Her Amazon Brunette Hair

Kenneth, loves satire and writings to spotlight others, but he also has an "addiction" so to speak, to dramatic and abstract/prose poetry.

Oh, God! I can only travel with eyes on your hazy moonbeams

Struck solidly, surely upon the Amazon--silently, purely

No sounds of death, nor anger rises from her "seams."

So slowly, so longingly, not teasing or demurely.

I haven't a paddle, a motor, or row mate to see

A silent man with blood on his hand--an ear to them

Trouble arose as eagles flew through misty seas.

Running the straits in river's bend and old tree's limb.

Blood drips quietly down my failing right hand

It tells of a sacred love, a vision and a journey above.

Taking her dark black eyes into her silky land.

A rose betwixt a tulip and a raven betwixt a dove.

But our small skiff rides the waves in and about the night

My oar mate's hand ne'er fails the plan or dying man.

My oak mate's forehead so focused a butterfly can't sight.

Oh, for cold water'd drink, her brunette hair, and small twist'd fan.

In the miles northward, a group of villagers sing

The children play at night--the elders sound a signal to ring.

Lions bow down to respect the mortals lives

Sunrise, the foe, beams hot and menacing in little things.

Then she rises from shoreland to the east

The storks dance their own secret dance

Her brunette hair sees my love and touches the feast.

Now the cobra is still . . .

The dragons lips with dripping kill . . .

Our eyes lock a lover's smile, a time of joy and forbidden rest.

Slow waves beat the rocks a midnight's strike

We walk in muted vows,

A jungle of endless lives a song all sung just alike.

We love, we laugh, and live,

Going past a measured line that rules allow'd.

© 2018 Kenneth Avery