Reminiscences of Andalusia

memories of the copper windows
with the marbled turquoise glass
vividly flash before my eyes.
today the air smells of you
musk and fresh cut-grass
so many memories abandoned
in the garden of jasmine,
scent that always makes me weep
yellow canaries singing blissfully,
they should have been caged
but being free they stayed anyway.

the sun shone down on our Spanish courtyard,
with its beautiful statues and saints
i tried to remember all their names
but the letters just fell 
and the saints were silent
afternoon coffee and pastries
bitter and sweet tastes,
flavors vanishing rapidly in my mouth,
only the love birds remained
and we walked out with our red parasol
to stroll the gardens,
you played the guitar, a flamenco song
i cried at the sad words
and you laughed at my innocence,
your radiant smile never wavered
even through your damaged life.

the roots of my existence forever formed
in these reminiscences,
in the colors, and smells and flavors
of that long ago day
i hear the rhythm in the distance
it calls me to dance
i recognize the words and the wonder
i taste the sweetness 
and yearn for those uncomplicated days.
too many years lived caged
have not erased
vapors of memories
that unforgettably free me.

© 2005 Isis Weiss

Between Lovers And Thieves

that day in the cornfield 
i swallowed the sun,
and it burned 
but not the way you think
the sun will scorch you
it was a slow tantalizing burn
the kind that melts 
away inhibitions and
suddenly you find yourself
naked among the corn.
you picked all the purple flowers
covering my naked body with each.
i felt the flutter of angel’s wings,
above the golden light
and it was your body
laying across mine.
the citrus scent of you 
permeating my nostrils
the shuttering motion
of release and pulsing veins
and flowers scattered at 
my feet
being lost in the cumulus clouds
at the moment of ecstasy
feeling that swirl in the breeze
being seduced 
in the harmonious understanding
between lovers and thieves
who steal precious afternoons
to fill restless needs.
the sun burned me that day
and the scars remain.

© 2005 Isis Weiss

The Path

i know a place
where good people go
you grow love
from constellations
hanging like decorations
on an amber sky
everyone is happy
you are given respect
unconditional acceptance
everything you want is yours
everyone shares
no one competes for attention
you are made to feel
like God 

if i could
i’d take you there myself
but you see
it’s complicated
you have to get there by yourself
with your own steam
so to speak
and survive the horrors you will find
by walking through roads full of death
valleys engorged with hatred
among carcasses of sinister monsters
and the barely living vampires
who suck life out of the air

there are rules
if you care to listen
carefully i will try 
guiding you
everyone is destined
to shine brighter
sharpened instincts
bring you to the door
what you do with the rest
is up to you

you can sing along the way
if it helps you
i find peace in songs
or written words
like in a poem
maybe you will too
the absolute thing
you have to do
is forgive yourself
walk without shame
produce beauty
with every word
and create actions
that encourage others
keep your heart pure
always

i know a place
where good people go
i hope you find your way
i trust i see you there
i honestly do
i love you

© 2005 Isis Weiss

Mother Where Are You?

Cold, dark and grey as a January morning 
brings thick gusts of wind and snowflakes
No flowers growing;
my barren garden cries with gloom
I feel hauntingly sad-
Mother dear, come hold my wintry hands
I need your songs,
to roll this feeling out
till its very thin;
Sing that song
The one about the bullfighter 
with green eyes of clover.
Tend my broken heart
to its former dignity;
Lets walk, lets run, lets scream
through the fields of pine.
Even if 
white terrible winds
knock us down
you’ll still hold my hand,
I know it!
Burnt-out, sucked dried of tears;
wanting to move slowly through these tragedies
knowing nonetheless
I need your comfort,
and finding that only your image looms over me,
you’re not there.
The farther down I go
between the thick tackles of  my heart
I find you,
as if you had never left.

© 2005 Isis Weiss

Isis Weiss: My inspirations come from my travels, photography, music and art. I have lived in several different countries and I’m multilingual. Currently, I reside in New Jersey with my husband and two children. When not writing poetry I work as a stock market research analyst for a large publisher of news and financial information.

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