A Covering of Linen.

Someone.

The Sun through green is a spark through hope. A bending wind through trees is a sad cello bowing across a heart alone.

A turning and forming flight of small iridescent birds across the setting sun finds itself in the shapes and forms of the music of the spheres. Come to rest in a single heart, content.

A lonely voice singing uncaring in the wildness of a dark speck hunting high. I cry all for you in such music.

The dreams of an ancient tree leaning into its final season. Its slow world ending in vast epoch memory.

Song born blossom casting around your hair blowing in the wind of a sudden summer storm.

The mathematical percussion of rain on the driest ground thirsting. The beat of a single wing.

A curve of a pearled shell, a brief touch of skin allowed.

One word, to catch the dark water of a mountain falling. The tear of a child.

The glancing grace of a lover. You speaking.

 Warmth in an eye looking.

The riding of a chestnut mare over the rolling downs of your land.

Your breast rising and falling with the breath of me. A note rising in perfect pitch.

A strata of the deepest history found illuminating an old world consumed with dark arias.

The perfection of limbs entwined. The mathematics of a caress, brief and yielding.

A perfect reflection of trees. The song of an old man loved.

A secret manuscript, ancient songs on aged and yellowed parchment.

An insect and a perfect flower.

A covering of white linen.

The vibration of the world and its harmony in coloured composition.

Friends talking and your lovers kiss into a night of dreams.

Writing my words and your body glistening under my hand.

The numbers of your life and meeting forever.

A final rest and you speaking my words.

Musica universalis

Content.

Author's Note

Musica Univesalis is the Music of the Spheres. The inaudible music of Pythagorean mathematics.
The photograph is mine and part of a series called The Mathematics of Shape.

Reviews

[Marie Anzalone]

and now, you have me considering the fractal geometry of lovemaking. The physical arc of horseback riding (bareback of course) as the stallion gallops with my thighs wrapped around him; the comparison to the undulating motion when I last rode a lover in mid-afternoon abandon. Lovely, lovely images; breathtaking coursing. This poem, to me, moves in breaks and starts- its motion is not contained, but rather it takes breaks, pauses to wipe a strand of hair from a lover's eye, caress their face, before rocking them again onto another cresting wave and holding them while they tremble. Sublime.

[Ken Simm.]

Do you ride Marie?. I'm glad you enjoy this. I lost my mare two years ago but I am now training her son.

[Marie Anzalone]

I do ride. I have a brief story to share. When we were 12 years old, we were asked to picture our future, and draw it. I was an unusual child- I drew myself living in a cabin on top of a mountain, working as a veterinarian and riding my horse to work. Flash forward to age 28, as a Peace Corps volunteer in rural Guatemla- living 11,000' on top of a mountain, in a small 12x20' adobe hut, working as a field vet, and riding my little bay stallion to work. :-) How many people ever do that? Alas as he recovered his strength under my care, he became feisty and I had to geld him. I bring that story out on blind dates that go bad, in order to ensure that I never hear from the gent again...

That legacy you have must be amazing, Ken.

[Ken Simm.]

So you have told me that so I will bother you no more? I see, I get the picture, in the words of the immortal John Cleese. Smirk.

[Marie Anzalone]

did not know you were making me an offer, my friend? In that case, retract the story, unhear it, and make me an offer a gal cannot refuse. ;-)

[Ken Simm.]

Ah tempting Marie but I'm afraid I'm spoken for. In the words of the immortal Groucho; Those are my principles I'm afraid. If you don't like them, well I have others.

[Marie Anzalone]

No worries- I can handle the distance thing but England to Central America might be just a tad excessive anyway. She is a lucky lady to have you, though. My possibilities seem to be limited to the married male taxi driver population of a large Guatemalan city. One day, I will write a poem about Latinos- I am convinced, after 12 years of working with/ for them, that they warrant their own genus and species.

[barleygirl]

This photo is stunning! Definitely has taken top spot as my favorites of yours so far! *smile* All my life, I’ve tried to teach myself to be more observant, in order to be a better writer. Otherwise I whoosh thru life without paying attention. This poem is the culmination, to my way of thinking, of a life spent as a naturally keen observer of everything which abounds in life. I don’t think I notice this much detail in a month! I’m always in awe of the things you pick up on during your forays of living (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Ken Simm.]

You are too kind Margie. Many, many thanks. I'm glad you liked it.

[Valentine]

So many beautiful lines that all could be built into a write of their own. Valentine

[Ken Simm.]

Thank you so much Kathie. I'm glad you liked it.

[andrew mitchell]

This read like viewing nature through nature's own orchestra, such splendid imagery so reminiscent of an english countryside and the white linen for me suggested the writer was looking through the bedroom window observing, listening.excellent work, bravo ken bravo.

[Ken Simm.]

It was English countryside then Andrew. Now its Scottish. Thank you so much my friend.

[Kelly Scheppers]

Every word and nuance gives definition to being palpable. It's like feeling the presence of someone long after they have left a room. It simply lingers with you, long after reading it.

[Ken Simm.]

I'm glad you feel that Kelly. It shows that I achieved what I wanted. Thank you for so many insights.

[Kelly Scheppers]

My pleasure, Ken!

[LJW]

"The song of an old man loved"
"You speaking"

These are the words that transcend science or reason.

These are the words that escape the learned man's mouth; fall the softest on the page.

My favorite of yours so far.

[Ken Simm.]

I'm so sorry for the late reply my friend. I lost this somewhere up a mountain in Scotland. All I can say is forgive me and thank you so much.

[LJW]

You must have been a yak in a previous life. No apologies necessary. Ever.

[Ken Simm.]

I am searching for something in this painting that is missing, but pardon me, I can't find it.... so thrilling. The mesos, is most central, as you paint and see with words beyond Ken.

- Elisa

[Ken Simm.]

Thank you Elisa. I am thrilled you are trawling through my work. And that you see so much in it.

The pleasure is all mine, good writer/poet, and friend! can't wait for the next one... keeping up in chronological order where I left you ;) but you noticed for sure. For you see all ;)

[TL Boehm]

Every single line in this spirals off into its own vivid beauty - I could settle on any line - and just stay there in that picture.

[Ken Simm.]

You are quite welcome to choose the one you want. Thank you my friend.

[gombeggar]

some very fine phrases and wordings here

[Ken Simm.]

Thank you.

[Mike Emil]

like some of this; i do
but not enough sasquatch or oil and tonics
i'm sure there's not enough saki
HAI!!!

[Ken Simm.]

Thank you for looking Mike.