Love Letters to Dr. Franz Kafka: Poema I, Poema II, Poema III

Love Letters to Dr. Franz Kafka

Poema I, Poema II, Poema III 
(in review)

 " Love Letters to Dr. Franz Kafka: EnSuite "

July 2015 (first seen in July entry, 2015... from "Fragments frayed to newly woven")

 the Kafka love letters move around)

sexiest act I Dream he'd perform upon me:
 He'd Read to me, a Literary Classic,
 perhaps a lost Poem by eternal Sappho 

 (that Steamy July Night, 2012)

 *~* here lay a tiny exercise:

       I showed you the exact Words which flowed as they flowed ....

pre corrections...
           I continue to polish this beloved piece, as I feel happy within its Telling:
            

!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Poema I

Here, Dear Reader:

(I was visiting the meadow's Mind after Kafka stung me;

Eudora* rocked me in her arms);

Theda's wicked wanton lips tickled King T's twice-chewed ear;

she Gifted him his Jeweled years to play anew;

whilst watching this regal show, so privileged, I;

my pen a-rose; she flew across the room;

incredulity aside, I thought I ought to tell you...   :

.... hide inside the billowy Poem's walls ....

Seek comfort in her Poem’s steamy,
 BloodRich, Moon-mouthed chambres

~~~~~~~

the invisible woman blushes;

for the length and space of an elvin breath;

her mind projects faery-hued purple orchestrations

to dance symphonic colours all over the King's walls...

~~~~

angelic grace, a mid-Moon's face,

a song his Heart hath twice remembered eighteen thousand years from now;

all suddenly flame his grief-torn, solemn Soul;

his Ego steps, shy, gingerly aside -

the Tortoise King lumbers up to the silent princess;

he pretends two strong legs can move his body;

at once he climbs astride his Lady;

Finally, the King’s ride arrives...

Sans cease; 

 Dark, and Silence -

 Borne:

Night's ivory mares raise regal heads;

their eyes flash joy to know their King shall ride anew

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**more than one Muse o'mine animated these Poems:

 Dr. Franz Kafka, who haunts and Inspires me!

For Mr. Arthur Phillips, Author, Friend...
Thank You for Writing, unlike any other Word-Worker; 
Thou Art Magical Inspiration

http://www.arthurphillips.info/

 Eudora Welty spoke to me a bit as the above, 
Poema I, fell thru my fingers 
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eudora_Welty

& more, of course~

*every* piece of Poetry I allow to sail or trundle its way through me,

 I hereby dedicate to my beloved husband and SoulMate, Robin Taylor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Friday, November 16, 2012

Love letters to Dr. Franz Kafka...

I shall be adding to these. The Words will come from various places.

I have an urge to go another way with Time...
This Time
( ToDay is August 16, 2014, as measured by some)

& somehow, Inspired by Robin Williams,
I wonder if Robin Williams liked Kafka. Somehow, I imagine the answer is "yes" -
I like to Dream so...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kafka has me captive on his DreamCloud.
Thick black smoke surrounds, but harms us not.

Before he stole me from the Party,
He shrouded us in cloaking-bubble blankets.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(I keep finding Kafka in my Writings. He awaits me here, but
most of the Time,
he lies, bones and muscles, soft, yet strong,-
He be long curved angles all over the pages,
He sweeps circles over the covers, -
my purple - covered,
  spiral- boundless notebooks.
His notebooks astound me; their aromas intoxicate me
so I nearly lose my breath. I grow lost inside his dawning Evening shadows.
Notebooks feel more sacred as Night claims lazyDusk;
as we ascend, we carry upon our backs
satchels-full of Books, pens, papers of every material and size known to Humans;
the load should be burdensome, cumbersome,
yet I feel featherLight, wave hello to whistling sparrows

Dr. Franz' papers are ephemeral, ethereal...
As he moves us across Night's Deep-Eyed Sky, 
ancient papyrus rustles on affable breezes,
a stylus scratches early Stones;
I see heiroglyphs in chisel.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dr. Franz gifted me a special sack in which to place my notebooks and my pens,
my Crystal blues hide beneath a tiny, invisible Door, much like a CatFlap,    but
more like a mouse-hidey-hole
no pen need ever live alone again, without a hand to warm its holy blood
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

8 September , 2013

Franz' hands; his fingers: long, soft brown; 

his face of purest, delicate Moon - Wolf;

his angled shapes illuminate and round my empty cave;

my long-lost graven Snow-drifts, 
dipped in these Days' solemn honeyed-hopes...

Full now, with dreams; 

my softened screams;

I thank thee, curtsy; 

so clumsy am I to thee, lost

Prince...

Rich with his diamonds I'm stranded here whilst in & out he fades
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(more)

movimientos: I

purple bubbled "p" pops; tis letter number three in

 "sip your drink, mate .... "

.everything shrilly slants once again,

trill me over

on my back, Franz;

"Oooooh, yes, my Sire!!

Much like that!!

more PLEASE!!

I feel me slipping...falling---

pity, as 

Purple stands Royal,

like that Creature in your glass .... 

ERECT

bu

purple letters create too much noise...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Movements II : consoling Violets

Limbo'ed Raven-Folk reside in card-hotels;

those who do not fear.

those who do not dare to fear-

they visit -

we kiss them through a

 tiny violet window in the grove -

candles flicker, blaze the orchard;

our card-hotel sign screams, "Open"

Violet whistles, whilst forced to see

these purple letters,

 follow me -

I must console my desperate friend -

(I drop her into your glass again)

now breathe....breathe  -

We will pretend our bravest selves

to visit where the Ravens flow in

Violet's Rivers,

beside those card-hotels who stole her name -

I think she'll dream upon reprieve -

but

Will she dream a new return?

.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Intermezzo (in a bug-pub)

a "bug-pub is a solution for those who cannot stop the Meta morphoses

"you've poured more than a solo query to the (very ugly) bug," declared

two tense-worthy Causers who live in black shoes;

heir stiletto heels in a bunch: (our profound "pretty ponds")

afloat with plasticine piles, protruding beetles

climbing, creeping throughk thick-furred, sticky Night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

movements III  "tormenting Violets"

the kafka bug, he be a bloated - bellied guy –

He rolls round toward her purple door.

"I love the sound of the Word,

"Violet," he oozes,

his wirey hair askew,

a silent whirring wind

we cannot see

all our worlds askew at once

all our Words cyclone, torment Violets,

pass, whistling, through each other's rounds -

May we catch them, ball their electric dream hair into sense,

heal Violet's insomnia?

magenta dustballs rise like lies

afloating round his head as he eats exits.
  
© CherylFaith Taylor,  2015