Sea breeze

A minute poem (yes, I know) for the Secret Keeper’s weekly word prompt. The words to use:

OPEN | STRANGE | TASTE | FRESH | TENDER

 

The flower opens with the dawn,

Never a thorn,

Fresh dew spangled,

Sunlight tangled.

 

Perfume scatters on the sea breeze,

Tender rose trees,

Raining petals,

Beauty settles.

 

In this strange wind from the tide line,

I taste the brine,

The roses falling,

Your love palling.

Haiku challenge: Flag & Fallen

For Ronovan’s challenge

Photo ©Manuel Gegenhuber

Colours in the wind

drifting petals, blown roses

utter silence falls.

Tie my heart with silver strings

Four short poems for Valentine’s Day.

Tie my heart with silver strings,

Take these wings and learn to fly,

Sail my heart where white wings dip,

Into the gold of tomorrow.

 

Desire grows with the dark,

Unfolds its trembling wings,

Spreads sweet shadows across the room,

Fills the night with the silken touch,

Of sleek, coal black swan feathers.

 

Did I say feathers or soft rose petals?

Did I want moonlight or starlight or sun?

Did I yearn for a rainbow or red clouds at sunset?

Whose lips taste mine when the long day is done?

 

In the dark love,

Or by pale moonlight,

Beneath the roses love,

On a starry night.

In the air we breathe love,

Where the green sea sighs,

On the tip of my tongue love,

In the depths of your eyes.

Haiku challenge: Style & Fresh

My entry for Ronovan’s weekly haiku challenge.

Fresh cut flowers grace

the empire style hall table

bright with rose petals.

In the deep shade

Photo ©psyberartist

In the deep shade of a summer bower,

A handful of scented petals you gave me,

Tasting of rose water and spun sugar,

A tender world of silken beauty.

Beneath the wind blown rose bower,

I scatter crushed and brown-scarred petals,

Their sweetness gone into the dark,

With the fading year and you.

He scatters the petals of her heart

The sound of the morning, the song of the thrush
And the wind in the poppies that cover the lea.
The breeze sings its songs of the surf on the strand
And the tang on the tongue is the salt from the sea.

In the quiet of morning it called you away
Though you said that your dream would not keep up apart.
The wind from the ocean is cold as my bed
And howls in the hollow where you plucked my heart.

The colours of morning the greens and the gold
The white of the blossom that hung on the tree
And the blood red of petals, scattered and spoiled
By the salt-tangy breeze that blows in from the sea.

©Avi1111 dr. avishai teicher