She’s the graceful dancer, smiling with her eyes,
and always, always moving in a beautiful way.
There seem to be bells around her ankles and stars at her fingertips
(but it’s just bangles and the wind in her hair as she cartwheels, and she brings the water flowing in wide rivers from Africa)
Dark purple flowers seem to be growing on her path,
and lush green moss on sturdy trees lining her way.
There are glossy beetles and singing cicadas following her steps
(maybe it’s just colourful fabrics and musical laughter, and she’s the calm before the storm in tall blades of grass on the riverbank)
In her hands and eyes blackberries might be growing,
ripe from summer sun and providing joy to children dancing in the autumn rain,
she’s rich fresh bread and the bittersweet fragrance of dark chocolate
(or perhaps it’s just giving her love to the hope of a better world, and she’s the woolen blanket to wintery souls)
Another poetry portrait, I hope you enjoy it.
If someone asked me about your colours I’d answer that your surface, the part of your soul you show, is warm dry brown and cotton white and all the shades between,
but beneath these autumn fire
and Prussian blue of evening skies turning soft summer nights to early winter
(I know because these are the only colours I can paint you in, even though I can’t truly see beyond the earth and the cotton)
Akin to a dry leaf whirling in late autumn breezes
fast pace in slow motion
quick and precise but never rash, never hasty, always seeming to move slower and steadier than reality,
not out of time but somehow inhabiting a different stream of time, a sphere of gentle tides washing to your shores and from your heart
(I believe there is clear water running around you, even though I can’t see the rivulets)
Peaceful, serene, like a pebble smoothed in cold, fresh streams, cool and solid to the touch,
and yet encapsulated in it all the joy of sunshine,
raw like distilled rays of ancient star-fire and oriental amber on smouldering coals, carefully tamed and kept in your pocket, safely tucked away,
but still it radiates from your fingertips
(I think everybody feels it in the touch of your hand, because in the beginning the friendly energy felt overpowering like sitting open-eyed in front of a fireside as a child)
If you want to see this without random line breaks, please follow the link to my DeviantArt page http://kayanya.deviantart.com/art/fast-pace-in-slow-motion-487325203.
As I promised I tried to get closer to my old style with this poetry portrait. At least one or two will follow soon, but I have scribbled notes for three and plan to do four. Some will be written as if directed to the person, others in 3rd person narration.