Ray Sharp lives in northwest Michigan, USA, on the shore of Lake Superior, but dreams of warmer waters. He will be the featured poet in the June 2012 edition of Contemporary American Voices.
His debut poetry collection, Memories of When We Were Birds, will be published in 2012.
For more information, please visit: raysharp.wordpress.com
Dreamscape 87, the Mariner and His Queen
The first coffee of the day – to live again!
To the Museu Picasso one more time to see Las Meninas,
the Old World painted new.
Your mouth was too sexy, Barcelona, the curve of your hips
was Monjuïc risen from the sea.
The preterit tense happened one time and ended.
Siesta under the singing fountain. Another cup.
What happened to that poet who said your eyes were blue
as the sea, your breast white as the rising moon?
I could tell you I was the sea that cradled your body
floating between salt and sun,
the moonlight that kissed your bare breast.
We came from the ends of the Earth and met in the middle.
I stood tall as the church spire in the Gaudi sky.
You ebbed and flowed and moved me like the moon
pulls the tides.
Our love was graffiti painted red and black by Miro.
We danced until dawn raised her weary head.
Poetry in this post: © Ray Sharp
Published with the permission of Ray Sharp