LOVE

Love, ah love, we swoon,
it's aura reaching out from in the womb of life,
its cradle rocked in rhythms that beat in time,
it is our shrine, our Armageddon,
full of pain, the pain of being shunned,
or being stunned, no longer capable of reason.

Quite out of season roses bloom,
and on the loom of warm regard,
the warp and weft are twined,
locked in to something we can't totally understand,
ecstatic, full of dreams of unreal things
that mundane thoughts can never quite retain.

It is the quick that keeps our sails in tack,
with all the world its plain, its ocean track,
rides waves that flow both on and back,
an interaction sealed
with essences of sheer exquisite beauty,
that leave us whacked,
for if there is one single feeling
that can compete with this,
then there indeed is a heaven full of bliss.

7th December 2013.

FLUSH OF COLOUR 
Great bloom of love,
like the flush of colour
that blushes mountains in the evening light,
its sudden burst of realisation
entertained in silken robes of red and pink,
as the sun sinks ever deeper
into the horizon's brink,
eclipses the senses,
darkens the must of scented breath.

All panting like the fangs of fox and badger,
tongues hanging out, night 's animals
that burrow far beneath the ground,
in mounds that, Venus-like, resound with pants and gasps,
as flowers push up through the loam to light,
light up with joyful abandon where the air is free,
with beat of wing,
that sounds its cries across the skies soliloquy.

Ah dreamed dreams they fling their melodies about,
in pulses, rushing rhythms, flouted fissions fizz,
swizzle feelings and sensations in a tizz,
as reaching to the tip of pistil,
stamen, semen of the plant,
explodes to send its messengers
to every corner of the earth,
the mother reborn to sail its flags of Eden's birth.

Margaret Ann Waddicor 21st April 2013.