This Eulogy

Wanting
To sing the Heavens
Before learning the songs of earth.

Note To Self VIII

You know you’re doing something right when the ignorant fear your candlelight. You illuminate a profoundly sick society.

Stalemate

Little Moons
Rip the laughter
From this hesitant silence.

Note To Self VII

We dream of freedom and an escape from our pedestrian existence yet, we cling so hopelessly to the shackles that hold us.

Note To Self VI

We confuse the masks of social conformity for sameness.

Note To Self IV

Understanding our polarities – the natural balance, of life.

Past Dues

There are walls inside walls (here)

housing gardens strewn with plucked blossom

of dying faith, littered memories

rest like forgotten ever-mores,

Lilies dipping fingers in murky ponds of stagnate water

long past flowing, forward…

.. ..

Fathers never kissed by little smiles

clutter stone benches, experiences blowing

across fields of lost promises softly swaying

in water ripples. On sunlight,

whispers echo feather gentle fingers

and gentlemen stand in rows,

facing desert sands and azure skies

invoking hope upon the Hand of God

while the moon splays itself over disappointments

buried beneath ego’s primed with pride

… eggshells crumble.

.. ..

Silently, as dreamscapes roll along the street

so too the wheel turns

sending pilgrims to supplications before gardens of

Forget-me-nots.

(c) A  Hannan

Note To Self III

“If the raindrop did not imagine itself a part of a bigger whole, it would never find its way to the sea.”

The imagination is an essential tool to growth and development. Without it, all remains, stagnant.

Note To Self I

 

 

Don’t live life like we come into this world.

Instead, remember, we come out of this world an expression of the whole.

 

 

Lipstick: the muse II

 

She paints prayers with your Lust
Red ochres rising, from her earth
Crushed petals veiling laughter
Over sweet nights cried back to her soil
And blinking back mascaraed lashes
A summer sun, a mirror hung
From ripened breasts.

Blessed, your eyes
Shadowed by two birds
Heavy and thoughtful, suicide
Upon her body of life.
Balanced here, passion a calm moon
Placed before a kiss.

At the moment of entry
Your palm, laden with Jewels
Of pink and red, a bold perfection
Angel’s furnished from her womb
And your fingers over her lips
Each a pilgrim in prayer
Returning season after season.

 

 

(c) A Hannan

 

 

 

Lipstick: the muse

I pressed my lips to his
A kiss of stamen birthed to rising sun
Swollen, ripe
Curves of bliss traverse landscapes
Painted, to match the flower
Enticing man to virgin breasts.

 

 

(c) A Hannan

 

The history of lipstick can be traced back as far as 5,000 years when semi-precious jewels, plants, ants and seaweed were used to colour the lips red, pink or deep brown. Its origins, although prone to contradictions, often undiscussed and unadmitted, were of an erotic manner. For thousands of years the mouth has been considered the most sensual part of a woman’s face and woman have relished in exploiting this power by decorating and enhancing, colouring the lips to match the labia. Although, lipstick is not merely seductive. Depending on the colour and shape of the lip line, lipstick is also a symbol of power, of sophistication, of rebellion, of courage, of optimism and more.

Note: The stamens in a flower are collectively called the androecium (from Greek andros oikia: man’s house)