Sensately

I touched the scent of dawn
Watching people fall away
From each other.

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Unfolding the Sun

 

Let a woman’s heart be a sphere,
And the soul of a man
That moves between her lips and her heart,
Devotion, a brave flower whose fragrance
Fresh, embroidered wishes
Into her soil.  Dreams

Shepard birds to her hips where,
Vines like united souls twine,
Oath-ed to his temple mount,
She gives songs borne of his fruit.

Let the Beloved’s imagination twist
A song from her face –
The magic of a poets verse
Gracefully hanging from her kiss,
Stars, guilty of dust and all the joys
Of love colouring an innocent sky

And taking a subdued path
With a borrowed promise,
A gentle rising,
Until, the veil wakes
And awake before the eyes of lovers
All stands open.

Enchanted, of the sweetest elixir
A soul to his soul
When her heart bends eastward
Calling to dawn, in prayer
He, the rising sun…

 

 

© A Hannan

 

For Kellie’s ‘Wish Jar’ http://magicinthebackyard.wordpress.com/the-wish-jar/

Homage

 

 

For his art, he withdrew
His soul, a spent sun
Hung seven layers above
A midnight moon,
His feet a bed beneath the shadows
Preferring plant and stone
To lustiness. I lingered,
A tear to every storm and wind
Rounded firmly in his palm,
To the rhythm of the nightingale
He praised me in every colour imaginable,
Preserving his love, with mirth
And breath, he fashioned me a book,
A matrimony of bride and earth
To lines, poised, only to burst
With ecstatic bliss.
This rite, a sweet hymn
To tune the heart at dawn.

Only he who loves, with his whole heart, knows God…

 

 

 

 

 

(c) A Hannan

 

 

 

Letter – 15 October 2011 II

 

Beloved,

I have tried so many times to respond… but however does one begin to write a poem for a poet?
When I search for comfort I find my breath, concealing you in song. There, our voices sing to the moon and the blossoming dawn, as they lay bare the fragrance of the earth. Aching, for your feet to step to my path, to penetrate the expertise that comes from loving over and over and over again, I wait, hoping you will remember the shared field, our lips amongst the harvest, bodies tied to earth searching for their truth…

A

The Poets Hand

 

I waited the other side of dawn
A naked flower for company
Knowing not the scent of your woods
Or the wounded wail of your fields.

I waited the other side of night
Hoarding the glow of dusk,
Drowsy in its golden sheen
Limbs, innocent as lilies.

This nuptial, my native fervor
Hung on Venus, awaiting
The sleepy flames of passion ripe,
Enamored in the poets hand.

You hold the Queen
Lit with a festive star, northward
Follow the rim of my wine glass,
Witness the frigid petals, rouged with faith
At last drawing apart.

(c) A Hannan