Jasmine

The first breath in the morning,

and oh,

how that smile

which so seemed

jasmine

to a broken eye.

Myself, and the water above my head

singing of the only song

that was,

a face.

a rainfall monsoon spread to india today.

A girl was seen rushing up the street

soaking her dress,

and i thought

of myself

when,

dragged beneath the sea comb of the beach

my hair dragged and rippled up in knots

you were my first love

and now her eyes stare into mine

that girl,

tossed inside the waves of rain

whispered

“he is gone,

and a jasmine blossom

now drowns in the river”.

Copyright 2014 Golden Star Poetry

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Toadstoolfindings

A little girl, like the bending tree
Whose only pleasure lies in watching trees
And who only finds the god-soul in the climbing of the trees
(mine, hers, and what of hers that once was)
Whose play things  but the twigs and the leaves and trees
And the jeweled sun, that plays upon her by the hours
Wind shaking her knees,
you found her crouching on a toadstool by the tree-ditch
and that is all bark bone and mud and moss
you picked me up and shook me
and tasted the question “who are you?”
drinking it.
all I said was “Tree, Tree” not tasting anything remotely sweet.
He said “Tara”. Tara, for Tree.
I am Tara, He says, now Tara.
How old?
Oh, how long since I have counted, I think? The day goes on much further
without knowing how to count. But I remeber lessons…
someone…
I count on my fingers and again. Fourteen. I do not know how to make
three more quarters,
so I do not.
Little girl, who only finds the God-soul finds love in trees
and takes home with her
the memento
of dark leather and metal
Love and the jewled memento of the sun
that plays apon the trees
that I see from the glass window,
(and what a
little girl)

I  fog up it’s mirror, and

when I finish my gazing, with it’s white shining dazing

he calls down for his inferior.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry