:::lotus et nenuphar:::

the waiting for warmth
and the water is fierce
divided by quanta
aging my years
where sweet song in the morning
has dampened my smile
i angrily await
the dismissal of trial
enslaved by the moments
that have passed behind me
the lotus and nenuphar
moved softly to see
the lips yet unparted
scenting hands that did meet.

i have fell through the seasons
in the fall i remain
quiet and still
playing solo on stage,
they can look oddly, examine my shell
gives them a change, a story to tell
appearing so slightly
amused by the bit
decadent fools with
property to split
i bide time watching them
them struggle to see...
and conversing with creatures
who look just like me.

 

:::amber.hart.sinclair:::

:::the ending and all sorts:::

How this compass
takes and forces
the head of a fool
i clearly see
and down you try
to push your eye
but the rancid dream
is kept to see.

Haunted holdings
cannot sail
stocks in cellars
soon to fail
A muted tongue
dripping wet to sing
as it pushes through the lace
i bring.

I'm tracing thread
and lolling round
the fiber of the veil i've found
and under chilled night air
i see
intrepid muscle sliding free.

Honeyed dreams
and wading pools
of girlish promise
and womanly dues
subside to nothing
a decade past
but just a moment
my first, his last

:::amber.hart.sinclair:::

:::the bright:::

my summers are songs,
lyrical and sweet
ageless, scented and warm.
my sun, gold my skin
my sun, hot my feet
and sprinkle noses with pollen
and love.
white narcissus, clover and rose
cirrus and azure,
the toss of my clothes
take beauty, i inhale
hair tangled, water hot
take body and mind
give love, worry not

my summers are songs
the essence is jazz
calliope lovers
amongst delicate laughs
i lie naked on my back
alone, still
just to hear
every whisper in nature
a sacred souvenir
of the spirit that gifts my heart
with this reason
and the peace that is handed
to the child of this season.

 

:::amber.hart.sinclair:::

:::dreams for sleepers:::

i come down,
beneath your frame.
there is an undertow,
i unfold onto my back
not without pain.
your feet are washed,
my hair smells of lily
and you of leaf and myrrh.

i hear the others searching
i am crying for my mother
she is a whore on Linden St.
and i her only penance .
This man has taken me for love
and hers for twenty two.
i am subject to his every want
in the binding sweet and new.

gently up, he pulls my hand
and one foot upon the other
this place is sacred in my mind
i cannot leave it, he beckons me further.
i follow nimbly down the Lane
there is nothing behind me to follow,
my hand small inside, i walk beside
my captor, my Lord, my lover.

 

:::amber.hart.sinclair:::

Finally:)

well i had a blog on blogspot a few years ago...i lost my way when i discovered myspace...i am still divorcing myspace as i sit here....just waiting to copy my blog to a word document and take the high road:) it took quite a bit to design the blog, i will start blogging tomorrow:) ::acs:::

:::locust song:::

on knee then crossed
my stomach flat
onto this earth
they shuffle past
one eye diverted to the sky
the locust drink the tears they cry
salted feasts for clipping mouths
wait for the warmth, underground
with swollen bellies they soon will climb
and break the ground to take the light
the sun does warm the wicked wing
that carries song to you and me

:::amber.hart.sinclair:::

:::ether for the masses:::

i am still and moving
alone and enraptured
my finger encompassed
with silver and this eternity

he is frustrated and angry
bitter and beautiful
unable then ready
and it is never enough

i am solo in love
letting time take me
the energy i borrow
the light of his soul

my moon, my man, my destiny alone.

:::amber.hart.sinclair:::