Love Poetry For Couple

In the last days, after all he said and didn't say, his iron tongue resting in the open bell of his mouth, the belfry of his face asleep, I climbed the spiral steps of the tower - up the steep steps of the bell cage, to the bourdon the great bumblebee, Emmanuel. I stared at that bronze weight, the voice of Paris, as if it was my father's voice and I had climbed up his spine, all thirteen tons of

Ekphrasis in response to Walk (Series C) by Colin McCahon I. Bro, I noticed the absence of korowai at your tangi II. I have made you this kahu-kuri. A taonga for the Nga Mokai peoples and their descendants. I have just now taken it off the line and folded it with the sun still fresh on its limbs. III. The unsteady warps and welts of this cloak have

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SOUTHBANK 1 When the system crashes, and the screens, and palm-hugged beaches that saved them, crinkle out the office tilts like a ship. Small murmurs of surprise, voices like children who�d been playing in the shade, shocked by sunlight, flurry and subside. The thermostat shudders its seasons of freeze and sweat; furry square windows seal in the boredom

I. By the time I reach the basket of rose petals held by the young girl with the green sash there are none left. Still, she holds the basket out to me like an air steward offering sweets in the last fifteen minutes of the flight. I breathe in the smoke of myrrh from the censer and breathe it out towards your photograph. If this were a waltz it might go something like: in

You know he is there, standing in a field, like all the others, but he is not like them. The children do not eat his leaves, or sugar coat his pulpy fruit. His trunk has not been stripped by women hoping to calm a fever. He cannot soothe you. He can only hold you after your last shred is torn away. You were told anyone can visit him, as long as they are respectful. You let

i first heard the rumble, felt the roar, before i was born in my mother�s own cave, on her doctor�s way i first saw the white porcelain straps, felt the frayed straw seats smelled the wet drying wool before i was one year of age record snow the christmas eve three months before my birth then every month thereafter � i rode the rails in that womb while dirt-crusted plowed snowdrifts piled to