The solitary rose of your breath

Angels  alight, a slight, feathery goodnight kiss,

behind her eyes her guardian angel sighs.

Listen! to the whisperer behind the song,

misfortune exorcised by fluttering fugues begin again

to sing a song in a minor key,

a longing to be whole and free.

Let'so roll away the stone:

for on this seafront there is a stone,

where, in the creamy moonlight of romance,

men and women pledge and dance,

it is a place where ghosts abide

owls screech their ageless, endless  cries

to a high, star-cluttered sky.

Yes! it is a place  where all our dreams come true,

moonstruck eyes and derring-do.

We flee into the turbulent sea,

echo that old, old  story,

whispered to us soundlessly,

enriched by such and such

wild sprigs of poetry.


O! such wild sprigs of poetry

travel to that land of lost content 

where the veil of the temple

was rent in two 

and the holy of holies

is made a-new.

Image result for coast butterflies painting



◄ Bandit country

Burnham Beeches with Anna, 1985 ►


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John Marks

Wed 4th Dec 2019 21:07

Thank you kindly dear Cathy. Carl Sandburg, a glorious American poet, wrote that: “Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.” — Carl Sandburg, from The Atlantic, March 1923.

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Wed 4th Dec 2019 02:10

I wish we could give more than one “like” because I would give this one hundred. Your poetry is transcendent. It takes me to a better place and for that I am eternally grateful. Thank you for sharing your beautiful gift with us romantic dreamers and aspiring poets❣️🙏

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