CHEEKS:

Baby´s sweet cheeks, rounded, of silk-carpeted hills

Where all mothers plant kisses & their love over-spills,

Places of kiddies, smudged with snot, chocolate, old dirt,

Wiped & re-wiped, with sleeves, spit & garden-hose squirt.

 

Cheeks of young damsels, kissed by roses & ardent hot beaus,

Planted there by lovers, before, with luck, the further he goes,

Those places of butterfly kisses, casting soft shadows in mauve,

Where fingers trace maps of love, before they go daring to rove.

 

Cheeks are those rosy sweet gardens, where smiles go to play,

Where, when happiness reigns, those smiles will certainly stay,

They are places, that when sad, teardrops find their own path,

Where snowdrops freeze ruddy, then are melted by warm hearth.

 

Cheeks of old Crone, rutted & grooved by the cruel passing of time,

Powdered in magnolia-cream, futile attempt, to hide ageing lines,

White, transparent & translucent, then iced marbled in cold death,

To be granted new roses, with springtime´s new life in new breath.

 

 

THE OLD SILVER FRAME:

Watching me, an old sepia smile upon your sweet face,

In your old silvered frame, within your past life encased,

Time holds you gently, in her yellowing & undying arms,

Your face, never ageing & death protecting your charms.

 

When the Angels claimed your soul & then took you away,

Your image, then frozen, so that on earth, you would stay,

Placed behind glass then smiling, in new silver smart frame,

Frame now tarnished & buckled, but you´ve stayed the same.

 

You´re daily dusted & polished & kissed by me, with each turn,

Looking at your smile, I say, “A new frame you´ve now earned”,

But, I haven’t the heart to take you, from your silver bent home,

So I’ll continue to dust, polish & kiss you & I shall leave you alone.

 

 

STOP AWHILE:

Stop awhile to smell,

To smell the heart & soul of a fragrant flower,

To smell raindrops on earth after evening shower,

To smell spring´s new-born & soft delicate breeze,

To smell juices of lemons & limes freshly squeezed,                        

To smell lavenders swaying, in sweet fields of mauve,

To smell freshly made bread, homely baked in stoves,

Just awhile.

 

Stop awhile to taste,

To taste the lingering kiss, upon your lover´s hot lips,

To taste ruby red wine, slowly, sip by red-scarlet sip,

To taste chocolate melting, dark, creamy & so hot,

To taste broth, made with love, in an earthenware pot,

To taste iced water, fresh, clean, cold, refreshing & clear,

To taste every single crumb & drop & savour it all my dear,

Just awhile.

 

Stop awhile to touch,

To touch the soft silken fabric, of the baby´s young cheek,

To touch the wrinkled crepe hand, of the ageing & weak,

To touch the feathered quilled friend & the lost mangy cur,

To touch all that breathes, of skin, scale, hair, talon & fur,

To touch & caress & let them know, you´ll always be there,

To touch & show them that, the world at times can be fair,

Just awhile.

 

Stop awhile to see,

To see the sun´s rosy pink cheeks, as it blinks, rises & sets,

To see the dewdrop upon leaf, as it icily quenches & wets,

To see Autumnal red-gold, as the old Summer softly dies,

To see the twinkling of stars, within the black velvet skies,

To see every little butterfly, ant, moth & buzzing wee bee,

To stop for just awhile, merely to look at both you & me,

Just awhile.

 

Stop awhile to listen,

To listen to the early blackbird & the singing sweet larks,

To listen to the fountains splashing, in old plaza & parks,

To listen to the tiptoeing, of snails at the break of new day,

To listen quietly & you´ll hear fairies, in their forest at play,

To listen to all these sounds, which are heard by very few,

To listen to your heart saying the words, “I really do love you,

Just awhile.

 

 

 

 

AFRICAN NIGHTS:

That place, where all my old dreams weep,

In Africa´s bedroom, where I´ll finally sleep,

Where mimosa winds, waft & softly billow,

That´s where I shall lay my scented pillow.

 

In African nights, of those big creeping herds,

Where the serenading, is of crickets & birds,

Where hyenas laugh at their leftover feasts,

That´s where I´ll sleep, among all the beasts.

 

In watering holes, of the slaked-thirst ripple,

Where hippos wallow & the elephants tipple,

Where heat & dust have dipped warm fingers,

That´s where I´ll slumber, where old sun lingers.

 

That place, of velvet skies & ancient silver moons,

Of stellar blanket, ebony bats & old wise baboons,

That place, where all sounds & beasts stalk & slink,

I´ll lay my head, where the African sun sets & sinks.

 

 

IT´S YOU:

It´s your voice I hear, in the singing of the larks,

In the chatter of the trees, as I walk in the park,

Within raindrops falling, you whisper my name,

It´s your voice I hear, yet, it´s not quite the same.

 

It´s your scent I smell, upon sweet morning rose,

In the nodding of violets, in their gentle repose,

In the briny aromas, of the salty oceans & seas,

It´s your perfume I can smell-& oh, how they tease.

 

It´s your eyes I can see, watching me from the stars,

In firmaments & planets, of faraway Jupiter & Mars,

In the watchful gaze, of beasts & the innocent child,

It´s your eyes, following me, both gentle & so wild.

 

It´s your skin that I feel, upon satin fabrics of silk,

In white-washed moonbeams & in marble-cold milk,

In the soft dusted wings, of the midnight moon-moth,

It´s your skin, caressing my cheek, in the passing of cloth.

 

It´s your touch I can sense, within the kissing of breeze,

In the skimming of my brow, by Autumnal gold leaves,

In the spray of cold oceans, in snowflakes & new dew,

It´s your touch that´s caressing me & I know, it´s just you.

 

It´s your love that surrounds me, wherever I am & I go,

In my tears & raindrops, & in sighing of winds that blow,

In my blood of wine, raiment of skin & heart of no bone,

It´s you returning, holding my hand, to take me back home.