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Poems By Dwaine Estes

HER GREEN EYES

Her green eyes

Pin him down
Like a bird with a bug. He squirms under her inspection.

Her green eyes

Pierce his brain
Like a laser piercing space. He is breathless from her perception.

Her green eyes

Wash his soul
Like a gentle cleansing rain. He bathes in her reception.

ONLY THE GRASS

A body has bled

Its last drop on the field.
Cut down in prime It will never feel
A baby's soft skin. It will never see
The northern lights. It will never watch a tree
Go from acorn to ruinous age.

The machine gun beside it

Will rust.
The uniform upon it Will rot.
Only the grass Growing between its fingers
Remains.

MY CHAGRINE

Spirit battered and beaten

Lifeblows bloodied her soul
She fled to my arms Body heaving
Tears anointing my shirt with salty sorrow.

I told her

I'd hold her
Let her cry Til she need cry no more.

To my chagrine

This just made her cry again.

AN UNREMARKABLE MAN

Dedicated to All the Women I Have Come to Love

His stroll in the mall

Barely ripples the beauteous forms
Pooling there. Glances dismissive and unaffected
Skip off him Like stones skimming on a pond.

His barbaric yawp inspires not one soul,

Fires no breast with passion,
Heats no heart with love.

And so each dismissive glance,

Each imaginary slight
Is a tiny tear In the jagged wound
Of his invisibility.

BUT

(And here's the real rub),
HER searching fingers, HER smiling eyes,
HER healing lips Sop his pain,
Like a surgeon's sponge. And so he CAN be seen
After all.

THE PAGAN

The spirit of Poem

Dwells in my shell.
He taps to get out In my distress and woe.
When love weeps I can feel his longing
To break out and sweep Her into his arms.

At times a benevolent wisp,

When unleashed
He takes my fingers And pours out my soul
Through the pen. I love him.
Though at times I must reign in His passion
Or he'll overpower me And I'll be lost.

And when the plucking fingers

Of love
Slowly unveil his cell, He surges against the bars
Clamoring for release! Keeping me awake
With his constant howl! He cares nothing for my conventions,
Snaps his fingers under my nose! He is a pagan
Lost in his lust!

And when I contain him

He crouches and sulks,
Letting me write No good thing.
And he laughs At my fumbling fingers.

ULURU

Embedded in the heart of man

Like Uluru--
Gargantuan, Immovable,
Sacred-- The yearning to be free.

Looming in the heart of man,

Like Uluru--
Gigantic, Immortal,
Sublime-- The ache for love.

MOUNTAIN GIRL

Sweeping down my mountainside

Like a gentle wind
That ruffles the heathers, She touches my heart.
Strolling through my flowered fields Delicate fingers touching me
Here and there, Like sun on the grass,
She grazes my soul. Sitting near my gentle pond
Swirling the waters In endless patterns of love
She bathes in my spirit: My lovely mountain girl.

THE SUN

The sun is a golden lover

The rays his fingers dancing
On her heated flesh. She embraces his warmth
Holding him forever in her arms, Kissing his lips with passion
Hot enough to rival his own. And though at times his ardor
May dip below the horizon Still he comes again--
Another day of love and passion.

HER PASSION

Her passion is a desert storm

Lashing, pelting
Suddenly flooding the lowest Most desolate places.
Yet in passing reviving The glorious colors
Of a barren land.

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Email: rdwaine@hotmail.com