My blooming chart says Love is not Love
that could not resist the flowers to seed, bloom, bask in the moon, wither in the wind
and wait patiently in the ground more agains than springs…
A picture of the Love that surprises Time by Michael Cheval.
“…the desert, where there is the communal book of moonlight. We were among the rumour of wells. In the palace of winds.”
― Michael Ondaatje.
The desert…
Where everything is communal and eternal.
Where every whisper of Love hits
the depth
Of Reason.
Where moonbeams
linger longer
and draw misterious chants
in the sand.
I believe in it.
Painting by Rene Magritte.
Preclude = to put a barrier before; to shut out; to hinder; to stop; to impede;
to keep from happening or arising; have the effect of preventing:
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He couldn’t be captured in a phrase
Or one hundred…
He was like no one,
He was like a foreign country
That you travelled through
Eerie landscapes and glistening lakes
Towards horizons
Camouflaged in mists
Precluding
Happiness
once felt
And dreamed about.
He was like a giant umbrella
In bright colors
Protective of winds and shadows
Bandaging unseen wounds
In tenderness and
Love.
Foreign country by Harald Sohlberg.
In autumns
we follow the light…
We find it
shuffling her feet on leaves
early yellow
in despairs for winters.
It hurries onto
Your face
As golden as midsummer roses
Absorbing all the beauties
that were…
Press a little bit of it
Under the folded layers
Of your heart
To warm your fire.
Autumn light By Peter Fiore.
blogdecompanie.wordpress.com/2015/09/19/autumn/.
Love is pawning your heart
For the trembling sweetness of a memory.
Love is the unnecessary moment
when you see Together…
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Love is imagination
Dancing dragons in the sky…
Love falls down in showers
That autumn rains could not blur.
………………………………….
Love is painting sunsets
and dreaming at gleaming dawns.
…………………………………..
Love is Eternal
Unicity for One.
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Photo: Bill Flowers
Snakey Night, After Van Gogh.
You might also like: https://blogdecompanie.wordpress.com/2015/06/27/love-in-line-1/.
Trail me away
with questions
and the weight of your love.
Abyss is not yet invented
Just seen in shadow moons…
Cast me away
with a thought
replenishing with haze
in mid mountain mornings…
I carry feelings
in my pockets
and stories of you
to guard my garden of lilies…
Every night
I wash myself of you
Until another one comes written…
Foto: © Alphonse Mucha.
Love drips
out of my lines.
There is not ink
But sweetness and joy
protruding in small afternoons
befuddled
in glimpses of light
dancing on leaves
and ruby flowers…
When skies glance
at the coolness of moonshine
and butterflies kept in a dream
smile till dawn,
Do not forget…
As long as you feel
the brush of the evening’s wind
coiling like a wild animal
You are as young as
the new roses this year…
Photo: Artist: HASUI, KAWASE (1883-1957)
Title: NIGHT SCENE AT MIYAJIMA SHRINE
Dated: 1947 “good night”!