Sunday, May 18, 2014

icarus revisited (making the sirens blush)...

All that you have left behind,
family, friends, love.
Was it really worth the sacrifice?
Maybe it has come the time
to trade it all in
for a mid-life crisis.
If I were to
fall in love with a bird,
it would not be for
her feat of flying
or the pretty colour
on the underside of her wings.
These things will never
win me over half as much
as the bird
(who, just for me):
She sings.
For as many nights
that I've now missed her /
the stars,
they have given me
I have (once again)
third degree burns
in places she'll never
think to look
or even see.
And this wax, it makes me itch
and these feathers, they make me sneeze /
And you know, falling
kind of feels like flying,
and I'm enjoying the cool breeze.
Why, oh why, oh why?
Must I keep
(even now, especially now)
 these sunspots
  for angels?
I have forgotten
my sunhat, dark glasses & sunscreen.
And I still have not
learnt to swim.
But up here in the clouds,
I can finally see
the birds.
And even if I cannot conquer
these blue heavens
as gracefully & eloquently
as they,
I can still sing!
And as those
cool, inviting waves,
they race up to greet me;
My last bitter-sweet
will make
the Sirens blush
and a far-off Minotaur weep.
you know the ancient words,
ripped from
the feathered throats of birds...
"Curse & rejoice
this thing called love,
I am once again
left such a beautiful,
yet wretched mess /
We may not be lovers
or even friends,
but (like the fullest of moon)
I still loved you,
none the less."
And it needs repeating:
For as many nights
that I've now missed her /
these beautiful, beautiful stars,
they have given me
(c) Brent M Harpur, 2014.
"The stars we are given. The constellations we make." (Rebecca Solnit)
"For each star above me / Ten more have loved me." (Declan O'Rourke)

Thursday, May 15, 2014

looking for love amongst falling leaves...

This lone leaf
on the ground;
when it fell,
never made a sound.

Like all the other leaves,
no more (or less)

But to this
blurry, romantic eye,
make no mistake:
A lonely
yet perfect heart
it did make.

I only hope
that when it fell,
it did not break.

(c) Brent M Harpur, 2014.

"A man's work is nothing but this slow trek to discover, through the detours of art, those two or three great & simple images in whose presence his heart first opened. (Albert Camus)