a velvet feather…

and with both too little hands

I scoop my art and blue belles-lettres

from the scintillating eversands of time…

just some jewels for a viewer

to behold and to remember…

birds of paradise, a whisperword

of love, of light, of peace…

a praying Aprilbreeze to thrill

the strings of ice harps in December

and an avalanche of euphemistic rhyme…

my flying spirit can’t accept

the ways of war, of hate, of torture

so I snow my coloured silence o’er the world…

painted roses, tender verses

gently curled around humanity’s distress…

never could my smiling soul be doing less...

so I’m brushing city-shadows

full of friendly hushing graffiti…

free images to mask all mindlessness…

a blushing child, a charm, a song

a long forgotten fairy-tale…

a silver chanting nightingale

a jukebox playing psalms, a velvet feather

one that calms the aching heart…

and with both too little hands

I scoop my poetry & art from musing streams

maybe artlessly creating worthy dreams…

© Drs. Rikki Keller 

10-07-2007 om 14:58 geschreven door Najade

Ballad…

oh…not a word…not yet, not yet…
there’s just this shy forgotten stream

for which I try to find a bed

a jaden reed-marsh and a ferry…

– Charon’s soalboat it might be

right from an ancient yellowed picture –

to besail the solemn silence

and the shive’ring silver sheen…

oh…not a word…not yet, not yet…

and I have been here for so long…

there’s just this ever tender windsong

this aubade of summerdawn, for which

I’d love to find a willow and some wattle

to rejoice in – from your bushland

it might be – a crown of blossom

and the mellow breath of May…

oh…not a word…not yet, not yet…

and I have flown so far astray…

there’s just this whisp’ring veil

of night-rain o’er the dozing riverclay

from which I try to model butterflies

and dainty little flowers, while the hours

of all ages pass me by…lucid cloudlets

in an airless opal sky…
                              

oh…not a word…not yet, not yet…

there’s just this shy forgotten stream

by which an old man ’s kneeling down

to view his life, to drink and dream…

he knows my name, he knows my face

he knows my spirit and my grace…

– a fairy figure I might be –

one that’ll always, always light his days…

24-05-2007 om 11:50 geschreven door Najade

You’ll live forever…

every passing has once lasted for a while…

at times unnoticed, as if none of what went down
was someone’s need, but evenso a leaping image

leaving stigma’s on a retina, a ballroom floor

a flaccid…flinching older face…

rolling water is evaporating artlessly…

returns from all of heaven, softly whispers

‘long low riverbanks and shivers

in the deepcold of the night…

it’s grinding grooves in sleeping rocks

absorbing silence, changing colours

mystifying fairywinks and light… 

every sound that has been heard

bleeds into emptiness and space…

a spoken elegy, a prayer or the moving

mellow melody of tender Aprilrain…

a cry of sadness, hidden fear or heavy pain…                           

beyond closed lashes thoughts are floating

o’er the valleys of the mind…they are the sacred

ones your spirit let me keep here in my haven…

those that granted me mere peace, while

I was little, frightened and displaced…

oh, they shall never go to waste, my friend…

I’ll carry them around each bend in time

and they shall interlace my poetry

my bashful whirling artwork and my rhyme…

every passing has once lasted for a while…

you’ll live forever in my eyes, my friend

forever in my heart, my soul, my smile…

23-05-2007 om 16:02 geschreven door Najade

Aquarelle:

© Drs. Rikki Keller 2007

23-05-2007 om 15:49 geschreven door Najade

21-05-2007 om 14:31 geschreven door Najade