Month: Aug 2011

Love’s Own Blaze [sonnet]

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I will not be ashamed to own my love
to shout it from the rooftops with all joy —
to cry out from the mountaintops above —
the highest herald themes will I deploy.

For I have played the secret games of queens
who swept me under carpets, behind doors;
who scrubbed me from their world by any means —
who made sure that I stayed within their drawers.

But hiding under skirts is not for men
nor knights who sing their ladye’s name with praise.
To be the cloistered closet jewel again
betrays the very heart of love’s own blaze.

I cannot be a secret of my maid
for love must by its nature be displayed.

© 2011, Alan Morrison

My Ladye of the Winde [sonnet]

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Surprising simple sounds of breaking air
made waves across the room with curtains drawn.
You languished on the bed and in the chair
and said such weakness made you feel forlorn.

“Forgive me” were the words which struck my ears
as I with other features grappled hard.
A scent with all my senses interfered;
you threw into my way your calling card.

But yet I will not by such stuff be thrown
nor will I acquiesce to sweet redress.
So often strong retorts are overblown
despite the lack of feminine finesse.

No matter how much breeze you blow my way
my love will never fade to yesterday.

© 2011, Alan Morrison

We Hold the Keys [sonnet]

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Once you said I hold the key to your soul
that only I your treasures can unlock —
can know your lovely youness as a whole
(your beauty like a lighthouse on a rock).

Such trust and high responsibility
will never be a lightly-treated gift;
but always seen with sensitivity
in honour of the glory of our kiss.

That power you gave me works the other way;
you hold also the key to unlock me.
I know in all our sacred interplay
you’d never do me harm or injury.

Because we gently hold each other’s key
then love in freedom’s reign we guarantee.

© 2011, Alan Morrison

Anaesthesia [sonnet]

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When crazed and wanton anaesthesia
coldbloodedly applied through my own hand
gripped me with surrealistic seizure
against all suitors I could coolly stand.

So there I stood without a winter coat
convinced my stoic heart would never melt.
I didn’t know there was an antidote
in human form releasing all I felt.

But then your shimmer woke me with a start
(before I’d wandered lonely as a shroud)
and now my eyes have sparkling beauty marks
in place of threatening thunder-laden clouds.

If you had found me countless years ago
a lifetime’s worth of ice could freely flow.

© 2011, Alan Morrison

I Clothe me in your Beauty [poem]

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I clothe me in your beauty
a woven cloak of ochre made
blood-red inside and brown like earth
whose complex colours never fade

I bathe me in your blitheness
while showers of shifting senseness
wash my wilted soul with widening
waves of laced and lavish gladness

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Against the Very Force of Nature [poem]

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When circumstances drive us
into separation’s deathlike grasp
the fragile cosmos writhes and groans
as if some sledgehammer wielded
by the stars had smashed its unruly
metal madness into all the planet’s
ancient peaks and catastrophic scars

The whole creation’s tender web
will be in limbo’s strange suspended
state of unanimated barren
moorland’s heathful hearting fate
while deep beneath the moving crust
of earth’s cosmetic faultline thrust
the bubbling juices (core magnetic) wait

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When… [sonnet]

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When you said “I will not write long letters
for that is how I deal with missing you
(longing for your molten touch to melt us)”,
I felt my blood dissolve in cobalt blue.

When you said “I will never say goodbye
for that is how I cope with when we part
(as all I’d do is crumple down and cry)”,
a tremble quavered in my aching heart.

Although I know that distance cannot change
a single seething atom of our blaze
(no spark between us can be rearranged),
I in your absence will be disarrayed.

For if I am without your words and face
which part of you will I with fire embrace?

© 2011, Alan Morrison