‘Wanting & Waiting’ is up @ Untitled With Passengers here. Many thanks to Matthew Bevington.
Also wrote on desire and it can be found at Yareah Magazine.
Tag Archives: love
Kiowa Song
Kiowa Song
I was taught to hold my tongue,
not show my emotions.
My wife is a Queen
to treasure and protect,
at all cost to keep happy.
Shower her with love and gifts
no matter what it is.
Sorry sweetheart that’s a Kiowa man
Now let me say this….
When your man asks what you like,
you’re supposed to say what you like.
It is an insult to him when you don’t.
Its part of the taking care,
making her happy.
Part of the relationship.
The husband agreement.
I will never fall away from you.
I will love you until I die.
You will be what I see and think of when I take my last breath.
I saw you in a dream,
I did not touch you.
I felt your heartbeat and we were one.
You are what makes me live.
My heart, the blood that flows through my veins,
the air I breathe.
You are so beautiful.
That’s what I am going to say now….
I promise to cherish and worship you first.
Then I will love you forever ever and ever and ever
until infinity stops. Infinity doesn’t stop.
That’s going to be my love for you.
© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved
This is most closely a translation from the original. It is also a compilation from personal letters.
___________________________
Tomorrow
(an Osage song)
I will forget
The sound of your voice
As you read to me,
The tightness and the way it catches
When you laugh hard.
That thick slur on your tongue when you drink,
Telling me you will love me forever.
Making me tell you again and again
That I am your wife.
That I would have your babies.
I cut my hair off in mourning.
© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved
4 Pieces
My Favorite Home – Yareah Magazine
My Favorite home, Yareah Magazine is running a couple of pieces of mine, with two more later in the week. Thank you Isabel!! You may read my poems here.
That Night
That night
Together
In quietude
We saw the moon
Rise slowly above the lake
Paving stones on path
Worn smooth
With secret walking
Waterlilies edging water
© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved
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Mourning Figure
A mourning figure walks alone
his heart wont let him rest,
it seems he held just yesterday
the one his heart loved best.
He walked the wide world searching
time drew on he was worn numb.
Tried everything to draw her back
his love, she would not come.
She was not here, nor was she there
But lingered somewhere in between;
Lost in a tangled web of memories
haunted by the things she’d been.
It’s the way love binds a broken soul,
our dreams so slow to bleed.
It’s the way his scars will never heal
and no one but her could fill the need.
© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved
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Rain Falls
Whenever rain falls
On a wind swept desert
It is like the coolness
Of dreaming in
A blue green shade
Rivers of sacred mud
Bring the dead
To life once more
Like a sudden downpour
You startle me
From distractions
Of grazing sheep
Lingering like
Lovely ladies
In flowing shawls
On their lips are stars
With tongues like rainbows
In the rumble of thunder
I remember the way
You moved inside me
Your fingerprints here
Footprints there
Before the wetness
Washed it all away
© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved
Indian Country Today
Indian Country Today is running one of my poems in honor of National Poetry Month. They are showcasing many talented people you would really enjoy reading. I will have another poem or two as the month progresses. Special thanks to Josh Robertson for asking me to participate.
(this particular poem will also appear in the printed version for subscribers)
________________________________
In My Verse- New Poem
Bed Yourself In My Verse
I love the way
you bed yourself
in my verse
making each song
one about you.
Earth’s sweet perfume
fragrant on night air,
your memory
the breeze that caresses.
A muse, my delight
from whence such craving
springs forth,
like swollen fruit raised
up in offering.
Under your skin
the moon is shining alive,
like the light that
radiates out from you.
I love the way
you bed yourself
in my verse
like awaking to the suns
of our ancestors.
Something so primal
and natural calls
and if there were
but a moment,
i’d hide in you
To be carried close
buried deep in your soul
like the warmth
of a sunbeam or melody.
© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved
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Remembering
Remembering
the past
only makes me
miss it more.
All the old places are gone.
People and attitudes have changed.
Sometimes the memories
are more painful than
the joy I remembered.
I still find the need to embrace
out of fear that we would forget.
(those we loved and cherished)
We can let them know
that they are still loved,
our heart remembers their lives &
aches for their passing.
They come back
to console me when I mourn.
© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley and Carlos Guevara, All Rights Reserved
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Also they were kind enough to inclue my poem 1st Rain in “That’s How Romantic Monday Goes” here:
http://edwardhotspur.wordpress.com/2013/04/08/thats-how-romantic-monday-goes/
