Ides of March

2014-03-17 07.27.16

Sun, red like burning copper rises
behind the black sword-leaf eucalyptus.
All too soon he is white
up above a pink haze.
Piercing a veil of sleepy consciousness
he paints a huge warm stripe across the table
and covers me.

He grazes my shoulder,
kisses a cheek
holds my hand
combs my hair
as I stay very still,
absorbing his heat.
My face turns
to watch him with closed eyelids
and my soul hums with his longed for touches …

What will you do today he asks.
I will love you just as I loved you yesterday and the day before that.
But I won’t stay he whispers.
I know. But I will love you still because I don’t know how to stop.

In a flurry of black and white wings
magpies chatter and drown his reply.

But I think he said
This love will kill you.

Shall I abandon you then?
Would you prefer my indifference?
Would I shine by my absence?

But he doesn’t answer.
He finds a cloud and disappears.

About emmylgant

Cloud watcher and dreamer sometimes wise, often foolish, but I am what I am.
This entry was posted in Conversation, Life, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

17 Responses to Ides of March

  1. arjaybe says:

    Am I imagining things? I think I remember when “unbuttoned” was a WordPress site, but now it seems to be independent, running WordPress software. Did you make a change?



  2. Mike says:

    You have actually succeeded in transferring the tactility of this sensory event to this reader’s face. A phenomenal poetic accomplishment. Thank you.


  3. makagutu says:

    I love this poem.
    Very beautiful


  4. PapaBear says:

    Wonderfully written, Emm. A wonderful despription of a springtime sun.


    • emmylgant says:

      Thank you Paul. It is Spring! Flowers everywhere and mosquitoes are coming back, to the joy of birds and croaking frogs!


      • PapaBear says:

        You must live in another world, Emm. Here is snow every morning, 25-40deg, north wind. Flowers are confused, coming up through the snow and robins are frustrated that the ground is frozen and they can’t fine any worms. Maybe June…!!!!!


  5. It seems that your metaphorical spring sun is as distant as his winter counterpart.
    Strange how he seeks the cloud only when you question him.
    Brilliance, enigmatic and magical.


  6. john zande says:

    If its possible to say such a thing, and I’m not sure it is, I think this might be your best poem yet, my friend. Stunning.


    • emmylgant says:

      Thank you John. Sometimes I hit the right note I guess.:-) I tweak and spit-shine until I can’t do anymore, but I seldom know if I nailed it, so when you say “stunning” I just grin like a fool.


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