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Art
November 2009 
Her Smile is the Scent of Colored Roses
Posted on Oct 18th, 2009
by 
Doug
Doug
Watercolor on paper 22X14"
She wandered in
through the door I
left ajar
somehow I expected her
tonight
and it was late
my lights were on
the silk drapery
flung across the back of a chair
waiting for pause
and movement.
She was younger then me,
intrigued
is what she said,
by my work at night.
She smiled as she
undid her robe
and handed it to me
and her smile
the scent of colored roses
filled the room
and I understand now
the misty subterranean heat
of Haleakala
how it rose from the bubbling sea
Pele
and I wanted my sex purified by water
and I wanted her sex purified by fire
and the devastation and the creation
of element
is what the morning wind
through white shear curtain
painted tonight.
She wandered in
through the door I
left ajar
somehow I expected her
tonight
and it was late
my lights were on
the silk drapery
flung across the back of a chair
waiting for pause
and movement.
She was younger then me,
intrigued
is what she said,
by my work at night.
She smiled as she
undid her robe
and handed it to me
and her smile
the scent of colored roses
filled the room
and I understand now
the misty subterranean heat
of Haleakala
how it rose from the bubbling sea
Pele
and I wanted my sex purified by water
and I wanted her sex purified by fire
and the devastation and the creation
of element
is what the morning wind
through white shear curtain
painted tonight.
Access: Public
have you seen this one yet by Neruda?
You are the daughter of the sea, oregano's first cousin.
Swimmer,your body is pure as the water;
cook, your blood is quick as the soil.
Everything you do is full of flowers, rich with the earth.
Your eyes go out toward the water, and the waves rise;
your hands go out to the earth and the seeds swell;
you know the deep essence of water and the earth,
conjoined in you like a formula for clay.
Naiad: cut your body into turquoise pieces,
they will bloom resurrected in the kitchen.
This is how you become everything that lives.
And so at last, you sleep, in the circle of my arms
that push back the shadows so that you can rest–
vegetables, seaweed, herbs: the foam of your dreams.
Translated by Stephen Tapscott
I have now! Wow TY Nicole! How do you put your fingers on such perfect poems that fit so perfectly with mine? Magic?
she does that, I don't know exactly how, just poof they come from her fingers, you should hear her quote them, whole poems.
Yes Just me, they are magic, these fingers that drift through windows and open doors with poetry. I listen carefully because, because I'm only a guy.
blushing... you guys, as I was saying to my corazon last night, or was it this morning lol we talked till three…
I was saying that I have so many treasure troves of poetry online to dig through to find poems like the above - I often use www.poemhunter.com for the Neruda, Rilke and Cummings poems - and they just jump off the screen and onto your blog comments, Doug… can't be held responsible.
As for stuff memorised, mostly hundreds of song lyrics which I quote in poem form so that I don't have to inflict my singing on my imzadi over the phone. He loves to hear me sing properly when we are together but the distortion over the phone hurts his heart so I spare him that…
I do think in music and verse, I walk around with music in my head and heart and ears all day long.
This is why I love coming over here to your blogs, dearest Doug, you feed me the most delicious poems which evoke other ones so naturally.
Warm hugs.