My Heart is a Wild Place

 

My heart

is a wild place

But

I dare not tread

with loud feet

and ungloved hands

My heart 

Is a wild place

But

I move in subtle rhythm

With soft-coloured eyes

behind lashes

My heart 

is a wild place

But

Words are seldom

with a mute tongue

Surrounded by lips like cherries

My heart 

is a wild place

But

Touch is sharp

with finger tips

and nails

red

My heart 

Is a wild place

But

Pomegranate

and rose bush

twill in a wind

of frosty dew

My heart 

is a wild place

But

Once untameable

Now

sleeps peaceful

beside

loves

unspoken

tender tones

to tell a thousand words.

ALL WORDS COPYRIGHT

J.Calvert 2017

Whiskey Glass

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Photo by Frances Livings

The dewy kiss of morning light,
shines upon our wallpaper
water stains
crease the lines
and bare our pain
lipstick marks the mirror,
crimson curled
floral and mould weave
an asymmetrical pattern
breathing life into where we dwell

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Photo by Francesca Woodman

We’re the sawed off pieces of vintage
lace blowing against the window frame
The rotting leg, of a Victorian chase
mercury glass hangs –
the ceiling; a cold damp place,
with a tobacco stench

You, sit in silence
with a comb through your hair,
like an willow branch bowed at the waist
once an oriental lily,
now a bud cut from a stem

I, sit in silence
with a whiskey glass in my hand,
fingers blanched
Blank and vacant decadence
a childlike glance

We can’t recollect
a time before this,
Our withered bones and shredded skin
glisten in the sun
breeding
an unfortunate tale
one of stagnant drench.

@ J.CALVERT 2017

When I wrote this, I had a clear picture in my head, of a beautiful women fading-vacant and a man with a whiskey glass in hand. A time of depression, where the bottle took over their lives. Not sure where this poem came from, but it was written. Funny how the writers mind works.

Do you often read your work back and think where did this come from?

My Wild Heart


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Amazon Queen – Revised

The sky sleeps

 in the soft flow of night

The wind whispers under a cloak 

of black and gold,

She glitters below the leaves, 

 of broad-leaved evergreens 

Above the canopy, rain falls

Of turquoise hues 

and silky moss 

faerie orchids stalk

Her heart line like an exotic 

capillary-flower 

Etched, deeply profound

A kapok, 

tendrils strangling its host,

leaving behind a haunted fig 

A ghostly fog –
Sensually, night slips into dawn

Burnt orange 

sunrise 

She, the protector

of all that are gone

Singing a warrior song – 

Dazzling Queen of the Amazon.

Words J.Calvert written 2016, revised 2017. 

Winter’s Final Note-Revised

Winters Final Note In sleet and snow the land stretched below and the cold earth moaned a mournful cry The skies overhead bleed in white – drops fall beneath a sinking sky, harrowing unspoken sighs Running rivers rest in silver … Continue reading

Tonight, Send Me A Warrior King

 

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Tonight,
My enemy lies beside,
under the cover of night,
A little slice of heaven,
desire to roam my body, passion to clutch my throat,
lips wet with promise, lust never tasted so divine,
savoured like forbidden fruit, I bite with greed,
leave behind teeth marks
and a throbbing wound

Tonight,
send me a man,
a bold one,
a warrior king,
I need a fighter, someone who’s not afraid to sin,
a solider looking for a fight,
to combat under the sheets,
we will battle through to dawn,

Tonight,
is all we have,
tomorrow you can leave,
I’ll be finished with you by three,
we can be nemeses,
in the light of day,
but under the cloak of darkness,
you will be mine.

Tonight, you’ll stay.

@JCALVERT 2016, REVISED 2017

Sensual-Art-Photography-Couple-Intimate-photo-4

121clicks.com

A Braid Of Blue Horizon

Fragrant scents linger still
on light wind;
across the mill
Speaking to the trees
whispers softly spoke,
Between visions of gold;
lies Calla-Lilies
Bold
Trumpet shaped
paper-like bulbs
Painted in oil strokes,
Across Western Isles,
a braid of blue horizon
A hazy day unfolds
The hours between us;
filled with wordless minutes –
seconds slip
through our fingers
No matter how we cling
Voiceless
The silent sea
and the land moans sweetly
Words fail our sensibilities,
Disentangled by the strings that cast
and bind our hearts
Our senses curve above the sun,
The clouds a husky front –
The sound of silence
Speaks to us,
In the garden of our dreams.

@ J.CALVERT 2017

Photography courtesy of Pinterest

Vanished

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Imagine, one morning waking at dawn. The colours of yellow and burnt orange warm your skin. You open your eyes and search your surrounds, everything that once was, gone. Your world blank. Your loved ones vanished, your career and professional life irrelevant in a new world. Your home a distant memory. It is just you and things you own. Emptiness grips your throat and your breath laboured. You’re left cold.

Everything that was important to you yesterday, replaced by times rapid clock. How do you move out forward?
In this life, we’re constantly thriving to achieve financial success. Chasing materials to fill a deep void. Masking our sadness with bigger and better products.

But what happens when you awaken; from this life created? Will you look back and love the things you have brought? Or will you remember the people who travelled beside you? Moved through the thick hours of time, and supported you with love, and action.

As time ticks by, remember it is only fleeting, that one day the hands will stop, will you be left with all your possessions or will you choose love?

 

Image courtesy of http://aracelirldeloleoalcincel.blogspot.com/2016/08/richard-avedonel-hombre-que-revoluciono.html