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 Apr 2014 Ian Cairns
Raphael Uzor
By day she was,
A bouquet of red roses
Sultry with honey
Smelling of divine ambrosia
Giving more than I dreamed...

By night she was,
A bouquet of dead roses
Covered in cobweb
Smelling of poison and death
Taking more than she gave...*


© Raphael Uzor
Beware of such "gifts"
 Apr 2014 Ian Cairns
r
Poetry Today
 Apr 2014 Ian Cairns
r
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 Apr 2014 Ian Cairns
r
Birds
 Apr 2014 Ian Cairns
r
Telling.
On the news I see
in the cradle of mankind,
bloodlust  rampaging.
Killing machines laughing
as children cry and mothers
stare silently at nothing.

Telling.
On my porch I see
three birds sharing a perch,
eating seed.
One brown, one red,
one olive green.
One gently feeding the other.

Telling.

r ~ 4/9/14
 Apr 2014 Ian Cairns
Nat Lipstadt
for you

Never have I seen you,
or touched thy breeze-smoothed skin,
caressed the rounded angles of thy cheekbones,
with the worn~smooth heel of my thumb

it matters not

for long and forlorn,
have I come to love you

fat or pretty,
your physicality is inconsequential,
we have bound and blind~binded
our visible connection
by oaths and contemplations,
all codified in worthy action verbs
whispered in each other ears

we have spent our nodules of time
silently caressing,
word gentling,
and falling in love

this night has brought me
no sleep,
this day has brought me
no pecuniary relief

but words embellish me with hope,
dress and drape my face with
coming attractions,
for that alone,
as if more were
even possible,*
I tell you this
straight out and unconfused,

I adore you

we are a lyric, a harmony,
an aesthetic unique,
for you have never seen my face,
yet this night,
thy comeliness has
stirred and up lifted,
thy tone and tiny gasps
my sundered parts
refilled and reattached with our own esprit de corps,
ethereal, ephemeral, yet so real,
I raise them,
to my lips,
and feel you as I do so,
gentling my cheeks
with your breathes breeze,
asking me live with joy....
tho never have I seen you
the children are all running wild among the crab grass
eating the wrong colored berries that their parents warned them of
just to find out for themselves
they play cops ‘n robbers
cowboys and indians
a gun is a stick is a gun
and I’m sorry to say
but that kid over there just shot you dead
you have to fall over now and play tragedy
a mess of sticks, plywood, and leaves is a home
they all ate way too much candy
and are throwing up rainbows all over the new carpet
crying over spilt ice cream melting on the pier
cringing not from the ****** skinned knees
but the expected sting of the alcohol
the only thing they fear is sitting still alone
now watch them as they try to ride the neighbors dog
and climb trees so that they might have the view of Gods
gambling their future for fun
not fluent in the language of consequence
and they don’t get too worried about what they don’t have
because they haven’t developed object permanence yet
not yet are they jaded from life
they run around in the hot sun with red ears and noses
until the sun goes down and their mothers call them home for supper
and we envy them only because they know so much less than us
and ignorance is bliss
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