Seasons of Love

*~- it is and always has been -~*

exposed to March's first golden light
all frozen tears have passed away
the last remnants of six-legged white
reveal the broken hearts' decay

the fields of love, swept long ago
now short of use, they long to feed
placed in the furrow, it will grow
the newly sown, soon sprouting seed

new hopes reach out to seize the skies
as days unfold, and shadows shrink
inviting all that hums and flies
to come and sample nature's drink

see, among the grass and nettles
the buds disrobe to full extent
on display divested petals
seducing you with heady scent

a pledge sent out to trap one's nose
and brought along by well-formed wings
when nostrils dip inside that rose
vague sighs arise from grass born strings

a pair in one tight silhouette
like all entwined in unity
to dance the ageless minuet
and aim to and multiply the You and Me

right underneath the pulp and skin
the fruit of passion grows inside
with pride acclaimed by kith and kin
when finally it is supplied

what's next on stage till end of year?
the gusts spread word of rain and storm
torn leaves rise to the atmosphere
while hunger deep down spoils the corm

damp chill creeps in as all lights fade
a stranger's boots tromp trough the weeds
the dry leaves' knell heralds the trade
a beloved life for selfish needs

-~* it is and ever will be *~-

I feel the warmth, your smile so bright
It stirs my mind with joy and need
It's time to catch a Romeo
With bait of lust, my trap I lay

I meet you down below your eyes
Tongues engage in melee battles
A single touch, I stop to think
My self-control, a snapping band

Bodies in tune, we are so close
Passion condensed as you and me
We form next season's Juliet
Unaware of all other things

Your words of welcome, oh, so warm
No jest, I see you cry and grin
I take your word, forever here
By my side, never a divide

In a trice all gone, but gray shade
By my side, gone the man of deeds

~*~ it was and won't be nevermore ~*~

As spring bids farewell to the snow
I wave, I must, I let you go
Love's winter I will never know
Late summer fallen...Romeo.

-------------------------------------

Of Colors and Shapes

three months, a season, had to pass
to push the rhymes and draw the grass
a final dot. No ink was shed!
but a poet's tear instead

asked about essentials
I say: watercolor pencils
outlines not done by designers
but with pigment liners

- wouldn't have been without you -

     words and rhymes en masse
          fragile like they're made of glass
     devoid of dry grass

     read from a to z
          bent, intent inside out, and
     spun from left to right