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

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Wood envy

Before me an ancient table,
a lustrous finished piece of wood,
the surface slightly marred,
dull in spots, yet having
a depth that seems translucent
encasing waves of flowing hair.

There is love and character
in each twist of its grain,
years of stories written
in multicolored age rings,
what volumes are there, if
only one could read them.

A master gifted by time,
handled and buffed this wood
until, its surface was mirrored
to a sheen that reflects back
each transfixed soul gazing upon it,
marveling at its golden warmth.

With all my heart I do adore
and envy you for you will be lost,
I weathered and twisted by age,
will loose grasp of your touch
and, you will seek to be treasured,
capturing another admiring lover.

©2014, Donald Harbour

Push back the night

The first line of this poem inspired by the last line of a previous sonnet “Thou Art a Strumpet Fair”.

*************************************

Thy kiss to seal heart’s dalliance there,
Oh maiden with locks of golden hair.
Where first your want, thus did I espy,
Within the depths of thine violet eyes,
Canst thou not be charmed nor pleased
As flowers kissed by a summer breeze;
Where heady nectar drips from crimson lips
That only a honey bee of love dares to sip?
Thus stung as a dagger pierce’th mine heart
With an enchanted poison pointed Cupid dart.
Lay down I now in death’s shallow musty grave,
A broken ragged beggarly tarnished knave.
Mine blood gone cold didst cease to flow
While thy cheeks burned with a passion glow.
Bring back my soul from this bottomless abyss
Push back the night with  thy lover’s kiss.

© 2010, Donald Harbour

If I could but…

If I could but write,
the way your life is written.
If I could give salvation,
to a lost soul needing saving.
If I could feel the warmth,
again of past lover’s gentle kiss.
If I could sustain a springs,
forever waves of perfumed flowers.
If I could hear the first chirp,
of every newborn hungry chick.
If I could taste the salt,
of every shed pain filled tear.
If I could reach out a hand,
calming the aching void of loneliness.
If I could turn back the clock,
removing all traces of aged lines.
If I could hold your heart,
aloft in a glowing bubble of love.
If I could, if I tried,
I would find it all in your smile.

Copyright: 2009, Donald Harbour