In a Spill of Sighs Read online

"In a Spill of Sighs"

  and Other Love Poems

  by Daniel Hargrove

  Copyright 2014 Daniel Hargrove

  Cover art copyright 2014 Daniel Hargrove

  This book is published for anyone's enjoyment. Authors retain the copyright to their work. Users may read, copy and distribute the work in any medium or format for non-commercial purposes, provided the authors and the journal are appropriately credited. The users are not allowed to remix, transform or build upon the published material.

  Table of Contents

  1) In a Spill of Sighs

  2) In the Dearest Wish

  3) Myra Lansford Maywald

  4) Off the Bank

  5) Reflection

  6) 'Till I am Old and Gray

  7) Afire

  8) In Petals' Circle

  9) In Scent of Love

  10) Just Wishes

  11) (untitled)

  12) As the Ephemeral Blossom

  13) Migration

  14) No

  15) Only You

  16) Parcel

  17) Port

  18) Supper

  19) The Underdog

  20) As It Was Whispered

  21) Bird of Paradise

  22) Estate (w. Sophi Zimmerman)

  23) On the Wildness of Love

  24) One Morning

  25) The Ferment

  26) A Mouse's Love

  27) In a Spirit, Twice

  28) The Pull of the Equinox

  29) Without

  30) Of a Sweet Moment

  31) As My Hunger Grew

  In a Spill of Sighs

  Darling firefly

  lit the water

  and every gray angel

  laid down

  she is where a blossom

  breezily slept,

  silk slipper off.

  Bark creaks gently

  over tussle with water and stones,

  tiny spinner looming there...

  and a gentle breeze

  moves me

  to the swan's call.

  Tired eyes settle

  If I never knew

  another whisper,

  always one will ring beyond the door;

  your promise of forever, there,

  to one

  who saw a difference

  in your blush.

  In the Dearest Wish

  The sweetest wine has few admirers...

  and the reddest rose

  cannot compete

  with a simple maiden's blush...

  true romance has few believers

  except in the abandon

  of a lovers' passionate kiss...

  Unravel a word,

  and nothing left but string...

  without love

  no one has heard of heartbreak...

  only in tears

  may a man know the taste of her heart...

  Many a tired old man

  has left it behind...

  some have waited on it

  until their last breath

  has wished it again and finally...

  once the doubts are over and gone

  then whispers have learned their measure...

  Myra Lansford Maywald

  Myra Lansford Maywald

  would like to have stitched a doll's dress

  for her favorite one

  which she only sometimes shared.

  she'd be the first to offer up

  her golden haired baby

  for feeding or perhaps to cuddle,

  as sometimes children need to rock

  to reach their dreams, in spite

  of being pretend.

  She'd gladly show the one that talked

  explaining everything

  that sometimes people heard

  and some did not.

  You often had to pull the string

  more than just three times.

  Even with her brother

  she'd sometimes share

  the floppy Raggedy Ann

  though he would punch it in the face

  and peek under its dress.

  She always held her while she cried...

  but there was one she loved the best

  that she kept mostly to herself...

  and old and beat up negress doll

  her mother had picked up

  for half a cent

  at some old resale shop.

  She brought it out when no one saw

  and gently brushed its curly hair

  and cooed it quietly off to sleep

  until she later

  carefully

  put it away.

  Off the Bank

  Kindled are her eyes

  that she slipped into my pocket

  which are treasured

  and kept hidden, there...

  She seems to know at just what time

  a brilliant edge of orange sun

  will show itself

  above the still dark trees...

  this is the time

  I seek fire at her pouting lips

  and she rattles my bones for a clack,

  stray sparks splintering down my sleeve...

  I am all wrapped up;

  swaddled in blue, like a good blue boy,

  and leafing again through my big book

  of good boy poems and phrases...

  "I am yours," I tell her then,

  but she does not understand me...

  I keep her eyes, anyway,

  so they will not get lost.

  Reflection

  The herbs have been cut

  and dried

  and it is tea time...

  time for a sip,

  and to relax

  with the paper

  while the city hurries on

  wherever it's going.

  The kettle starts to whistle

  and the steam

  forms outlines,

  somehow familiar...

  and the high pitched keening

  of an unanswered note

  sings away

  into a silent room.

  'Till I Am Old and Gray

  I spin

  under the stars

  crying

  "My heart is for her!"

  I am a fool...

  "Where is she?"

  The world is too damn big...

  too mean, too.

  "I love you!"

  The stars know me

  so well,

  swallow me up...

  "Where are you?"

  Will she throw it all

  away?

  "Find me!"

  Whirling with a dance

  of salt spilt on my table...

  "I am waiting!"

  The liars can all

  go away...

  and I explode under the watching stars

  in a white-hot flash

  that expands out into the night...

  "Do you need me?"

  ...and I wonder if there's

  anybody out there at all?

  Afire

  Enraptured by the sparks inside

  no one spoke and no one tried,

  no one cried and no one ran;

  catch the sparkle if you can.

  In Petals' Circle

  The path was strewn with roses

  that went around and back

  to where it had begun...

  and every lover

  that had walked along it

  came back from it

  and went 'round to it

  knowing it was where the flower

  wrote the poet...

  and every poem that followed from it

  had your name within it

  an
d your fondest wishes dreamed, there,

  sleeping by the path.

  In Scent of Love

  Entranced again by lamplit eyes,

  thought of fear are put to rest;

  now our passions start to rise.

  To open out is surely wise...

  to speak of love is surely best...

  entranced again by lamplit eyes.

  Put behind me all those lies;

  find a home within her nest...

  thoughts of fear are put to rest.

  Feeling skin of silky thighs,

  ride the wave up to its crest,

  entranced again by lamplit eyes.

  I hear passion in her cries,

  drawn in close at her behest,

  thoughts of fear are put to rest.

  Here we find eternal ties,

  burn of fire in my breast,

  entranced again by lamplit eyes,

  thoughts of fear are put to rest.

  Just Wishes

  I wish I could write

  that magical poem

  with kisses

  wrapped forever in it.

  I wish I could show you

  a home in my heart

  but I am going away.

  I wish I could catch

  a lonely sigh

  and soothe it gently

  'till it glowed so warmly.

  I wish I could

  send away the cold

  but I am the missing one.

  I wish I'd find

  your ear to whisper

  a few fine words

  to stir your passion.

  I wish I'd know

  your solemn promise,

  but I can't write those lines.

  I wish I'd know

  your sweetest kisses,

  and fill a page with our entangling

  to give to you

  for Valentines,

  but love is locked away.

  I wish these words

  would find you waiting,

  and wishes were not

  wistful playthings

  scattered on

  your rug of fancies,

  but hope is lost and gone.

  (untitled)

  Kept inside of tired hearts

  one may often find

  worn and tired promises

  that, had they been kept,

  would have meant eternal youth

  and a place in heaven

  to the heart in question.

  Kept inside of jaded eyes

  one may often find a spark

  meant for a long-lost lover

  that time hasn't taken away

  and that spark

  may jump again

  if hope is nurtured, bright.

  As the Ephemeral Blossom

  A cousin to the sparrow and the swan,

  a sister to the rosy touch of dawn,

  a daughter to the sprinkle of spring rain,

  a blushing bride to hearing aid and cane.

  Like the gulls that wheel and dive on rolling sea,

  captured by the wind that sets them free.

  Like the eagle, far above us, flying high,

  soaring, very still, upon the sky.

  Brighter than the lick of hottest flame,

  cooler than September, just the same,

  harder than a jungle cat to tame,

  elusive as a butterfly to name.

  Like the drops of morning dew upon the lawn;

  love is everywhere, and then it's gone.

  Migration

  The birds are leaving

  and icy branches hang bare

  to mourn with the wind

  a spring that never seems to come.

  There are warmer climes

  and warmer times to be had

  away from this chilly winter

  that did not weave a nest.

  It is like this every time...

  unfairly, the clouds gather

  and wash out the brilliant stars

  from the deep and resonant heavens.

  Every last feather that beats on a wing

  drums its way on to the south

  to carpet the willows on the rivers.

  Wave goodbye to the summer birds

  who stay where it is warm...

  don't let the frost bite too hard

  nor the snows cover your bed.

  No

  It was May

  but she wore her favorite scarf

  all through the summer

  though it was too warm for one...

  it is not scarf weather anymore.

  She liked to show it off

  though it is hot

  when you dress like that

  and the sun is shining

  full and high overhead.

  She would not take off for anyone...

  she would not take it off at work...

  she would not take it off at parties...

  she would not take it off in bed...

  she would not take it off at all.

  In July she turned red and sweated

  and itched and was very hot

  and I asked her why

  she wouldn't take off the scarf...

  she simply shook her head, no.

  Only You

  Only if you want me, here...

  only if you want to be here,

  heart

  and soul.

  Only if your everything

  is in it...

  only if you can give yourself to me

  as I

  give myself to you.

  Only if you have met your loneliness

  and told it "No...forever, no."

  Only if your eyes

  have already looked in mine,

  and looked into my soul.

  Only if you know.

  Parcel

  No one ever came to claim it

  wrapped in brown paper

  with twine tied around it

  and it sat in a back room

  at the post office

  for what seemed like years

  gathering dust

  and completely forgotten

  What was in the parcel

  no one knew

  no one asked

  The address on the package

  was non-existent

  and the return address

  was smudged so badly

  that no one could guess

  to whom the parcel

  belonged

  If you know

  to whom this package belongs

  please notify me

  and I will see to it

  that the package is returned

  to the rightful owner

  If I do not receive

  notification in writing

  by the date specified

  the dispensation of the package

  will be decided

  by the proper authorities

  Port

  Known only as a whisper

  lost somewhere among the shadows

  quiet and unseen like a spider

  feeding on its misplaced anonymity

  a carelessly dropped promise

  made in a timeless interlude

  Once I had so many moments

  all golden and standing on my mantlepiece

  each a treasured memory

  and many more floating on the wind

  This time I wore like a jacket

  now it hangs on the coat rack

  If every second were recorded

  an entry in my diary

  so many would ring like bells

  hollow and sharp

  bells I will always remember

  and an endless parade of names

  We are bound by our words

  tied like a boat to a dock

  when we cast off to sea

  we must return eventually

  words only half remembered

  I am waiting patiently

  Supper

  T
hey boiled her down

  till she was thick and soupy

  and put her in his bowl

  with a piece of french bread

  for a fine supper.

  She was rich and tasty,

  steaming hot and full of

  onions and carrots and potatoes

  and he was hungry as hell

  having not eaten in a week.

  He wolfed her down

  and she warmed his stomach

  as no other broth could.

  She warmed his heart, too,

  and he was deeply satisfied.

  They put her in a can

  and put a label on it

  and sold her at the market

  where she sat on a high shelf

  for a very long time.

  The Underdog

  I have wheels, man

  wheels and a great sense of humor

  When she smiles I get happy

  not of course in my direction

  She needs a special person

  someone to tell her

  that she is not ugly

  someone to erase her fears

  She is looking for a person

  good looking, straight teeth

  for kisses and fun dates

  who she will spend long evenings with

  She does not want me

  though I wonder about her laughter

  I have come to understand

  her heart's omission

  She'll never see the tears

  but he might cry in front of her

  cry and ask her

  why no one seems to care

  I hope she find someone so true

  and I know that can't ever be so

  'cause she has locked away her heart

  for safekeeping

  As It Was Whispered

  Where is she now?

  Perhaps you cannot see

  all her rare qualities,

  now buried in sand

  The Jay takes the worm

  just like the thirsty

  take cool water

  and just like the words of this poem

  vanish in the mists

  My love is a flag

  for the winner to capture,

  snatched and carried far...

  can you imagine?

  The sun is a democrat

  who takes no bribes...

  light surrounds us all

  which explains perfectly

  why I am always in shadow