The Pope & His Son
I dreamt of the pope and his son
nonsensical except with eyes closed
Italy, untamed and free. A sea on the rise
reclaiming what was always hers. She
whipped blue waves to release structure
mighty fortresses vanishing in one breath
as the pope and his son washed
naked in her womb
and I, above the horizon
watching in awe this wild fresco
of rebirth
Once again I’m inspired by Sue Vincent’s photography and have participated in her #writephoto prompt writing challenge. This time I decided to do a poem in the shape of an hourglass, but one could also look at as a chalice mirrored.
A Love Story Captured
Only the stones know the true love story
how his fire softens as he falls into her body
to welcome the full beauty of her night
they chart the cycle of life
as a way to keep time
what you see
is but a mirror of what
you cannot see, below grass
life grows in darkness using the memory
of his light like a divine beacon in her heart
they birth green in the hour of spring
The Light Behind the Story 