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

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The Heart of a Poet

Dried leaves,
Autumns township
Kindled by a night of prayer,
In his own shade
The seared breast
Laced with desires spine,
The Poet’s golden horn swoons,
Spreading its wings
Turning in, a silenced pedestal
Fragranced with bouquets
Of invading beauty
Until, the heart opens it
And we all follow…

 

 

(c) A Hannan

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

Away with Words

Shattering your night with wine soaked wings

My eye, a lone star ceiling a funeral, one

Beautiful unended union of arms

Falling into arms, falling to implore us

To where lust shredded, lingers.

~

I speak of union. What does this mean?

Imagine your rose falling into my arms,

Those arms falling to your Beloved,

Laughter’s treasure caressing no end.

~

O! How I wish I could exile my tongue, merely taking you home.

(c) A Hannan