Magnolia XII

Is it all the same as before?

her being a goddess once more?

She shines in gold, but

modest blush of her maker.

He falls into her soul, as only he could,

revels in soft layers of cool;

Her word unspoken, her fullness

quiet in shimmering grace-

Born again, as she dances.

Her silver veils fall away,

the cold mists, so exquisitely dark,

does she remember?

Mourning came, morning went forth

from behind shades of pastel,

from the nights of shadows awake,

sprawled and arched in dust.

She was once so wide

she folded up to the stars,

a silent maid, behold!

The kings of celestial court

warred to distant stalemate,

'til the night wind burned with fire.

Endless courts, endless watercolor palette-

One sky of her own, one sky not,

she flees them both- her fate-

The dark dance of years suspended,

illuminated in tossed shadows-

her hourglass.

Magnolia XI

How fine is she, now!

The day is whole of heart,

flushing all in soft, swirling dance,

His bold hands stroke, caress

the tender cheeks of all dames alike.

To her, a visit unexpected-

She blushes, a lofty story tumbling

in flourished cascade,

filling unseasonable robes heavy.

Rich emeralds rise, burning

on jade alight with fresh ember-

A fullness fluttering, a languid bliss-

Suddenly, a ripe joy once more.

To her king in all his glory,

A fickle man, yet the crown jewel-

That shard of impossible diamond,

That memory lighting from within,

bound in the sea of sky, a gift

from the finest merchant of charms.

Magnolia X

My lady, my solemn muse

strolls in the shining rain,

layers of petticoats tied heavy,

laced in patrician airs assured.

Fair with an ancient gravity,

She faces the east, plain to the fickle day-

(he who comes and comes not)-

more a song than deserved suitor,

She of no blemish but longing mourn.

'Tis the season to wait, poised with hope,

A goddess subdued in trappings of time-

in somber, rich emerald, her masquerade,

yet she glows just the same.

Beyond Magnolias

The sky opens widest,
Shy of any return, dancing
at the edge of another complete
Being.
Nobody watches, so slowly
when all the softness goes
seeping into ground.

Color walks forth, shedding
any and all pretense, shining
brighter than ever before;
The world is really still
when colors cease to quarrel, the best
of all shades shed the same.

Take another step back,
See the cotton thread wind
pulling all of us round, away-
Sheerer than any quiet sky,
they race down the horizon
in neck to neck harmony.

Magnolia VII

She saunters forth, the lady,
To sway at her will
(for the wind is about the same).

Here is all new polish, all grace
Bearing so steady, heavy
Like the hope of endless sun-
Tragic, but wise and true.

Most pearls now folded away,
Never is it so simple,
So kind and touching a light-
Only decidedly still.

Magnolia Tree Revisited

It was I who was mistaken-
Seasons do not follow,
Old words could not lead
Some tale of true permanence.

Sweet, blushing green, still sharp
Cuts from the shadows, intricate,
Until they are clearly jigsawed away,
Swiftly peeled, near unseen,
From the secrets of each breeze.

Here, the only place so pure-
The warmth truly rests, lays
In ripple pools across glass shadow,
(For the summer turns such tides).

Here, the start of suspended pride-
Cracks and crevices holding unfaded sky,
All amid blessed creamy frame, wrought
For the most delicate trickle of light.

Last Magnolia Tree (V)

Gone, the glamour held- 'twas green,
Fluttering so clear of worry, and
Spilling with sensual wealth.

Dear summer, its slow dusk
Comes too soon, old and faded;
It lies unpainted at edges.

The rafters once filled, bursting with
New celestial pearls, songs
That spring left behind overdue,
Which took the foundation with it.

This left no heiress,
No accounts to burn,
No ashes are left in fragile light
(Lest the sepia rise like shadows).

Magnolia Tree (IV)

Shadows bathe, low and warm
Harmonies to the shy new light.
Leaves droop, but behold revelry-
They are a garish, fluttering green.

Such is the rare moment, reservation-
Nature's finest face in modest veils,
Pale peculiar pearls of creamy sheen-
Carved, exquisitely layered,
In thick chains of light and shadow.

Like a garment well made, it lasts-
Four seasons, still a fresh sensation.
Simply, the spotlight quickens elsewhere,
An audience still unsought.

Magnolia Tree (III)

Shrouded in silhouette,
The sunset sweeps as winds
Slice at waxed confine:

Fair ladys' palms clenched
Against the wind azure,
But shadows on the bark;

Shining leaves woven for summer
Are dark and satin gloved,
Their memory to mourn.

The layers shed, the bud
Becomes sweet and warm
With the passing day.

It seems the farthest,
Most quiet the air
When the sky is worn to hold
More cloud upon the sea.

Magnolia Tree (II)

A missed summer falls
Upon a wilted spring,
Clinging, fading
Shards of old silk;
An embroidered tempest
Of glimmering script.

Props of an old stage
Peek from old frames.
Imagination cascades-
Curtains, not curtain calls
Rest first impressions.
Unending wonder.

Magnolia Tree

A shifting mosaic
of perfumed shadow,
Sweet and replenished
Light searching
For a root and stem-
An unfinished story.

Too easily it stumbles,
Anchors a finished portrait
For the late pressed spring;
Glimmering shards
In the form of silence:
Yet an unnamed summer.