tracing your silhouette, mind
reflecting a rhythmical whole, a euphony
so sweet I drown, stress syllables
as my tongue altars you, aura turning

aroma to therapy, the essence tightens my skin,
carries me to hunger. With delicate finger
I trace your name in honey on a soft thigh
remembering, different fingerprints exchange chi
with different hands…

(c) A Hannan