The song still plays

there is a violin playing
like a desolate dove cooing
feather ruffled beckoning
it is the quivering voice
of an inner emotion
the wrist held too tight
choking the flow of melody
a long lonely echo filtered
through the song of spring
the scent of the chord
plucks at the mind causing
remembrance of smiling lips
pursed to blow a gentle breath
upon my flushed cheeks
a sweet orchid moment of love
the days gone to our youth
while the symphony still plays
it is no longer our libretto
change is the rhythm of time
we have become its constants
metered ticks of life’s metronome

©2012, Donald Harbour

Remembering Wanda Hawley

Wanda Hawley, 1920, silent movie star. You are remembered.

Blue Wanda, you are nectar,
That sweet cusp of desire,
You, tucked in violet petals,
Perched upon a delicate stem,
Rooted in Hollywood’s vermicelli,
You waited for the sting of love,
Thirsted for that drop of dew,
Quivering in life’s passing breeze,
Blue Wanda you captivate the heart,
Posed only in a fading still photo.
Born in the soil of Bacchus,
You soften our existence,
Your twin star yet shines in bloom.

©2011, Donald Harbour