If I Were A Garden

Bluebells for Spring

A rose for falling pinks and mossy greens

red poppies for Summer hydrangeas

and in Winter what will grow

but the steady pine tree, equilibrium

time passing in buckets of rain

my hands, they are here

just as swallows fly two wings, tender

finding some moisture there, known somewhere

of places loved a minute ago, are you still there?

settling under the apple tree, held in memory

To be alive is to be faithful, goodness in potential

and the night says “I will protect you”

Castles in the air

a bud from the stalk of the unknown, her own grown

my valley is my touch, my sense, my soil,

a sunbeam sliver across a tree-grain in the shade

a passage, a strand of a feather

or of my eye that stays upon your spine

as the light spreads on your eternal orbit

as you carry the river and the clouds

still you, only you, in time could be

for all eternity and in the same too late

like the sun in the sky though it still being to late

And yet it is in my hands

flooding into balance to remind me

to believe they are leaves and light pours through

from the center of my palm

and I lift you up

as far and as high as possible

away from me with all my strength, soar

as a messenger standing before the sun

for allowing the wind to be the wind that you are

lupine

Gentle Moon,

Moon is pink and misted with petals as the earth,

these are the last winds of freezing,

the last droplet tears of melting

or not yet 

sweet as dew warm still

the air-liquid interface and

the trace of your face behind sun 

behind clouds 

between my face or yours never the same place

the place of evaporation

into an indigo heaven

.

Orange Tree,

Orange is the tulip that first bloomed orange

were the leaves of absence or golden fall

of falling or rising above 

below yellowed stems

carried you away left trails of orange for spring

sun 

orange illumination for the blue, 

blue sky orange moon, like the city or ocean reflection

of all that holds the orange

of the wind that says hello and goodbye

.

Waterlily,

The waterlily emerges from the pond

first day blooming, closing for night

opening again pink next day

until closing again at night forever,

a flower that is a star,

and my hands reach out 

sinking

to find the sign ~~~~ water spaces

remaining ripples as lily hands blue moving through purple

make their own light shadows

.

Bluebird,

The tree I carry,  a trace of light 

extended into the plane of trace,

I can see him through the orchard

the brightest red light in apple trees

        you were

the autumn I had or the autumn I lost,

you fear our fertile ground

all is fair though,

a fountain without water is still green in winter

The bird passes between earth and heaven 

like rain,

where they come together as a sphere

inside the geography of my desire

partially there, and here is patience

What bird would light in a morning tree?

Oh Blue Heron where is your Egret?

joekenneth:

“Yon ti bagay” // entry 009
Pronounced [yon-tee-ba-guy],this Haitian Creole saying is translated, “a little something,” in English. That’s what my mother and I called wine or any alcoholic beverage. The grown-ups in our family were not shy in exposing us to “strong drink” at a young age. Haha! My mother was someone of moderate habits who would seldom take a drink. She would be in bed watching a movie when I’d walk in her room with a glass cup exhibiting a crimson color. She’d smile as I approached her bed and say, “w ap bwè yon ti bagay?” Chuckling, I responded, “Yes,” and she would proceed to ask me for a drink. Our hearts would rejoice from the contents of that chalice to the point of our tiring out from laughter. Then we’d find the TV watching us as we succumbed to a sweet slumber. The kisses that I left on her cheek as she grinned in repose were more saccharine than my wine-stained palate. As I reflect, I can surely say that she was the sweetest thing that I’ve ever known.
#MayFlowersbyJK

{Sand Into Rain}

The stones 

The fallen trees, the fallen trees are blooming pink flowers, 

The water’s course weaves through the bank and rests, rebirth,

“Does the ocean carry its weight at the expense of your beautiful?”

Dust pooling memories in eyes without

looking at yourself

unless with love, 

when does time meet compass arrows

before the Delta freezing spaces between 

stones are purple and gray the sand

the bank as brown shallow water

cannot help but ripple still

rain melts brown leaves’ transition

We could be time travelers

jumping into the ocean before its 

double buttons in the hibiscus skirt

unwinding inside, migration,

of beats, music or hearts vibrancy

The golden road shimmers softly a gentle guide 

opening softly inhaled

holding glance

A stick and a stone

a flood running four days,

cups and stones and wild Furr trees

a canoe, a treehouse, the storm

coastal rising

{coming soon}

joekenneth:

In this concrete jungle, sometimes He sprinkles the pavements with petals to soften the paths that we must travel…

si poco a poco dejas de quererme
si de pronto me olvidas,
quiero que sepas una cosa,
pero si cada día,
cada hora,
sientes que a mí estás destinada
con dulzura implacable,
si cada día sube
una flor a tus labios a buscarme,
ay amor mío, ay mía,
en mí todo ese fuego se repite,
en mí nada se apaga ni se olvida,
mi amor se nutre de tu amor, amada,
y mientras vivas estará en tus brazos
sin salir de los míos