my love, receive my spade and take my cross
my heart will always be with you
i’m going to the realm of the unknown
remember me from time to time
on torrid nights
when conjured Spanish fountains
softly moan in pain.
my love for you will shine in every star
and it will be in every cloud you see
now time has come to swear to me
my beauty from the lands i’ve never known
that you’ll remember:
stars are far
leopards are by you.
a voice says
to begin again
another voice says
there is no beginning
the two insistent voices
the Greek chorus stops.
into the purple autumn
of your heart
for the Greek chorus
something must end
then I will
love you forever.
Thank you to Grabbety Covens, (Surviving the Struggle to Success), for leading this instance of collaborative poetry.
Please find more poems written by other authors here
Our destinies caught into the deep lines of my left palm.
With my right index finger, I trace those lines again and again, until I cannot breathe anymore, until my left palm bleeds.
None of us can be judged outside endless flights between continents, outside of our profuse tears and of our love for art, outside of the slippery slope that runs from amitié amoureuse to deep impassioned love.
One day all of us will have to understand that the past should stay in the past. That day is inscribed in my left palm together with our pain, and our tendencies toward the kind of love that transcends any earthly boundaries.
Excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers
I can still hear that deep voice of his and see his striking profile against the walls of the Chartres Cathedral: tormented French Gothic autumn; agonizing blue eyes; gelid rain lingering on stained glass, trickling on my face like liquid wax at the feet of saints.
“Clara, please! This needs to stop!”
We have judged ourselves so many times that the space around us metamorphosed into a battlefield packed with carrion birds.
We became Don Quixotesque characters battling windmills.”
Oh, how well I understood Jacques! Yet, he could not understand that no matter what I was going to say or do, Miguel would not give up. The verb “to give up” was not part of Miguel’s vocabulary.
Miguel was not General Santa Anna who lost the Battle of San Jacinto. Miguel was Cortés who conquered an empire; Cortés who enrolled god to help him; Cortés who destroyed the Aztec temples and raised the flag of Christianity.
Jacques had no chance.
Now, when I look back, alone in the mist of those haunting memories, my eyes lids heavy, my hands trembling, my lips cracked by fever, Angelo was right when he said:
“Wait, Clara, wait, you do not know Jacques yet.”
Oh, how right he was! In fact, none of us knew Jacques. Not even Angelo.
Excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers.