Odes au Beau Sexe (4)

A little busy today with paperwork so karma yoga piece delayed.  My apologies.  So instead, I share one of my favorite poems celebrating females.  The setting is Kiev, Ukraine in the time of Tzar Alexander I.


My dearest of the dear,
this is where we belong.

The appointed time has returned this day
for Winter Sun to bid fond farewell
to our snowy-shrouded city of grand hopes.
Winter Sun’s last luminous kiss,
a kiss tender, sweet and lingering heavily
upon the gold-leafed cupolas of ancient cathedrals.

Each sacred dome responding
warmly to winter sun’s love,
as you, dearest wife of mine,
respond to my passionate kisses,
generating fiery, rose-gold, monadic sparks
radiating outward from your divine heart
so to nourish and bring life to my soul
as God’s Love brings peace to our sorrowful universe.

My only Love,
without your warrior heart,
without your ever-present smile,
without the sensuous touch of
your soft hand held in mine,
without your trusting love,
I would be no more than another
of Medusa’s cold, stone-men.

As sun sets below the horizon,
darkening shadows stroll
the near-deserted stone streets of Kiev,
like hungry ghosts devouring all remaining light,
these children of Sister Night.

November Wind blows, short, blistering kisses
to the freshly fallen snow,
conjuring up into the air
twisting, enchanted ice crystals spirals,
jeweled necklaces adorning the black goddess of night.

Moon Maiden rises to dominant night sky,
her silver light playing and laughing joyfully
with each unique snowflake blown into air
by her lover November Wind.

I return from work,
rubbing shoulders with dark hungry ghosts
and speaking of you to Moon Maiden and Winter Sun
about our eternal and sacred love,
my most beloved of all that is beloved.

I tell them how you replace my covers
on damp, cold winter nights,
of our mutual joy when
we make true holy love to each other;
how I delivered from you womb our second daughter
and placed her onto your breast to feed and bond;
how we first met,
finding our never-ending song of songs;
how each evening we lay Sonya and little Arabella to bed,
tucking covers securely around them both,
telling ancient tales of great knights
and beautiful ladies,
kissing both as each drifts happily off to her dreams.

It is so very cold this night,
a cold reaching even to my bones,
I am safe for I wear the wool sweater
knitted by my love as my armor.

At last,
I stand before the great walnut doors to our dear home,
thinking of you my dearest love
and our two wonderful girls.

Opening the doors,
I enter into the hall
removing gloves, coat, sweater and boots.

Quietly I walk to the kitchen,
seeing you and Sonya cooking heavenly borsch
for the man they both adore.
Our youngest daughter plays with her dolls
on the kitchen floor, giggling happily.

Sonya turns,
jumping into my arms and hugging my neck tightly,
she speaks,
“Papa, I missed you so much today.”
I kiss her on her forehead and place her down,
telling her,
“Sonya I love you very much!”
I bend over to kiss little Arabella.

A stray strand of hair has fallen
across your forehead and
you have a bit of flour on your chin.
I smile at the sight,
greeting you,
“My darling, dearest Enchantress,
you are more beautiful
than any goddess in any tale.”

I grab you tightly around your waist
and pull your lips towards mine,
kissing you in the private language
known only to true lovers,
tongues speaking deep feelings to each other.

Sonya, wise beyond her six years,
smiles with joy,
for one day she too shall have her husband.

You playfully push me away,
your heart happy and pleased.
Laughing sweetly, you say,
“Oh, Misha, please sit down,
Sonya and I have our dinner ready.”

Of dearest and most beloved Princess,
how did I come by such a one as you?
For me there can only be you.

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