Glint for P.

glintIn her eye is the glint which reflects the passion of her heart.

“Glint” by Clare L. Martin. charcoal and crayon on paper. digitized. edited. filtered. 2016.

Advertisements

Blackbird

blackbird

 

a memory: leaves in piles
a kiss
hazel eyes
a rotten picnic table

soft hands
the hands of a philosopher
the hands of a seeker, a poet
children of the Universe

lover
kisses the curves
under a soft blouse
undoes buttons
the chill of autumn
his sweater / her shoulders

blackbird spins the ochre leaves
(itself a leaf), the blackbird—
a burnt leaf at nightfall
spun from the soot of dreams

This memory evokes tears
This memory
a ruin across a ruined landscape

salts the earth of her life
sets fire to her harvest

The blackbird rises
and scrawls
a brutal truth skyward.

 

 

©2016 Clare L. Martin

Rose

rose

She bathes in rose, an old scent. Cold water at the base of her neck. She shivers, cold, rose on her skin, pink, rose, again. Rose to her mouth, her cheeks. Rose in her hair. She breathes and is transported. Her body: a garden. Her breasts suckled by bees. Her eyes alit with butterflies.  Night falls and she is a dark rose spread open. Rain spreads her more open, more vulnerable, more succulent. Her most-willing heart exposed. Her scent lusts the air. All night she is laid upon, until dawn, when she glistens—wanton with completion, the expected restiveness of near obliteration.

©2016 Clare L. Martin