BREATH

Poems By John Lars Zwerenz

(c) Copyright 2013 by John Lars Zwerenz

All Rights Reserved / Printed In The U.S.A.

ON SUMMER EVES On summer eves When mignonette-scented leaves Run like a brook around my martyred shoes I ferry through the tall, emerald grass, Gazing up to the sky, And its turquoise blues. Then you rapturously pass, With a smile and a sigh. And every other lass Fades into the distance,

Upon your sweet insistence, As you walk so gently by.

THIS WORLD Busses pass like dinosaurs, Upon the asphalt in New York, upon the terrible, vile, heated floors; I am assailed by mans cruelty and greed: By the acerbic, summery breezes which bleed; By the indifference of the human race To all suffering, to humility, to truth, to grace.

Human eyes seem hard With a selfish, steely, mortal pride. The shrines in the Cathedral yard Are vacant where no prayers abide.

The world is a dragon with a razor-sharp mouth,

To the north, the east, the west, the south. The mountains and the lapping, blue tide Of the ocean is indifferent too, Hostile to all life beneath a spacey, cloudy hue. I have tried to escape, I have tried to hide. Yet I will not feel at home until after I have died. I shall live only for heavens sake. To hell with Satan, that bastard, that snake!

A REVERIE

I left the city for the breeze-blown hills, And slept among the daffodils, Hazily in a rapturous dream, Beneath the oaks, beside a stream.

ONES LAST DAY

I wandered on the white sand wearily, Passing through the worlds dreary, old school. One must be either a sage or a fool, When it comes to ones last day, you see.

The clouds above were white, The sea below was an azure blue. I waited for the breezy night, To bury my sorrow, to drench my rue In waters that rolled Like billows painted by the hand Of any good artist, considered grand. Beneath the living moon I strolled,

And I found to my profound delight That paradise alone Could properly marry vine with stone, Beyond this vale, in eternal light.

MY ETERNAL BELOVED

I cannot let go Of the woman I have seen, With long, black, wavy hair, In sanctified visions, soft, serene.

I cannot walk away From her dark, brown, raven eyes

Where mystic courtyards dwell, Where slender, silver fountains rise.

A blond haired beauty Would not be her. Nor would be a red haired queen. I know the very spirit of my only, cherished love. It is of cinnamon, vanillin dreams and eglantine. It is of rapturous streams of shaded, purple wine, Of paradise above.

Her hands are of ivory, Her face is white and fair. I am destined to deny All other angels who breeze-blown rove In the worldly mosaic of the summery air. My God, my God, how I shall sob and cry Until I have kissed her in a sovereign, majestic, sacred lair.

My God, my God, deliver to me soon, This ineffable radiant saint of the skies, Who possesses the rain, the sun, the moon, Sable symphonies of dew, Holy rhapsodies of sighs.

THE GRAVE The long, black train howls into the night, Carrying coal and crates..

The dead, dark trees where the graveyard abates Are sentinels to tombs in the moonlight.

Cupolas are ashen. Rooftops are broken, steely and gray. The deepening death of the cold, autumn day Is seen in the green around the bastion.

I rove among the ancient crypts, drinking potent, cooling wines Ghosts arise from the brown, aged base of pines.. One among their number troubles me Her face is pale, and her eyes are dull and dead; Scarcely can be heard her whispered words of dread. She is clothed with dew and grass, the cemeterys sea. I was your wife, She speaks with a haunting rasp, Into the fog, the brine of the breeze.

I fear for my life, Darkened by the white-clad clasp Of tawny, weeping cypress trees.

She takes my hand into her own, And drags me slowly down Beneath a marble slab of stone, Where devoid of any hope I drown Into the soil, into a casket of metal Which closes upon me, as she speaks: Our union is eternalAnd the coffin leaks

THE DAMNED

The mists of the castle ran through the hall.

A grisly host Of many a fine ghost Danced in their shrouds upon the floor of the ball.

From the peeling ceiling many chandeliers swayed, Cobwebbed, timeless, bejeweled with gems of jade, As the wraiths in their grimy garments made Vows of dreadful appropriations These tomb-loving apparitions, Whisper of murder, envy, lust and vengeance On the vine-clad terrace, in the gloom of the shade. The vassal at the entrance Welcomes each new comer with a candle in his ethereal hand. They glide like fog from the meadow of their graves And they join the ball in the dancehall, eternal, old and grand.

And as midnight turns to dawn, the pouring rain laves Every broken tower and ashy pane In the castle filled with lovers, in the bastion by the lane.

AMY

Her eyes are of the strangest shade of brown; She looked directly at me, but rarely did enter, Except when my glance was gazing down. She talked of nature, yet she seemed to center Around the ethereal, the fresh, the unknown. This poet she now knows distinctly does disown The belief that women possess a certain power

That men do not have, to an equal degree, At morn, at noon, or in the twilit, starry-studded hour. For both are equal, here and in eternity. Her beauty has been met with praise Since her youth, her schooling days; But her spirit, cloaked, in a hidden haze, Is known in its depths to me and me alone. She passes by the manor house, beneath the linden trees, Where the ivy marries emeralds with stone, In Californian summers, like an angel in a veil, Yet she weeps inside beneath the moon, white, full and pale, As her dark, black mane perfumes with love the breeze.

MY LOVE

Her soul is of vanilla and evergreen trees It is of lemon-scented, mellifluous streams That flow from fountains in the saline breeze; It is of cool, silver brooks that bubble through dreams Her spirit is of mountains that glisten in the cloudless, blue air; Her heart is of a brilliant star that rises over a marble square The redolent, oceanic gales blow back her slender, straight, black hair Her gaze is of golden bowers, sunny, summery, flowery and fair.

Her pace is of an angels, with each foot that is laid She is clad in a dress of white, And wanders through the gardens in the moonlight

Her mane is that of heaven, and her tresses are in a braid

There is a courtyard of a castle by the turquoise sea She somnolently walks beneath its archway of roses, Among terra-cotta statues, as she softly discloses Fragrances of ecstasy

And in the still of the evening, When her lips meet mine, All the willows weeping, Dipped in ponds, Glitter like wine With alabaster, florid fronds; And her eyes smooth, multihued and dark Absorb my being wholly so In the marble court, where the fountains flow, In the woods and meadows, in the corners of the park.

A SUMMERS DAY

I went out to the meadows, far and near. I spent my time in wooden inns. I drank vodka, wine, and dark, brown beer, To the happy sound of mandolins.

I asked the pretty, blond waitress to give me a kiss In the tall, soft stacks of bright, yellow hay, In the empty, red farmhouse behind the bar. Her mouth was delicious, and our bodies met with bliss, In the shimmering gold of the gilded day, To the jig of a breeze-blown, distant guitar.

THE QUEEN

I roved among the fields and furrows. I was tan in the sun of the golden day. At the end of my trail, at the edge of the meadows, I found a blue pond, enclosed with hay.

Tall, yellow reeds wavered and swayed, And fragranced the wafting, summer breeze, Sailing like honey through the linden trees, Blessing the courtyard there where I stayed.

Suddenly a queen ascended from the rosy bowers, In a garment of carmine and glistening white. Her mane was raven, slender, long and bright,

And her eyes were of a song which poured wine upon the flowers.

Her gaze was one of a statues: deep, dark and grave. Her lips were of Elysian woods, soft, red and glossy with scent. I knelt before her, beneath the fronds, green and redolent. She stood in silence; through her tresses did lave Blue, caressing gales, which came from the ocean. We knew naught but ardor and its every emotion, And the pond was struck with a gust from above. She took my hand in hers, and accepted my love; And as if in a dream, We passed through a curtain, an ethereal light, By a silver dream, Beneath the ascending, starry moon, White, Full, round and pale, Which eclipsed the trees, the courts, the lagoon,

Leaving us to the breezy sea, As we departed from this weary valeTo a rapturous height of ecstasy.

MARK

I thought Id write a poem for you, My dark-eyed lad, filled with rue, Who paces upon the promenade, Conversing with nature in the shade.

What music in your psyche there with love is made? Beneath the gold, forgiving sun, You rove among the muses there, Where the tall, emerald grass meets the fragrant, blue air;

You hear Mozart in the breezes, where the vines are one, Shining on ancient walls of stone.

Yet you go there not alone, But with love as your guide, On these trails, with God you roam. You reap from the heavens a melodic bride, Who awaits you in a boon, silently at home, The woman youve enraptured, To listen by your side To your new symphony: The harmonies you chose, the ones you have captured, Pristine, of pop, of majesty, Which you wrought beneath the sun, devoid of any pride.

THE COUNTRYSIDE

We had breakfast in the countryside: Eggs, bacon and white champagne. We picked cherries on the dappled lane, And we walked on the sand, by the turquoise tide.

The palm trees scented the soft, summer air With the fragrant potions of mignonette. We kissed on the beach, as the sun did set, Among the fountains, in the marble square.

BENEATH THE STARS

I traveled out beneath the stars, To find some peace beside the lane. I slept in the glow of a campfires bars, And awoke to the dawn and a fine, light rain.

There is in my pocket a notebook I keep. I wield it when I may, And write of the many visions I reap, In the cloudy, rainy, dawning day.

SNOW

December is ending, Christmas is here For the old and young, for the boys and girls.

The pine tree, clad with silver balls, Gleams as music fills the halls. (Outside the snow swirls Around the frothy, old pier.)

You gaze out the white-encased window, With your long, black, delicious hair Braided in an alabaster bow, As your beauteous body scents with roses The soft perfume it gently discloses Throughout the parlor, in the wintry air.

TONIGHT

I shall kiss your lips until your heart is all but wine,

Drunk with rapture, with the taste of kissing mine. I shall tenderly clasp your raven head, And I shall love you with fire in the flowerbed. Our emotions shall be naught but ecstasy, desire. Ah! Such passion is without attire! Let your sensuous back recline in the dew, Into the grass, the blooms of red and blue. Then I shall enter your spirits holy cove, Where music reigns and angels rove!

THE CASTLE

By bank, stream or river I rove, With wine in hand upon the fields, I, drunk with a garden, the fragrances it yields, Still sing of eternal, infinite love.

There is in my jacket a small, blue book Of lines which I wrought romantically. Thou art paradise, my lady, with your dark, sable look. Your gaze is of stars, and of true poetry.

I have searched for you incessantly, In meadows, through woods, in canyons, in caves, Over harbors and seas, over sailors graves, Until I found you on the balcony.

High up, on the terrace of the castles tower, I found you in your long, white dress, Awaiting my rhyme and the love I profess, In the still of this majestic hour.

THE COURTYARD

I am drunk with waves, I am drunk with wine. I have returned from Spain with gold and gems. I have found my princess donning diadems, In the courtyard where the stones meet vine.

She wanders as a gypsy in the vast, marble square, Where slender fountains rise in the cool, spring air. Her home is up high, behind the terrace of the tower, Where she sings of fair love to the trees above the bower.

OUR LOVE

Our love was an ivory boon, Which reigned with the angels in the night. We would kiss beneath the moon, Among the statues in the light. But your death arrived too soon, And so soared our felicity out of sight, Which was once so gold, which was once so bright.

Now all that I can ponder, All that I can see, Is your fair face over yonder, In a court of majesty, Surrounded by slender, radiant fountains, Where in a haze, you dream,

In the square beyond the mountains, Lazing by a falling stream.

THERE IS ONLY ONE WAY This day is devoid of melody! Cathedrals and courts have been deserted. The one, true religion has been rejected, Replaced by cults of fantasy. Chaos, chains and tuneless sounds, To burning hell with you! I shall rove as a pirate by the wild sea of mysterious blue, And number every Silver Star with astronomic dew. Let the earth succumb to the fire that surrounds The gas of the sun until it is ash!

I have seen enough of fallen man, indulging in his sins, Causing the saints ever more pain, Replacing God for metallic trash, As soon as the dawning day begins, Killing joy and inducing rain Within the hearts of our poor, our children and our sick.

Repent, walk straight, and do it quick! For your grave is a very hungry hole That shall swallow you soon, sooner than you think Your life is of shadows, death and the dark. You course through your amusement park, Sipping your champagne, your fancy fangled drink. You pursue like a beast anothers body, its vile heat, As you casually go With every handsome one you meet, Feeding your selfish, miasmic strife

By paying some vixen, some lothario, Throughout the precious trial of this life: Men and women equally so! Inebriated with the wines of this world, Which has captured you whole, Your destiny and past shall be unfurled Like a book of horror, with open pages. No academic logistics, No scientific sages, No university mystics, No dire, despairing outburst, No matter how loud, primeval or bold Can absolve your envy, your hatred, your lust, Your thievery, the ill-gotten gold Of your moonlit, malevolent, starry heist Which you stole to erect a narcissistic bust. Nothing can help you beyond the grave.

Those crazy Christian preachers, talking about Christ,

Screaming from podiums day and night About the importance of how only He can save, Whether you like it or not, were right!

Jew, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, atheist or other, When the cemetery mounds Are staring at you like hungry, hateful, waiting hounds Will you not need a savior?A God who is a brother?

And yes, alas, indeed, indeed, Love itself was crucified Upon a tree, many years ago. A very good man lived only for others, and with God within Him, he died; Verily he suffered your every agony, while fulfilling your every need. His blood in a stream towards the saline, thirsty sea

For you and me did joyfully flow And yes, alas, indeed, indeed, Love itself was crucified Upon a tree, many years ago.

MY BRIDE

I am in reality from beyond the grave. I rove among the cool, green fields Where grasses autumn breezes lave, Living for the potions a fall day yields.

I care not for the changing time of year. I know nothing of pain, confusion or fear. White billows race above the vast, dappled grove,

The courtyard and the manor, the lagoon and the cove.

I await my bride in a black, ornate carriage, In the center of the spacious square. She arrives with the sable look of marriage, In her dusky eyes, in her raven hair.

We wander to the wild glades, In the swirling gusts of Octobers air, Kissing in the dusk of mahogany shades, Of ardors eternal, of passions fair.

THE BOWERS

An archway of roses

That leads to the bowers Redolently discloses Scents of the flowers.

The immaculate ever-present light Of the eternal, infinite, beatific sight Is wherever we gaze On our romantic walks. Through the meadows Which amaze, Where our silent talks Take place on furrows Of yellow stalks, Where the honeyed breezes graze Through the garden and the square, Where your mane and its glaze Of raven, rosy hair Accentuates the black brows of your eyes, And your sunny, sable lashes,

You ravish me as vines do, climbing to the skies Of our bastion by the sea, Around the window sashes.

And all the fields in their resplendency With their carmine blooms blushing By the silver brook, singing, sighing, rushing Are but perfumed sanctuaries to profess our love, Beneath the cloudless, star-bejeweled heights Which bless us from above, Fulfilling our dreams, As the courtyard gleams Come the mountainous nights.

YOU WORE A RUFFLED, SNOWY DRESS

You wore a ruffled, snowy dress, And the cool September breeze Serenaded your every tress With songs of sacred ecstasies.

The fountains and the courtyard below Glittered like diamonds where a brook did flow, As I kissed you on a terrace of white, Beneath towers aglow In the autumn light.

Later we roved among bowers in the night, And a lovely refrain, wedded with the rain Brought raptures from the skies above. We walked upon furrows of sallow grain, Dappled with roses, quivering with dew. Then in the fields we confessed our love, And all I knew was in the world was you.

SCARLET BREEZES

Scarlet breezes swirl through the square, Beckoning us to come In bright, elysian fare. A cello and a drum, Clarinets and trumpets Arise and stir and glitter in the fountain, Around your sable ringlets In the cloister on the mountain.

There are diamond drops of rain In your long and raven, perfumed mane. Let us wander to the amorous refrain Of violins by the ivory colonnade.

And there in the somnolent, redolent shade I shall take your fair, white hand, As we rove among the blooms, In the garden by the ocean, Reveling in deep emotion Beneath our gilded palace, And its grand, palatial rooms.

And I shall kiss your lovely face, In a state of imperial, gracious grace, To the chime of harps and wedding strains Which will emanate from daisies, dahlias and the breeze, From the chapels by the rustic lanes, Beneath the golden linden trees.

TO ONE IN HEAVEN Must I live in loneliness at such a price? I have seen her there again In paradise. Amid glorious streams, She consumes my dreams As I behold her walking beneath diamond beams, In radiant gardens of silver and gold Where all is new, where naught is old. Her hair is long, straight and black, There angels praise the beauty of her face, Her fair, soft back, And her eyes of grace.

And all my days are misty hours Of longing sighs and mystic showers, Rising to where fountains bend As my cries ascend

To those heavenly bowers.