Tag: Time

“Winter Interim of the Heart”

by Eugene Dudarev
There is a winter interim of the heart
when a million white butterflies descend
from ripened cocoons in the sky,
soundless wings flutter,
cluster into spools of wool
for the weaving loom.

Surrounded by the starkness of white
you search for rainbow colors
only to find an empty, outstretched
canvas upon the easel,
an artist’s paintbrush, a pail of gesso,
your naked hands.

There is a winter interim of the heart,
a jagged juncture of time when you discard
easel and paintbrush,
for the weaving of wool,
the molding of sculptures
steadfast in the evanescent snow.

by D. G. Vachal © 2014

*** Photography by Eugene Dudarev

“Once Before”

Reflect by Mikhail Tkachev
I stood here once before
on this waltzing floor
deserted by the petals —

upon the frockless windows
zirconias congregate in constellation
patterns,
beyond the glass the skeletal
boughs bend
with the watchet wind.

the balance sheet bleeds white
as yesterday’s snow,  air-crisp
against the seeping eastern light —

reluctant legs lunge
from the starting line
once again.

D. G. Vachal © 2014

*** Photography: Reflect by Mikhail Tkachev

“November the Penultimate”


November the Penultimate

Never was a month so motley in its days:
November, penultimate month
of a year that frames the seasons,
when the leaves in early days
turn to brightest garnet,
a blazing topaz,
illuminated gold —

The latter days come
with the fire of the winds,
and the burning leaves take the plunge
from infernal towers of the branches
to the burial grounds of a gun-
metal, brumal earth —

November, November,
calves ache from the marathon,
hearts pound the door
to another December

When holly berries huddle upon the petals
of the soft-spoken snow,
and the fallen leaves breathe again
at the sound of the carols of the children,
the children rejoicing.

D. G. Vachal © 2013

Photography Credit: November’s Decline by Bucaneve

“Twilight and White Linen”


Twilight and White Linen

Here we are and time
forsaken
when I found you —

latitudes of faces,
provinces
of eyelids and shoulders,
verdant archipelago
sculptured in sapphire
oceans,
the orbital fruit dangles,
suspended
from its ripening —

Twilight and white linen
stoke the hunger —

I slice zucchini
into cylinders,
slender wedges,
peppers into strips
of scarlet,
toss the cuttings
into volcanic oils of olive,
aromatic sesame —

the meat is warm
for the tasting,
pearls of rice turn amber
from the fragrant
spices —

here we are
and time.

by D. G. Vachal © 2013

*** Image by Rob Espierre