Untitled – on writing



Autumn stoops,
Picking memories to gather before winter,
All the hues of the world, translated through stem
And petals resignated voice.
When I write, I write something new
As if watching birds will help me fly,
As if each fallen leaf, summered and spoken
Becomes, a petal after winters turn.
I write and rewrite as flowers drop
Their petticoats, picking heartbeats
Coloured with the shades of sunset.
Now, they mark a new memory.

Is uncertainty the same as not knowing?




(c) A Hannan



Submission for Third Sunday Blog Carnival Volume 1, No. 3 http://thirdsundaybc.com/



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