A Thief of Nature

A moon caught in your throat
Little bells ringing out
Solus sanctus
Enthralled to stillness.
There are many ways you pretend
To be still, and still you move
Shivers chasing my tongue
Fingers breaking the secret
Supplicating eternal upon my skin
New legs brushing the voice of history into prayer.
What wholeness!
Tongue wrapped around your man poem
Recital that understands perfection.
I steal those tones.
In my hand – our lives
Those moments of natures expansive intimacy –
Those moments never last.


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


(c) A  Hannan

Poetry Challenge – A Letter To Myself

22 February 2012


Dear A,

The years pass by like landscapes painted and pinned to the walls of consciousness, moments caught like musical notes strung into a sprawling jazz piece where spontaneous brass and ivory court the senses with teachings of grandeur.

We hear only the sounds we permit ourselves to hear. Of them, take only a few, and of those few, experience them like you are made of sand. We are but travelers with a silent yearning. When the heart gestures at the bird in flight, follow it.

Abide generously when the mind searches for silence. It is your music it longs to hear. The mad man and the poet know the way. Wipe their tears with your palm and water the garden. Watch what blooms, illuminated and awakened, when you let go of false certainties.

The artist transfers the shades of their vulnerability onto canvas. Listen as the shadows fall away. Tomorrow the sun will set as always and man’s growth, will rise with the moon…

The dead bird, to dust births flowers. There is consequence, and consistency. The seasons, a great journey forward. This is harmonies dependance.

Cradle your melody upon your heart and corner the breast like vanishing dew. In your grasp, faith, for next season. The wound is where the music flows from. Everything has life.

And A, don’t let the piano play your song without you…








NOTE: With thanks to ClownRhymes Poetry Challenge found at http://clownponders.wordpress.com/2012/02/21/348/#comment-1595