Under This Tacit Parasol, Your Soiree Perpetuates
A soiree in the woods perpetually beckons
with florid tinkerbells, soothing lulls,
and zephyr unspoken of the leaves -
like a gyratory chill of springtime
Inveigled, I bellowed and bristled, dyed
the colourless soil with my meandering
and there upon the serrated grass
I found a dry stick lying bemused
as futile as the sporadic tremors
of the clockwork hands of day
The night rustled in its bark -
threadbare from the weather's brawl
the moon beaming upon your shawl
with fluorescence that never lied
Yet, I didn't pick you up for your frailty
ruminates with a perilous enigma
under the dark cloaking parasols
of the eaves these trees provide
I can only lay with you, interpolating
with lifted whispers of autumn
and the forest's seizing involution
was a sapid delusion fecundated
by our taciturnly flagrant liaison
I defenestrated all abhorrence and fear
held against the black sheen of things
verging on a flawless splendor
that topples perfection, precision
And in this parcel of the earth
you were a king in a naked guise
and many a moniker but
a mongrel not, for you are
pure and stained like humanity
except you are subliminal than us
And with a bad case of forgetfulness
I tried to etch you deeply
in my own ornately engineered
vault of branching and rooted things
that even now that the perspiration
had dissipated with our communication,
the carousal sojourned unbreakably
to the station of veritable allusions;
I still remember you - as stark
as how you've deleted my memory
from your pockmarks as it
gleamed your true colour
when you jumped into the hearth
and incinerated to provide
[...] Read more
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
