Expectations

Metis


Metis 

On blossomed branches,
Hummingbirds rest in the scented shade.
The soil is moist beneath my feet;
What an odd place to find myself –
No recollection of my treading here.
Though it is a time for mourning, neither cries, nor tears to proclaim.

A traveler has much ground to cover, and many regrets to misplace.
I should have stayed with my first certainty:
With no expectations, I would have been spared –
As mountain-tops squander their flawless spring waters,
Lovers ignore the passing of Time.

And with my end so near, I could have shared some truths;
Had it not been for my forgetfulness, to save me from my youth;
But I have always found comfort in soaring above the clouds.

© Maria Fokas/ March 4, 2016/All Rights Reserved

EXPECTATIONS BETWEEN TIME


(Collaborative Poetry) 

©Antonio Mora. Where Dreams Will Take You

©Antonio Mora. Where Dreams Will Take You

In the days when poetry

was all we had

misery was sweet.

Yearning was hidden in her thoughts;

and in the tarrying of retreat.

His lips used proper words –

his whispers spoke of delicious scandals.

In the night, her longing simmered in her dreams.

And with the resting of her eyes,

she could hear his voice break through the cracks of time:

M.F.

“A blindfold of forsaken moments lay bare and exposed. 

Twilight teasing – their tongues entwined – now whispers below,

With slender fingers that dance upon a stilted frame.

Nestling behind the hollow curve; the flowing fire is set aglow.

Taste the divine, as wave after wave, caresses the rocky shore –

Thrilling fibers breathe – time itself evaporates – upon that ancient rhyme.”

                                                                                                                 M.H.

A soft kiss of forgotten fables and,

waves of fury crashed up against her breasts.

But, when night settled in again,

his oath wrapped her hope, in the palm of his hand.

And as she stretched out time, he trickled her pain,

in a tale of a future, which may never come:

M.F.

“Outside my window, I see time hooded in uncertainty.

 I hear hope speak in broken whispers; He predicts an imminent calm!

The ashes of the storm would ride on the misty dawn.

Soon, the smell of hell will fade with the sun; and we’ll tell the tale of gone whirlwinds…caked blood and dead gods!

Ragged and panting like a spent bullet, I looked forward to a cease-fire;

 But she needed no recess – she wants me to keep firing!

She rode on yhe storm like a bomb wishing the tide won’t subside…

Out of the deep and limp, I lay in ashes of stewed passion;

And the wild princess waited for the Phoenix between my thighs to riae…again!”

                                                                                                              J.B.

By morning, she had returned home again.

Another sigh, before dawn, pinned her expectations down –

“Remember us . . . even for a day,” she heard herself say;

As Tennessee whispered:

“We have not long to love.”

And then – her lover turned her way, to claim her heart:

“. . . please let me stay, till there’s nothing more to say.”

                                                                                       M.F.

 

© Maria Fokas, Jide Badmus, and  Martin Hanley, 2014/All Rights Reserved