Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Jawahira bathes

Jawahira is bathing stream side
under a canopy of elms
while insisting you wear billowing pants
to ensure a modest afternoon.

her straight spine
a latticed shadow into heaven,
dappled by breezes
and leafy peaks of sun.

a cervical ladder
where salmon might leap
into a certain mortal spawn.

this is not the yoga
of the fortunate:
a pedestrian chakra
opening and quotidian.

we have gone from teal to purple,
from spleen to shining spleen:
we could have been solar pretzels
if the ovens only knew.

she raises mocha elbows-
braids sleek wet hair
into a black lattice of steps
that rise from sacrum to nape:

a comb oriented reverse Kama
that brings sweet olive into view
with undried beads pretending dew.

she, at the lapping edge, kneels nude
heels pressed into a shrine
of pearly opulence:

her breasts shimmer in the trout trembling pool.

5 comments:

Jenny said...

Gerry,

I really like the beauty of this stanza:

"we have gone from teal to purple,
from spleen to shining spleen:
we could have been solar pretzels
if the ovens only knew"

It read it again and again.

The rest of the poem is neat too.

Thank you very much for posting again. It is a pleasure having you here.

Francis Scudellari said...

This is as much painting as poem. Beautiful, with a bit of slyness tossed in.

Gerry Boyd said...

thanks Jenny. I am humbled by the quality of the work being published here. In the vernacular to which you are gravitating: "It's blowing my mind, man!"

Gerry Boyd said...

Francis: Thanks. I am always struggling with what can be expressed in words. To explain more would necessarily introduce a contradiction to my point if you know what I mean. To be perceived as painting with words is a deep compliment. Regards, Gerry

Ande said...

What I am most struck by when reading your poems is the obvious dynamism and fantasy you are expressing. You seem to be able to move freely between far flung areas. I don't think many people do that.