I’m crowing for you

Morning is prying at my eyelids,
a nagging beggar demanding my attention.
It’s begging bowl, gray clouds scudding,
held in the palm of a chilly autumn wind,
the rim loudly banging on the front door.
Somewhere a rooster has offered a raspy croak,
a half hearted frosted cockle-doodle-do,
not a pleasant outlook for dawn’s events.
You are buried in the down and cotton covers,
a brick wall plastered with blankets.
I feeling a prospective male conjugal urge,
The rooster rules the rooster’s, roust.
There is a barnyard hierarchy, pecking order,
one’s order deduced by the clucking hens.
The mares nips chasing the stud away.
Sows nudge the boar from the trough.
The bull levies his interest subtly,
modulated to the cows seasonal expectation.
You are not that tolerant, judgmental,
you are a woman ruled by the unknown.
I, a furnace of heat, you a chasm of ice,
would that you could thaw, melt into me,
then, awaken to my, full throated cockle-doodle-do.

©2020, Donald Harbour

There it is

There it is, that moment,
That gut felt knot, a pause,
Neither person speaks, then,
You think: “I feel so wooden”,
Dancing violates private space,
You both strain to be held,
But, there it is, uncomfortable,
A suppressed panic attack rises,
The dance floor a grassy plain,
Tugging at your feet, entangling,
No more gliding step, stumbling,
Arms, legs, every joint, hinged,
A tenuous relationship, splintered,
Your emotionless faces, blank,
Carved representations of dance,
Yet, there is something in touch,
A gentle palm resting on the back,
A brush of chest to chest,
A skirted thigh caressing thigh,
Cheeks that bear a slight blush,
Quickened breathing, parted lips,
Body heat mixing aftershave, perfume,
In an instant, its just you two,
You both know, you feel, together,
Neither person speaks, then,
That burning sense, pleasure,
There it is, that beginning moment,
Love.

©2019, Donald Harbour

Damned to live

It is oh, so subtle,
No remark, no words said,
A slight shifting of the eyes,
A movement of the shoulders,
An unfinished breathe,
These slight adjustments change us.
I know you, I can see you,
I am drawn into your aura,
A quirk of conversation,
The words drift aimlessly.
No connection to the moment,
It is miss direction, a slight of hand,
This is all a magic show, nothing,
Nothing in our future,
Will over come this passing.
The bond between becomes broken,
Memories crumble,
They are foundations built on sand,
Yet you persist,
Always the fanatical true believer,
And I, a skeptic lover knowing that,
I am damned to live in your lies.

©2018, Donald C. Harbour

Humpty Dumpty

Woman, you pierce me,
with your knitting needles,
of contradiction ,
I have become  a grief stained,
papyrus sheet, tear washed,
Ancient, old, worn,
weathered by, your brilliance,
There is no succor that,
can heal my proffered soul,
The foundation of creation
has weakened under,
the weight of your love,
That is a burden,
you have chained,
upon my back, my heart,
I will not laugh,
at your choices,
because I am one of them,
How telling is the reflection,
in your fun house mirrors,
The fractured, shattered,
splinters of its glass,
your conscience,
I would want to help you mend,
your broken pieces together,
But, like Humpty Dumpty,
the evil in you can never,
ever, be put together again.

©2015, Donald Harbour

Post Script: My darlin’ wife Luscious wanted everyone to know this was not about her (or else), it is an observation of relationships gone awry. ~ Donald Harbour

An episodic moment

I saw a girl with rosy red cheeks,
her delight was in her innocents,
indeed a rare quality in women,
seeing her was a dun upon my soul,
a demand seeking my inner pillars,
sounding the depths of my passion,
she was white light, pure as linen,
the sun paled in her presence,
birds hushed at the sound of her voice,
fallow ground blossomed where she walked,
I know that time separates us forever,
my mind reeks with the desire of her smile,
how can I compare her to life’s reality,
she is only a vision, a dream in my head,
an episodic moment in life’s pattern,
that is what haunts me, pulls at me,
evades my days, nights, my search,
unfulfilled, unsatisfied, lost.

©2014, Donald Harbour

What will you give

I am not ready, not ready,
I do not want to grow up,
I do not want to become a lemming,
in this playful existence I ask,
why do we rush to that cliff,
the abyss of no return,
living in the shadow of life,
only a ghost of what we could be,
fearing the dark beyond life’s walls,
making excuses for mortality,
seeking immortality in myth,
life is how the sun feels on skin,
life how the snow feels on your tongue,
a gentle breeze in loves hair,
the caress of a baby’s touch,
the sweet smell of a puppy,
the small things that touch you,
what will give you eyes,
where will you find it, where
will life rear its head and kiss you,
will life hear your final thought
into whose arms will your spirit return,
life is so precious, so unappreciated,
what lives will life merge with yours,
and, what will you give back, what?

2014, Donald Harbour

Anticipation

A poem in the form of a Japanese Tanka.

Grey marbled clouds
rolling across the sky,
on the earth below
life awaits a moist kiss
from nature’s pursed lips.

©2012, Donald Harbour

Morning dreams

in a sequence of sensations,
so short-lived, so fleeting,
there is a transient moment,
a haunting reluctance of reality,
an evanescent tug at reason,
a brief, joyous, vision of insanity,
lifting one into an unimaginable scape,
there in a fleeting dream, I saw you,
and knew, that I floated above,
as a clouded ceiling fills the sky,
I felt, omnipotent, limitless,
your outstretched form, below,
stirred, as a butterfly released,
you fluttered into this reverie,
and, captured by the magic
of a shared dream, sparkling,
warm with desire’s hunger,
rising, from the tangled sheets,
on tip toes, reaching toward me ,
then, placing your moist red lips,
on my skin, pressing them gently,
searing my flesh with a biting caress,
the ephemeral became, morning love.

©2012, Donald Harbour

What would you give

what would you give
for that one last kiss,
before you turned away?

what would you give
for true love calling,
comeback to me, stay?

what would you give
for one more chance,
for just one more day?

what would you give
for that lost moment,
the one you tossed away?

©2011, Donald Harbour

This single kiss

He tenderly kissed her lips,
Then moved along his way.
A vagabond of the moment
His habit was not to stay.

She quivered ever so slightly,
Responding to the passing bliss.
His seed planted deep with in her,
Given gently in a single kiss.

Other lips awaited anxiously,
Beckoning from each lady fair.
On to the next budding beauty,
The Bumblebee coursed the air.

Ungainly little insect,
How the flowers love you near.
Hanging from your stubby wings,
Impossible flight you dare.

No honey is placed in your nest,
As your smaller cousins do.
But life you spread equally,
Each spring as the world renews.

Is it possible that you alone,
Are there to show us how?
With bands of black and yellow,
And pollen upon your brow.

It is not so much the beauty
Of your skill or grace or charm.
But that you know your one lone task,
Each year to tirelessly perform.

In watching you about your work,
It comes to this human mind,
That a lesson can be learned from you,
Which would benefit all mankind.

Like you each of us must work at life,
Some earn, some steal, some pay.
What if we all put back as much,
As that for which we took away?

By sweat of hand or thoughtful deed,
We all were pleasured to give,
So that the great and little lives,
In all nature might be helped to live.

From ant to flower – sea to earth,
From one creature to mighty herd.
Mankind and beast could live,
In peaceful harmony by but a word.

As you kiss the upturned lips,
Suspend in wondrous flight above,
Your kiss an expression of the word,
It is known as Mother Nature’s, love.

© 2011, Donald Harbour