Divinity: of The Waters

There never were the slightest flaw

In the rose.

 

I quickly exile a dissipating breath,

Stifle the flight of swans,

Reflect ancient floods

And where the streams meet

Veins, rivaling the moons charm,

Saving the sweetest kiss beneath the flower.

 

Of inspiration

I lift the empty glass skyward,

She parts my vapid vision

Piercing my mute witness,

The smooth horizon breaks,

Waters cluster in harmony

An endless song laughing in waves.

She is divinity, chasing my caramel skin,

Spreading adultery over the contour

Of my sunset stained breasts.

Beauty is entwined in this embrace, stripped

Of voice she, idolatrous drum solo

Seared across ancient desert dunes

Tracing rumours until their flame dies.

 

Passion, all but rouged bursts from the figs heart

A frenzy of tears, now that I am ripe

Let the savage bliss of God’s bouquet

Frame my blessed sin, one delicate finger,

Mouth open in flight, poised,

The petals of a rose mingled into a disheveled kiss.

 

 

Anahita – The Ancient Persian Goddess of fertility, healing and wisdom… the divinity of ‘the Waters’.

 

 

 

(c) A Hannan

Inspired by the post ‘Arianrhod’ here: Shining City On The Hill

Caress the Sky

 

 

I kissed a poet last night.

~

Out in the field of compassion
A royal blue sky lit with candles
Hung as a ceiling, a quartet of soul sisters
Singing, an empty cup overflowing
A river of scarlet lips in prayer,
The experience of this companion
Calling to every inconceivable crevice
Of this passionate body.

~

I kissed a poet last night
Igniting a pilgrimage of stars.
Oh! What a shipwreck he has made me.

(c) A Hannan

Meeting Places III

Apprehensive, as icy chills swept across my skin,
snow under my stiletto boots grey and dusty from traffic
making me think back to sun, sand, surf and bronzed breasts
while I reached through the cold, french tipped fingers biting
at the brisk air to ring the doorbell, listening as an irascible reply
bellowed like thunder, rolling along walls in ripples
until it finally trickled to a haunting whisper announcing my arrival.
I could feel him on the other side of the door,
almost hear the slow smooth rhythm of his heart, beat
like wave on sand tugging at a year of planetary movements,
sun rotation slipping across my cherry coloured smile.
The door peeled back on it’s hinges like he had parted the waters
of Babylon and I feel into his arms like a leaf plucked and caught up in a draft,
left to drape around a pole of steal and resolve.
He warmed to my touch, grasping me with a smiling,
holding me there, our heartbeats meeting in a moment of calm
as our breaths chased one another, finally succumbing to each other, abated.
He ran his lips slowly down my neck, lingering along the line of my shoulder
like a wine connoisseur savoring the delicacy of vintage grapes,
filling his nostrils with the scent of 30 years of loving him.
His lips reached back to my ear whispering something,
just below audible, foreign tongue catching on my lungs
like the rich succulent tobacco from my argille,
sweet, arousing, suffocating me. I’m speechless. We paused
there on the threshold of eternity as one thousand lifetimes slipped
between us, building a bridge to hold us to infinity.

I turn to my girl friend, laughing as I notice the expression
touching at her soft hibiscus pink lips.
“well, that’s how I image it, that first meeting
…when I let my mind escape”

 

 

 

 

(c) A Hannan

The Art of Subtlety

It is not a surprise that you see at all!

All poets are in love!

You see beauty, and we are surprised.

As I write this, your Beloved waits

Where you hold the unveiled,

Where we all wait for love,

Yet we, excluding you, do not know how

To shiver from a dizzy kiss in the arms of love.

You see your Beloved’s hand on a golden shore

Wreathed in jasmine, bathed in moonlight,

And we, we keep our wings in your hand

Learning your subtlety.

(c) A Hannan

Silent Melody