The Biggest of the Four Flowers Sitting on Your Lap

"Lotus Lilies" By Curran

I reflected the golden Sun

until, our water field undone,

you came in your frills and ruffles

to sit me next to cream truffles

in your friend’s parlor. Popular

with her virtue white dress, you are

just the assistant as she plucks

us from the lily pads and tucks

each onto your pale jasmine dress.

Many have fallen with finesse

from your lap to the lovers’ boat

where sat some fair lass with her throat

in lace like yours is now. A bow

bigger than your head, but no beau

to push oars through my home while you

twirl your moss green umbrella, you knew

this was not a couples’ ride, but

you came, hoping somehow the cut

of my stem would bring parlor dates,

and filled dance cards. Maybe the fates

know you young miss, for I shall be

in the parlor tonight. Dance with me.

My name in every slot I’ll put,

give you a longing sultry look

like you have done to me, yes I,

the only lily here who knows

you came for me in courting clothes.

~DaLe 7/25/12

City Lights at Dusk

And there fire fell, finding freedom

in certain surrender. I interlocked

my fingers with the beams. His trim

matched the hem of heartache cloth

rainbowed up through my memory.

I am the sunset, most vibrant

in gravity’s pull. I daily dip

beneath Heaven, embered stars sent

by silent stables as my placeholder. Scarlet

horizons reteach rising patterns.

The Sun and I rise again

Tomorrow—to sit on the hill.

-DaLe 08.20.10

Threadbare Carpet Girl

The carpet is worn--

two heavy circles of forever

shaved from midnight

cries. Father and daughter

talks, finding their words

knit through quilted clouds

and threaded heaven.

hard foundations bring broken

flesh, rubbed raw

with deity, his listening ear

finding worth in sunless pleas.

voiceless angels speaking

the language of warmth.

salty tears retain savor,

the flavor of light, echoing

blanket phrases of worth.

the carpet is worn.

-DaLe 6.17.10

Spring: A Narrative in Four Parts

1.

I’ve been lost in pictures too long lately,

Envying frozen faces and captured smiles,

Forgetting the prints they left on soul-marked pages,

Moments melted into goldened glue.

I cannot leave the cover closed.

Dusty echoes calling through shut time folds.

I return often, liking the happiness encased there,

Framed perfectly in hazy-hued memory.

I leave today pictureless. Frozen moments

not possible in thawing Spring. I find today

trivial. Fall will wish for April snapshots,

but I wish only for wrinkled dust.

2.

I sit on April’s rebirth, longing to join Chaucer

in past pilgrimage. He taught me life

and air full of feathered, contenting spices.

Something appears in traveled miles,

More than worn shoes and souvenirs

The soul’s skin forms signs of age,

Lines of living are created.

I miss wrinkled living,

Finding new faces in the mirror

Of fresh-breathed days.

April departs and I remain

Hoping for future paths--

Their worn promise of story.

3.

Time is the marathon runner of Olympia.

Pulling me in persistent journey,

Willing my mind to follow the frame,

To live the speed of life present treads.

The past grows older daily, months ago

become years. My reach grows long; yet,

grip loosens, outlines fade. Moments

once embossed tatter to threads,

used as laces for running game shoes.

Bow-tied memories on my feet,

Racing forward becomes easy.

4.

I cannot look back, refusing to be a pillar

of savorless salt. I plow my future furrow deep,

closing my eyes in ink-spilled finish instead.

Signed off is nail-gripped past,

Tiny seeds drop from today’s toil—

Deep blue is the thunder-iced horizon.

The promise of future fruit sweet.

Some till their path with salt. I,

with mustard, remove mountains

onto my heart’s fleshy table.

Stand on the plain, like a laden tree.

Whittle The Word into weathered trunk:

Carved is Remember not Regret.

-DaLe 06.05.10

Glass Cleaner

I started spring cleaning today

And found you among the clutter—

Whiter version of me, clearer soul lines

to read. Face washed and makeup-less,

your natural skin feels the breeze better,

knows how to breathe better.

I’m tired of living in shells.

Their mask from reality is the hard,

but breakable truth of selfish youth.

- DaLe 05.03.10

I Take Everything Personal

We are a web of humanity
Rising above the cacophony
To focus on a smile or a glance
Or maybe the chance
To wrap a string of ourselves
Around the pinky of another hand.
In this land of obsession over personality
Can we also have personability?
Seeing in a face more than appeal or hopelessness
But a sameness in a reflection
Of similar’s existent inflection.
- DaLe 4.28.10

Snowflake Eating

Thus falls the snow,
making pure this world of gray
in blankets of holy heaven:
morphing mud, rock, and fields fallen
into quiet calm eternity.

A scarlet sun melts,
losing color into reflecting banks.
leaned against empty stores
is a lifeless shell of heart,
hushed in carnal sin.

The bouncing flakes find me,
fusing to my hands and lips,
hiding crimson shadows of flesh
with wool made snow white
in specs turned to layers,
changing nature simple
as a child catching Heaven’s dust
on joyful tongue.

~DaLe 01.31.10