Gypsy Flames

This poem is a homage to love and Leonard Cohen – the muse brushed me as I was listening to “Dance Me To The End of Love” – Craig posted a link to the song, I listened transported. The link is here

Violins burn
with a flame of pure love,
a true wedding
he gazes at her;
an exquisite longing
quilts all who partake
into a love that swirls
from the edges of time,
rising from ashes
of imploded worlds
in flames green, orange , violet,
naked hands stroking,
touch palm to palm
with quivering smiles
and tender eyes
blinking back tears,
longing, wanting to drown
in wild gypsy flames
dancing on steppes
swallowed by sky
spiralling starlight
crowning the moon,
and the singer sings
lala lala la lala lala la
and the chorus joins in
cradling our souls…


A Flight of Fancy

“A flight of fancy”, you say,
and I think,
“what does a fancy look like
flying: does it have two legs
extended like a heron
or curled talons like a hawk;
perhaps it carries fire
beneath its wings
like the silver brolga;
does fancy fly across hemispheres
like a Siberian sandpiper
navigating by the sun and stars
to winter in Australia…

On the other hand, could be
fancy has six legs
like an azure butterfly
dancing in rainforests…”

I incline my head,
behind your head
three dragonflies
are waltzing in the sun.

Diesel Bus Fumes

On a grey throated morning
a diesel bus passes
as I walk to the station
evoking crowded memories
of seasons long since turned,
a bright recollection springs up;
a red vinyl backseat
sticks to  my legs
on a hot summer’s evening;
I know any slight wriggle
will sting so I am listening.
The car engine sighs
on a long country road;
I sprawl on my back
looking up, out of the window
counting the stars,
marking their colours,
gold, brilliant white
and twinkles of blue.