elegant masterpiece

her hand fits inside my hand like a perfect puzzle piece.

soft and comforting,  giving a little squeeze.

our hands gently intertwined while we slowly walk down the corridor of displayed paintings.

stopping,  standing and studying each piece of art she likes,

while i stand in awe of the elegant masterpiece that is her.

of course she likes the modern artist like Bearden,

while i like the paintings of Van Gogh, Calame and Monet,

and we try to explain brush strokes in form

never really understanding  what each other sees in what we see,

but attentively always willing to learn from each other.

slowly,  we pass through the different exhibits,

still,  her hand holding mine.

afterwards we wander out to the gardens

and stop to enjoy and glass of wine and to listen to the musician play a little melody.

her hand fits inside my hand like a perfect puzzle piece.

soft and comforting,  a gentle squeeze.

we hold hands while we slowly walk down the corridor of displayed paintings.

 

c. 2013, 2014  bgw

 

the blinding darkness

in this dark and empty bottomless pit,

here i fall.

falling quickly,  evermore.

the blinding darkness curtains the sight,

my eyes do not see where i go.

with my ears wide open,

i devour the scene –

 

the images of familiar faces scream by,

all the blank looks give in to ignoring stares

 

in this dark and empty bottomless pit

here i plummet boundlessly.

on the dirt sides by the fingernails i scrape,

my flesh torn,  exposing the broken bone.

in a free fall wail, a last breath whispers.

in this dark and empty bottomless pit,

here i plunge.

 

 

c. 2014  bgw

sitting in these words, there she stands

i wait for her calling.

in the darkness i hide,

but in the hope i stand tall –

and i wait for her calling.

 

if she reached her hand on out,

i would catch her.

if she reached her hand on out,

i would hold her.

 

in the painting there she poses,

her face is turned,  yet all to whom – no one knows!

there,  in the pressed crimson dress,

she stands in the words and speaks in the silence.

all in a silence that reflects of a falling midnight snow,

the beauty that is her!

 

all the doubt i hold,  dwells and seeks –

 

i wait for her calling.

in the darkness i hide,

but all in the hope i stand tall –

and i wait for her calling

 

though,  through a simple eye connection

and in a dreamed waltz, one gets vague direction

how can passion ever be forgotten?

to deny the desire is to kill the hope

 

in the painting she stands,

her face is turned,  yet all to whom – no one knows!

there,  in the pressed crimson dress,

she places herself  in the words and speaks in the silence.

all in a silence that reflects of a falling midnight snow,

the beauty that is her!

 

all the doubt i hold,  dwells and seeks –

when the mind protects and shelters the heart from the wounds

the heart’s strength ignores warning and udders, screams emotion –

and patiently finds that she is the unfinished story in and of my life.

 

i wait for her calling!

in the darkness i hide,

but all in the hope i stand tall –

and i wait for her calling

 

c. 2014 bgw

requiem, op. 128 : through the streetlamp’s glow

and through the streetlamp’s glow,

in view, the light flight of snowflakes fell.

in late fall,  early darkness draws

and finds a friday evening crowd –

the hurry home traffic speeding on by,

headlights bright,  tail light sights.

and in such,  under a quick hurried walk,

the brown leaves of an autumn past still crunch.

the newly night air swirls,

and blows steady,

whistling through the newly naked tree branches.

the smell of a wood fire smoke softly waltzes through the silence of  a cold chilling air.

up the front steps and through the front door,

a soft illumination in the Christmas tree,

softly lights up the darkened room –  holiday cheer vision.

the fireplace fire slowly grows warm and roars,

all the while, the record player needles the Christmas tunes

remembering the early childhood wishes of Santa Claus glimpses.

sitting in front of the fire,

as memories drift by, in and out

in between the sips of eggnog tasted –

thoughts swim in a pool under a palmtree shade.

standing in front of the frosted window,

the snow falls heavier and now blankets the ground.

oh!  a silent night it is!! the crackle of the fire,

the hissing of a burning piece of firewood.

the evergreen trim entwines with the pictures that sit on top of the mantel.

through the streetlamp’s glow

hypnotically gazing,

in view, the light flight of snowflakes fell.

in the chair,  in front of that warm toasting fire.

there,  in a midnight dimming firelight,

slumber covers,

and delivers a requiem in an opus like dream,

seamlessly unforgotten.

waking in the light of an early morning gray sky,

and through the streetlamp’s glow,

in view, the light flight of snowflakes fell.

and in such,  under a quick hurried walk,

the brown leaves of an autumn past still crunch.

the crackle of the fire,

the hissing of a burning piece of firewood.

the trim of evergreen that entwines with the pictures that sit on top of the mantel.

c. 2014  bgw