Lovers Spirit
Sleeping, vibing and dreaming
Flashes, back into the past; she's falling,
Many a body she's had, one just as beautiful as the last,
Her long chestnut locks flow as she is tumbling down,
Through each memory, like a projection on a screen,
Her ocean eyes move rapidly,
His face is all she can see, amethyst eyes rip her from reality
Golden skin blinds her as she falls into a world unknown,
Opening her eyes, a navy blazer on her shoulders,
Brown loafers and white cotton socks adorned her feet,
She looked around, until she found the eyes she had seen,
Now, they were staring at her as tears started to run down her cheeks,
This was her fondest memory, the last days she loved Amun before his demise,
His blonde bangs and fiery smirk, made cherry blossoms bloom inside of her heart,
His rough hand held onto hers as he pulled her with him,
He was tall and smelled of sandalwood, he was the embodiment of Autumn,
He was dashing, sarcastic and disgustingly handsome
Even in these ridiculous school uniforms,
Her mind could only feel him, not even seeing the hallway they were in
Everything was hazy, like she was feeling it and seeing it from a distance
But, she will never forget this man,
His spirit lives on in her dreams.
Shades of Blue
Sometimes my words roll out in waves
like grass that's kissed by wind from cranes
who rise up on a sheet of wind...
Rhymes come to bless me on a whim...
On other days I must go out
into the ravenous array,
and hunt my dinner down with tools,
and weapons of personal choosing...
You feel it on the air sometimes
just how the world gets with it's hoarding...
Will we approach this march of dimes,
or die beneath boarded up planks?...
I'm not sure which will be our fate,
I just know that I feel a pulse,
and there is something new and sure
emerging from the dewy blades...
Sometimes my words roll out in waves
like grass that's kissed by wind from cranes
who rise up on a sheet of wind...
Rhymes come to bless me on a whim...
I feel the sickly sweet descent
of falling leaves where blow-hards puff
themselves into a royal knot...
Their eyes bulge wide where horses trot,
and bandits of the world press on,
while those in blind-folds pay the price...
I know that life continues off
the map that some deluded prince
dreamed up to keep a good man down...
Gets hard to flail or move around...
...But maybe in this time of trials
where famine reigns, and truth gets filed
under the guise of worn out shoes
we'll find lost life midst shades of blue.
©
9/4/21
Bunny Villaire
Ciao
I tell myself I get sick it’s okay I go to the hospital I get better
needles seeking tragedy
tattoos that hide
under sleeves
blood rotten and bittersweet
ciao to the veins laced with low dopamine
Good Riddance
I find comfort
In the rhythm of solitude
Soothing myself
In the absence of your lead
My toes
No longer contending with your ego
ciao, indeed
I pretended they are not there,
the voices speak,
the tortured , joyous murmurs,
giving advice,
like they know anything,
berating,
like it's their business,
complaining,
like it's my fault, or that i can help,
mocking,
like i'm not used to it.
dealing with the voices,
i get a thick skin,
which i groom and shed,
as season and humidity require.
the voices don't learn,
the voices don't really care,
so i told them to get lost,
gave them all Fs, and a citation.
see how their mommies,
deal with the disciplinary quagmire.
Ciao, Darlings
The women
out of place
in a black dress with a neck line too low
revealing a décolletage
crumpled like a rejected manuscript
her greeting
her way of leaving the impression
she had recently summered in Venice.
Those people
whispering as she passed
because they found her
incredibly
seductive
influential
or both
as she believed
her mind not being what it used to.
She was neither.
waste
i thought we meant more
than goodbye in a single word.
but only a solitary syllable slipped out of your lips-
and you walked the other way.
To ‘ciao’ or not?
To ciao
Or not to ciao?
Across Italy, you’ll hear a greeting
That rhymes with chow and is handy
To say hi or bye, nothing fancy.
But don’t overuse ciao like candy,
Because of the word’s true meaning.
A Venetian phrase is the root:
Literally: “I am your slave”
Comes from when Venice ruled Slavs
From the cradle to the grave
In the country shaped like a boot.
Morphing into “at your service”
And said informally nowadays
To pals and peers in Italia,
The meaning from its origin strays
But ciao still makes some folks nervous.
Especially when a stranger
Says ciao it may seem impolite
To an older Italian who might
Consider the greeting a blight
So, tourists, weigh the greeting danger.
To ciao
Or not to ciao?
Visitors, you have some options:
Salve works anytime to say hello
Buongiorno says bye and hello
Arrivederci means bye, not hello
In short, use ciao with caution
Portent
A kitten came to visit me
Fur an ebon clarinet
Eyes silver, knowing, key
Its meek mewl a minuet
Each night it came,
Times three
The same
You see
Tiny head slipped under
A still locked door
Along the floor
Paws soft,
Piercing claws unsheathed
My world pulled asunder
My heart tearing thunder
It climbed the blanket
Of my bed
It brought hope
I thought it said
Or the rope
Of playful trinket
A junket
A journey
Or was it warring
With fate
As I lay snoring
At any rate
Life was boring
Safe
Awake
I ponder portent
Should I take
A chance
Be transformed
Or be content
To live stale
Stagnant
Frozen.
in which you remember my name
Honey spills over parted lips and navy-blue waves crash against dark sand, sending a spray of sea salt like glass beads that shudder the air before condensing at the corners of your closed eyelids.
The sea is mourning tonight and our cupped hands do little to protect the golden flame of the candle between us. It shudders in a wind we cannot feel as the gulls hang motionless far above, as if by threads.
We know this place is not meant for us, not meant for fragile vessels of blood and bone, but as the sky comes crashing down we can only lay back, honey-lips open in something between a sob and a scream though no sound escapes them, hands intertwined as our eyes glaze over.