Egon Schiele – “House With Shingles” – 1915

django reinhardt – i can’t give you anything but love

Sunlight, like fresh honey-
thick and sticky with love-
moments, like fragments suspended
in ancient amber-
frozen in that stillness-
as pure as they were the second they
were entombed-
yes, sunlight shifts-
but its heat remains-
it will always return to cast its
glow-
heat so intense that if often burns-
it burns, but I have yet to feel its
warmth-
the rays are often shadowed by clouds,
you see-
the wound is mine, yet I never
made the cut-
how then does it stitch itself?
that sunlight, rich and dense-
is haunting-
it taunts the heart that beat its
tune-
how then, will it stitch itself?

He never got the chance to build his own
castle-
his castle was built around him-
he didn’t have the time to sail the tranquil
waves-
the sea was disgruntled before he could ever
raise his sail-
his path was already paved,
before he took his first step-
each stone was already placed before he planted
his front foot-
he didn’t allow the opportunity to create a
garden-
the vines had sprouted before he had a chance
to kneel-
he reached out his hand, and it was met
with a swift breeze-
open, it was-
and cold*

All the sun had to do was show
his face-
to remind the tree that it was
capable of bearing fruit-
all the rain had to do was glide
to earth-
to prove to the soil that it was capable
of rearing life-
all it takes sometimes is that natural catalyst-
that ready made boost-
to remind the lungs to inhale life
for all it’s worth*

You are my snow angel-
my life crystallizes in your frozen
breath-
my love for you-
encased in the symmetry of a snowflake-
and gleaming like a solid slab of February
ice-
the frigid wind only stokes the
embers burning inside-
they grow hot with each swirling
gust-
they grow powerful with each
howling burst-
and they burn forever in their shining
home-
an angel-
gliding gracefully through the fine
powder-
floating mysteriously through the
winter mist-
your smile as stark as the white
horizon-
an angel-
my snow angel-
my life, crystallized in your frozen
breath-
I see myself in your reflection-
and in it, I smile*

I searched the desert sands
just to later realize that I was in the
jungle-
and the pool of water that I sought so
desperately was just within reach,
only I was too parched to
swallow-
and by that point, too weak to
stand-
I lay there on my back-
atop a mossy patch of green, tangled
earth-
insects trekking over me as if I were
an abandoned log-
they went about their way-
in search of their own sparkling oases-
the leaves around me rustled with
life-
and the brush was alive with movement-
I lay motionless, staring at the soaring
blue sky-
deep blue, and rich-
with a tint of yellow orange sun-
soaking in the sounds of my temporary
confinement-
I heard feet brush past me-
I’d closed my eyes to rest, you see-
I followed the hurried sound with my ears
and opened them slowly to see myself
walking toward the pool,
which was only a few paces away-
right in front of me,
the entire time-
I wearily watched this version
stride to the pool and take a drink-
how effortless it truly was-
I questioned how difficult I’d made it
out to be, sipping from that pool-
I turned back to the sky-
and cursed this alternate me-
enraged at the thought of what could
be-
but I was only cursing myself-
I realized then that I wandered the desert
because I never thought that I was
worthy of a drink*

Richard Birdsall – String Quintet II – Chamber Music IV

I stared at you in the stillness
of that moment-
oh, how still it was-
a mountain lake, untouched
by consequence-
like a leaf at dawn,
meditating before the world
awakes-
how many still moments were
spent-
rife with tension-
or flush with love-
how many moments were spent
wading through the silence of
unspoken sentiments-
you as my muse-
dictating the code of my life-
drafting the blueprint of my days-
the architect of those quiet hours
spent whispering through gestures-
conversing through movements-
communicating with a stillness
resonating louder than fresh
spring rain-
all by looking into your eyes-
how simple-
how sweet-
without complication-
oh, how still it was*

At arm’s length-
that’s where you reside-
far enough to avoid the sting-
enough distance to dodge the blow-
at arm’s length is where you must
be-
what would you do if you were reeled
in?
far better to watch the ship sink
from the safety of the shore-
the many cries and screams from above
and below deck should be warning
enough-
why board it just to ride it to the bottom
of the sea?
far safer to watch the burning building from
the other side of the street-
at arms length-
it’s safer there-
you’re able to dodge the burn-
deftly parry the strike-
enough time to react-
time enough to escape-
at arms length-
that’s where you must be*

I caught the smile in your eyes
like a firefly in a jar-
it was as sweet as the one worn
on your lips-
like a painting-
spread thoughtfully on a canvas by
a steady hand-
each stroke so deftly placed-
I bottled it up and stared at it through
the glass-
a beautiful creation
tapping gently against the sides
with mystery-
I didn’t want to let it go*