Thahaiba

Such a silent tiny thing,

Upon the brink of eventide,

I watch you wrestle through the arms of slumber,

She endeavors to encumber you, to draw you gently to her face,

I catch you tumbling softly, to fall unharmed in sleep’s embrace.

 

I note the in-out movement of your chest,

As I let you roam alone those corridors that you know best,

For here, I pray, is where you seek to find

vision that adjourned through hidden doorways locked within your mind.

 

Your waking moments filled with endless darkness,

You wait alone for someone to engage,

A touch, a tone, diffusing through the mantle,

Escorts you to a doorway to lead you safely from your cage.

 

Tumble through the darkness here before me,

Take my hand, I’ll guide you to the light,

I’ll offer things you never knew existed,

Through touch alone, I’ll do my best

to briefly resurrect your sight.

 

And when I call, unannounced, and gently take your hand,

A sudden frown indicates you may not understand,

Your hands trace softly over mine as if they capture sight,

Eruptive laughter bubbles forth when recognition comes to light.

 

You’ve come to know my touch and not my face,

But a semblance of my essence is what you glimpse when we embrace,

And if only it were all left up to me,

I’d slay the beast that keeps you bound,

releasing you, so you may see.

 

For now, you’re cradled deep in slumber’s warm embrace,

Where dreams may conjure images resembling my face,

I gently spin a magic thread and weave it just above your bed,

To capture any dreams you wish to keep,

To see when you awaken from your sleep.

 

And I whisper as I leave you as before,

“I’m just outside your door…I’m just outside your door…”

© Lynn Priestley 2012

In my moonlight

You haven’t appeared in my moonlight tonight, what hemisphere are you sitting in now. 

Are you here or there or wandering lost, left of centre or avoiding the cow?

 Your schedule is alien, foreign and mad and I don’t know if wanting your time is as bad as wanting you all to myself in the night when the dogs are barking in furious flight.

 A drew a card in the shade today – twin flames that whispered the shade in your name – it hinted at spirits eternally bound and wanted to know what time you’d come round.

 I responded in kind said I never could tell if you comprehend what is happening, well, it’s not like it’s hard to figure the rest but I think that you’re not all you attest. 

 I see the spin and the wild woolly gale that surrounds you from opposite sides of the tale. Your intellect shines like fingers through cloud yet I sit in denial wrapped in my shroud. 

 For this thing is as dead as all dead can be and there’s no chance of resurrecting in me the hope of a promise, the swing of a rope when bygones are hanging their heads without hope. 

 Without further a do I jump to a frame where I know that my shroud wont get caught in the rain that falls once again on my day of parade and leaves me in pieces, soaking and frayed. 

 I sleep with the knowledge that freedom is choice and within is the obvious nagging old voice that tells me deep down inside of the cave the answer has risen out of the grave. 

Though it glows like a beacon and rings in the light

it is sad that you aren’t in my moonlight tonight.

 

Lynn Priestley©2011

Ocean Flaw

There’s an ocean inside him,

Drowning her slowly,

She’s searching for land but is just out of reach,

A tempest is brewing each moment she fails, 

And she’s battered and bruised

as she’s washed to his beach.

 

His eye has its bias,

His sea has its plight,

His you is an incomprehensible fight,

For nothing remains very long in his view,

As he flounders in search of that somebody new.

 

His tide ebbs and flows, etched on a string,

And coaxes her back to the very same thing,

She resists him at first,

Bobs on his wave,

Then digs one more hole in his watery grave.

 

 And here she remains

‘Til her strings rot and frey

As she’s lost once again in his salt water grey.

 

 She swears on a moonbeam, 

This chance is his last,

Or his unfullfilled vows will be shelved in her past.

 

But then the tides turn,

And she digs from his grave,

And swims for the life

that she knows she can save.

 

She breaks from his mooring,

Swims to her shore,

And leaves him to drown

on his sad ocean floor.

A Kissing Convention

The Kissing Convention

Padua-Italy: A kissing convention,

Speaking in tongues, ever seeking attention,

And there in the corner, clad under robe,

Judas Iscariot pleated his thobe.

 

In old leather thongs, he cut through the throng,

As troubadours lauded in spirited song,

Discerning another’s familiar face,

Judas fronted the woman and stated his case.

 

“Pardon me, Madam,” he said to the shrew,

As she eyed him with malice and spitefulness, too,

While dogding her venom and obvious hate,

Judas offered a hand and said, “You must be Kate’,

 

She slapped him aside in ignorant bliss,

Returning her thoughts to those she might kiss,

And as if by some magical twisting of fate,

Judas leant and he whispered, “Come, kiss me Kate.”

 

He whispered it softly, with honest intention,

What else was to do at a kissing convention?

Ignoring his plea while keeping her cool,

Kate turned to acknowledge a transient fool.

 

Renowned for her talented torturous tongue,

She lashed at the fool as the troubadours sung,

And though it appeared quite bitter and cruel,

Helpless, she begged, “Kiss me you fool.”

 

The fool felt a dupe but with standing ovation,

Kate stole the show with her fine osculation,

Failing to tame her outlandish display,

Judas retreated and scuttled away.

 

He left her to service the lips of a fool,

A talent she’d learned in the yard, after school,

Alarmed and abraded, her target withdrawn,

She banished the fool with her womanly scorn.

 

As Romeo passed, providing distraction,

Kate noticed Juliet missing in action,

“Juliet fine? How is she…do tell?”

“She has glandular fever. She hasn’t been well,”

“The kissing disease? How tragically sad,”

“She’ll be fine in a while…she’s not got it bad,”

 

And lurking behind, resisting temptation,

Judas discovered a long lost relation,

A kissable cousin, delivered by fate

saw Judas forgetting all about Kate.

 

Now standing alone at the kissing convention,

Kate spied Iscariot’s wandering intention,

In front of her there,in the arms of another,

Judas betrayed her, kissing the other.

 

Scorning, contemptuous, pitiful, too,

No one came close to taming this shrew,

And filled with despair and deep – seated contention,

Kate pulled the plug on the kissing convention.

© 2009 -Lynn Priestley

Untitled

Untitled

There is a soft fog dwelling about you,

Amid the greys and haze, I glimpse your truest colours,

Through saline water blues in a deeper sea of green,

Crystals goblets,

Sorrowful,

Saddest eyes I’ve ever seen

Look to you, settled in the garden you have planted.

 

Your Eden, your Hades, your state of mind dictates the season,

Mother wit, an unknown reason given

just to chide you in a basting fashion,

As you sow the seeds of knowledge with such passion.

 

Sequestered from the common species,

Searching for a place to rest your head

as the subtle autumn changes confine you to your garden’s bed,

So tenderly you slide a searching hand,

Deep beneath the fold that blankets my eternal soul,

I wonder could you find such comfort there?

As we couple in the chamber that I proffer,

How I long for your caress, that silken touch that you may offer.

 

Could you sweep beneath the canopy of everything I long to be,

And relegate my idleness and such?

 

As I watch the weather turning in your garden here before me,

You roll yourself into an orb and hurl yourself at my direction,

Rolling, roaring, thunderous,

So passionate without exception,

Erupting from the knowledge you embrace,

Like sudden cloudburst raining down,

To fall so clearly on my face.

Washing out the sorrow in my eyes,

Filling crystal goblets with the knowledge that my heart desires,

Grateful for the chance to spend my days,

Sharing in your garden, here amid the haze.

© 2009 -Lynn Priestley

 

Water's Edge

He found her near her water’s edge, arrived to gaze upon her face,

Unfurled a sea of words that he splashed with care about her place,

He took her by surprise, took her beast and laid it down,

Soaked its head in sorrow and then let the sorrow slowly drown.

 

He spoke about a past that was dark as night is long

as he slaved away in silence reproducing angel song,

And all the while he packed away the secrets of a past,

His one true love lay folded deep inside a tear shaped crystal glass.

 

He waged an honest war against the demon of his days,

Fought back at all the wrongs 

to banish risky ‘come what mays’,

She watched him standing there, the sun against his skin,

And noticed in his eyes 

that a gentle rain had set in.

 

“What brings you to my water’s edge?”,

She searched for answers in his eyes

and through the parting clouds she suspected hidden lies,

But in the crystal blues she found no hoax nor guile,

He was just an honest man who had placed his life on trial.

 

“I come in peace, am friend not foe, am only here to share”,

And as he set his goblet down, she noticed moonbeams in his hair,

Inside his crystal goblet was parchment folded thrice,

“What message have you brought me, Sir?”

She asked him twice.

And not ‘til he was ready did he offer her the news that greater good had sent him there to reinstate her muse.

 

And there beside the water’s edge they shared a common love 

of word and parchment, quill and pen,

beneath a cloudless sky above, 

They spoke until the sun fell to a moonless night confirming to each other friendship’s might,

She held her tongue but finally spoke, “Why did you choose to do this task?” 

He smiled a little, cocked his head,

“Because you asked.” 

 

And there she saw the clouds had gone, his blue eyed rain had washed away,

She asked him one more thing,

“Will you stay?”

Again he smiled and cocked his head in confirmation of his pledge,

Fulfilled, she took his hand and pledge and led him to her water’s edge.

© 2009 -Lynn Priestley

Water’s Edge

He found her near her water’s edge, arrived to gaze upon her face,

Unfurled a sea of words that he splashed with care about her place,

He took her by surprise, took her beast and laid it down,

Soaked its head in sorrow and then let the sorrow slowly drown.

 

He spoke about a past that was dark as night is long

as he slaved away in silence reproducing angel song,

And all the while he packed away the secrets of a past,

His one true love lay folded deep inside a tear shaped crystal glass.

 

He waged an honest war against the demon of his days,

Fought back at all the wrongs 

to banish risky ‘come what mays’,

She watched him standing there, the sun against his skin,

And noticed in his eyes 

that a gentle rain had set in.

 

“What brings you to my water’s edge?”,

She searched for answers in his eyes

and through the parting clouds she suspected hidden lies,

But in the crystal blues she found no hoax nor guile,

He was just an honest man who had placed his life on trial.

 

“I come in peace, am friend not foe, am only here to share”,

And as he set his goblet down, she noticed moonbeams in his hair,

Inside his crystal goblet was parchment folded thrice,

“What message have you brought me, Sir?”

She asked him twice.

And not ‘til he was ready did he offer her the news that greater good had sent him there to reinstate her muse.

 

And there beside the water’s edge they shared a common love 

of word and parchment, quill and pen,

beneath a cloudless sky above, 

They spoke until the sun fell to a moonless night confirming to each other friendship’s might,

She held her tongue but finally spoke, “Why did you choose to do this task?” 

He smiled a little, cocked his head,

“Because you asked.” 

 

And there she saw the clouds had gone, his blue eyed rain had washed away,

She asked him one more thing,

“Will you stay?”

Again he smiled and cocked his head in confirmation of his pledge,

Fulfilled, she took his hand and pledge and led him to her water’s edge.

© 2009 -Lynn Priestley