The sun is floating in a sea of mist
with two pale cloud-boats in its wake,
and all the sky irradiates as it emits
its golden light to mist and clouds alike
Then sinking in the sea of its own home
it dips its redding globe in the horizon
where silhouettes of trees, instead of foam,
await to drown what others let arise
And for a while two lonely clouds float on
lit up from underneath by fading embers
until the red fades from them too and they are gone;
only this poor rendition now remembers
This is basically a variation on a theme. I could highlight "Nymph of the Cascade" and "What More" as other examples.
"Streams of Water"
Running from your hair, emitting from your eyes;
clear streams of water does appear –
spouting from your curls, and lighting up your eyes
with their translucent light gives you a share
of beauty unknown previously to me –
engulfing now your body everywhere
the streams of water flow, uniting you
with the stream in which your feet appears
disfigured seemingly by water, greenish-blue;
and throwing back your head you laugh in cheer
as if you know not, never knew, of any care;
the silver curves of you, enriched by water
appear in snakelike movements, as another
being than I normally consider you;
the streams of water have transfigured you
into a nymph, a Naiad, and it seems
as if, in this form, you should appear in dreams
and not in my trivial reality, but this you do!
And had I known this waterfall was all
that it would take to see this side of you
I would have brought you here before,
and never would have left for want of you;
of seeing you as I now see you through
this stream of water under which you writhe
your body in exquisite, liquid curls
of such a shape that I could not have dreamt
up something half as beautiful as this.
It’s such a moment as this one
when beauty seems to have become
the raison d’etre for my life; and you
no more than sunlight, clouds or morning dew.
A simple impression written down concerning the weather today.
"The Thunderstorm's Approach"
The pressure in the air is full of birdsong.
The heat declares its presence everywhere.
The faintest smell of apple blossoms and of grass
comes greeting through the window on the swell.
The cooling breeze comes to caress my hair,
to lighten up the air and tensions ease.
We’re waiting for the thunderstorm’s approach;
just like we do each year at end of Spring.
The subject is "K".
"Petals that Fall"
The petals fall from the withering flower,
dropping off its left-behind stem –
but nothing shall ever be lost of the hours
that I have here spent gazing on them.
Sparked by two different ideas and eventually merged into one poem.
"The Drawn-Out Note"
The impulse sparked in me by your pulse –
a pianist’s long drawn-out note,
a tune of soulful melancholy
revolving around love
Vibrating, trembling in the air
the note, materializing here
as this soft, rhythmic atmosphere
struck by your pulse to keep pulsating
Lingering for a moment with us, then
dispersing, and dismissed we breathe again
The grammar of the title was vastly the most complicated part of this poem - I have deliberately chosen to leave it as it is.
Apart from that it took me a while to cut down all unnecessary articles and conjunctions in order to get the rhythm and meter working the way I wanted it to.
If you should choose to take my advise, then do not simply read the poem as an observation of a wave breaking onto the beach - read it as a note on life and death, and of the rhythm that permeates everything.
"The Rising and the Fall"
Out of the ocean rises it, transparent in its beauty,
cocks its head in joyful majesty, marvels at its power,
then bends its neck when nearing land, in curiosity –
consumes itself in foam and then collapses on the sand;
retracted to the sea by subtle strings it disappears –
and re-appears and disappears, yet and yet again
See, this poem has been a long time in the making. Starting in the summer 2010, I wrote the 1st, 3rd and 4th stanzas - or at least the draft for them. I also wrote a 2nd stanza, which I didn't however feel pleased with, and therefore initially cut. However, I then felt that the poem was lacking something - and following several failed attempts at correctly wording what I felt ought to be in the 2nd stanza, I eventually had to give up and put it aside.
That was two years ago. However, two days ago, picking up my folder with drafts, I re-encountered the poem and finally managed to fit in a proper 2nd stanza to complete it.
Here it is, then! 3 years in the making.
Oh, morning dew,
I envy you
your beauty so divine
I wish that I
for one day might
with half your clear grace shine
Your twinkles play
at sun’s first ray,
and though for such short time;
oh, morning dew,
been etched into my mind
Longing to experience longing drives one to leave a diamond behind in search for rocks...
"A Rock For a Diamond"
When settled down, you had enough
and thought you couldn’t bear the thought
of staying in one place, that you’d
for lack of longing lose your mood –
So off you chased, new to peruse,
not noticing that as you struck
with burning heels the road ahead
you left behind a diamond – so as to seek out a rock
The visual imagery of this poem speaks for itself.
Gently tuned clangs from the ivory
of the piano keys –
a breath disturbs the dusty air,
the dust grains now break free –
amidst the tunes they dance
as if by music struck,
awoken into life
where now they run amok –
the golden stripe of sunlight
enlivening the keys
and the frail and tender breath
keeps them alive and free –
lit by the sun they sparkle
like particles of gold,
accompanied by Chopin –
what beauty does it mold
A simple musing on a visual impression.
"Your Morning Hair"
A goddess wove a splendid web,
but before done, by dawn she fled,
and left the mass of golden, tangled thread
spread out beneath your head