Beauty awakens God/dess said the mysterious Princess Haiku

Moon


Why do I return
again and Again
to your altar.

Resplendent in your reflection,

I discover a mysterious
Solitary Us/twin
goddess Dispersed pearl.

Your real name.
Truth is this; your skin
Your beauty, spirit

Speaks on me- to me.

Moon/ clouded cratered
Lake of mind in her
Gorgeous tristesse



February 3, 2008

Beauty awakens God/dess

ghost love

You lose your beloved; discover they never existed except as a ghost of who you are. The dream stirs far memory; rose perfume in rain. Together, you walk across a street unnamed as is this night. Was this a fugue moon?


by Princess Haiku


Fugue
(German - Fuge; Italian - fuga).
A composition, or compositional technique, in which a theme (or themes) is extended and developed mainly by imitative counterpoint.

In the opening section, the 'exposition', the main theme or 'subject' is announced in the tonic. after which the second 'voice' enters with the answer, i.e. the same theme at the dominant (or subdominant) pitch while the first may proceed to a countersubject. This procedure is repeated at different octaves until all the voices have entered and the exposition is complete. An extra statement of the subject or answer following on the exposition is called a 'redundant entry'; a set of such entries is a 'counter-exposition'.

Princess Haiku visits Clemence Isarue

Princess Haiku had a lovely and ghostly visit with Clemence Isaure last night. After all, said Princess Haiku, we both love the arts so much.

"Clemence is well known in Toulouse as the poets' muse and benefactress. Legend has it that her father refused to give her hand to a young knight she was infatuated with. The young man died at war and the desperate young woman promised to remain faithful to her pure love and devote her life to poetry. After her death, she bequeathed her estate to the city of Toulouse provided that the “Capitouls”, the city magistrates, would pay for the expenses of the "Compagnie des Jeux Floraux"; an association dedicated to preserving the poetry and the regional dialect “Occitane". Poets were invited every May for a festival of sorts and to share their work. A violet made in fine gold was given as a symbolic award. Soon after her death, the Capitouls denied the existence of the inheritance and in effect the very life of the generous Clemence. Today the "Compagnie des Jeux Floraux" still exists thanks to the tenacity of poets eager to maintain the Occitane language. The association is located in the Mansion d'Assezat, a beautiful palace from the Renaissance era."

Midnight Garden

The full moon shines
with all its might,
drenching my garden
with mystic light...............

L. 11 years old


Flowers such as "Queen of the Night" bloom only in hours of darkness and belong to my sister's midnight garden. They open pale eyes under the light of the moon, when the rest of the world is sleeping. Their perfume is more intoxicating than ordinary flowers for they belong to dream and mystery. One of the night flowers; Cereus greggi blooms only for one midsummer's night each year. The flower exudes its exquisite perfume as night falls, then closes forever with the first touch of dawn. There are people who are like that too; special people who in a unique moment touch us with ephemeral beauty.

Purple; a plum's tale

Purple; a plum's tale

A plum comes to me
in my dark place, where
there is no Eye.

Purple sweetness-
Satin sheets are the arms
of an orchard.

Spring disguises itself
as my lover again;
it happens every year.

I know full well
the ear lobe I bite is the
visceral beauty of god.

a Distant Moon

The moon rises and falls,
pale light travels through us
for we are ghosts of the hour.

Moon's hand print is the
symmetry of risings and
settings.

It is a map of twilight
engraved on my skin; a journey
of French dream and poetry.

Together, we are
dissonance of words reflecting
on a silver, silver Tree.

Poem to Circe

Circe, daughter of the sun, was a sorceress renowned for her knowledge of spells, magical herbs and spiritual purification.

Dreaming
last night
of Circe, pursuing
the Moon.

Twilight
spills red
water color passion
indigo gold,

Smudges
of moonlight
ink across
her face.

Circe, I said - wait,
my poem needs you.
She tossed white, wild sage
on my sleeping body.

In dream so
powerless
before
her beauty.

Moonlight
rising to a
zenith starred light
escaped us both.

Aubade


Beneath a canopy
of pale dawn,
the storms of
Debussy gather.

A gentle nuance,
sky traces the curve
of Aurora's neck.

Dawn rises,
wraps herself
in opal clouds
of rain.

Aurora follows the
flight of drenched birds
while still I dream.

Ghost Flower

Ghost Orchid

After watering
her for months
with tears,

My ghost flower
bloomed.

She became a
magenta orchid,
the color of

Princess Haiku's
textured lips.