From the Encampment Of Heart Strife, A Young Warrior's Journal - Fragments From an 11th Century Japanese Scroll
for Goodfew
'like unto like'
but do not say it
my forbidden simile
one is not immune
to jealous couriers
who would come
between lovers
Rice paper is thin
Tender words never
tear though ink and
tears fade sure
words to guesses
Distance reconciles
murmurers with desire
Duress strengthens
supple resolve
supple resolve
thickens skin
thickened skin
feels the better
when simple
loves caress
paper curtains
for ink yearn
their brush strokes
burning stories
to bear
a fly
strolls a realm
just on the other
side of light
only silhouettes
guesses too
thrills at motion so
slight framed in
window gray
in love with
small things
keep what
is seen where
hides the wind
Geese tell
of return and
so I will when the
burnt village
counts its embers
measured in hands
there are treaties
generals
gilded boxes
are exchanged
and the
Mongol spices
no milk for her
child the nipple
droops a sad
thing while dogs
run wildly about
Hold Fast
the greatest
among us
he knows
only war which
makes him great
in one thing
alone
I know
of waiting
what the horizon
safe keeps behind
its ear
of love, yes
your top knot my hand
unknotting
your long hair my
scented bedding
sudden
startled
wildness of laps
the vase
so very
still
a clutch of stamens
I dream again
of moonlight
of sewing
that work of
warriors naked
needling seams
In this dream
I know the pattern well
so near to hand
a blessing
let the dead bury
theirs
his face
sleeps upon my
belly
I do not breathe
do not wish to disturb
Dawn just
light fingers
trace in circles
each my
breasts
what tickles
but a sigh interrupted
In your dream
a gentle
boat slowly rising
with waves
the gentler subsiding
slides up
my torso
to keel
to kiss
Never again will I go to war
I lie
Already
the men are heavily gathering
new arrows hot for flesh
only for yours I am
From childhood our song
'Hurry awake sleepy bee
Softly sings the breeze
To sweetness we are called...'
When the sun
is high
shall be
freshened
with tears
our parting
behind the barred door wait
a lock of wound hair
silk pouch of my gated heart
it will be a hard arrow to pierce it
Small boys
muddy feet
cheer
chase behind
innocent fists
raising threat
for them
such punctuation
I regret
only this
to take a quiet supper
to hear the dipper spilling
too full
the deep well
yielding
knowing a hand of dew
brings such sweetness wet, cool
wet
poem by Warren Falcon
Added by Poetry Lover
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