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.

[Sami Khalil]

"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."
Mr. Simm : The whole poem is beautiful and romantic and those lines that I picked are my favorites . Very nice words and imagery...:)

[Ken Simm.]

I hope she who it was written for finds as much in it Sami as you did. Thank you my friend.

[Sami Khalil]

My pleasure...We can hope...:)

[Leslie Philibert]

Ken has done something very clever here, with the spaces ( not a running text) he has created a prose poem that concentrates the reader on the single lines,makes the images at the same time ( this probably sounds strange, but that`s what I notice) combine and separate at the same time. A clever literary usage, especially with such good imagery. Fine work !

[Ken Simm.]

This may sound as if I'm showing off but I'm glad it worked. I will say I probably intended something like that but I probably didn't. Thanks so much my mate.