Questions from the heart
Sitting by the fire, totally consumed
Of myself and my lonely life.
Asking, who could be waiting for me
Wondering, why my eyes are getting wet
And neglecting the stillness of my mind.
Between the dancing flames and sparkled shades
An ornament of the poet´s tender intention
Rises like a roaring thunder, in wind and rain,
The knowledge of sinking days and growing nights
Enthralling the light in my heart.
My dear Muse, excuse my so alarming thoughts
Perhaps you take some pleasure in my pains
And tell me in my turn of needs
To whom I waste my careful being,
My precious silence and dignified longing.
The eternal light of stars on the dark sky
That changed my nights into days
And left me time to weigh my love
The seasons of happiness and sorrows
Until utterance of blushing compassion
And fruitful showers, on my bouncing chest
are praised.
Copyright kc 2020.

Like I flowered in front of you


Air of a positive persistence, of confidence,
of sweet repose. The sudden happening,
I realized when smashing into my mind,
entered as an unexpected guest
in that burning evening,
taught me the knowledge of myself
the core of my being.

You came from a mind flooded with images.
You stumbled before me on my road
on the very foundation of my life.
The beats of your footsteps followed me,
solemnly you touched my chin-bone
like you knew me from before
like I flowered in front of you.

Quivering, you hold my delicate wrist
stroke my patches of hair behind the ears
and lifted kindly my face
as for the time of the first kiss.
Shudder seized me,
so violently that I lost my balance
and flicked the mind empty again
in the overwhelming exposing gallantry.

All what happened within me
in that insane moment
that presiding over the scene,
and with a galloping inferiority
I have to face and keep back,
pushing it round the next corner
passing a threshold and tell myself
that this has never happened.

Although, It did, and gently became
the garment, that dressed my life
devouring me,
catching all my energy,
sometimes burning, sometimes chilly,
but always the aiming prism
that set the glare in my eyes
of the inexpressible compassion
The Magic of Love and Life.


An Autumn Symphony

An Autumn Symphony
A loudly drill, from the slowly greying willow tree
Where the yellow billed nuthatch has been nesting
for a short time,
now leaving while the summer flies.
The seeds of humankind now scattered
Over the flat but prepared soil,
Stay safe until the next upcoming season
When the hot sun and water-flow
 open our closed core and be ready to grow. 
So am I now, like the richer people,
Often carved in stone and of
Seldom pleasure, or as my robe that
Keeps my chest hardly closed for better purpose
Of my imprisoned pride.
The morning mist, the many shadows in grey
Have many shades to lend
Where In those your treasures would be safe
But an instant lock is not for long,
And behind;,
Your substance your beauty
 being unfolding, triumphing in worthiness
for being there, placed as the seed
in the early prepared soil
then growing in all the different shades
And in love and hope.
C copyright 2020 kc,


The Only You

The Only You.
Poem no 3 in The Verse Cycle TO YOU
In this moment, the day is just about to break
In fresh numbers, number all your grace
and my tired spirit bearing no more harms,
the smell of your aura now closely attending
bringing endless joy, that I embrace,
saving in my bosom, keeping in my arms.
 My longing palms grow red and sore
from dropping tears in darkish blue
drizzling down my blushing cheek,
I gladly would remove as the morning dew
and wasted blood will fully vanish
when pleasure allows a fervent reverie, anew.
In that, my made up, and ceremonious dream
with the sensation of a wild, primitive origin
I found You, while My pen has formed thy nobility,
thy high forehead, thy brave mouth,
thy proud walk and straight shoulders,
that placed you on thy solid ground.
You live within me, feeling all my thoughts
You paint my dreams in winter skies that blend my sight
In summer green, the windy travel of dried flowers,
the grass, in where our humble fondling lives
and our silent breath, our fragility in budding love
rise our tenderness, trembling…Our lips.
Moments of raptures, fast dying, fading
but you do know them, in every shade,
The dreams, the obvious record of your memory
the journey of love, reflected in your face
tempting me to wondrous achievements
and I drop my eyes, blushing
totally dazzled by the Only You.
February 2018 Copyright kc.


So Many Flowers Forlorn

So Many flowers were born
And so many blushes unseen
frozen smiles, lay stiff and cold
repressed of their noble breath
a waste of sweetness,
a mute quench of ingenuous shame.
Their names, their faces are spelled
by an unlettered Muse
by a passing tribute of an elegy,
a shapeless voice
pleasing, but anxiously resigned
to fill that unwonted forgetfulness.
In some breast thy spirit will grow
inquire thy destiny thy fate
for what will cross your strength
your woeful hope, your pray forlorn,
buried under the Stone
overgrown with aged thorns.
The earliest of days, still come
the latest of the nights still linger
with hasty steps approaching
the honour’s neglected voice,
the provoking dust of silence, soothing
the deaf ears, and the blind eyes.
Copyright kc
From the Verse Cycle TO YOU.

Poem to a friend

Lonely Morning behind my curtains
Falling tears from the sky banging on my windows
Seeking my body,
Still numb after the burning night
Of an established memory, an essay from an almost
Forgotten prelude
Ready to be printed on my paper.
I discover the appearance of an increasing tone
The sound from the depth of the sea,
Where I so often pacing my way
 For stillness and comfort.
Leaving behind my body
My somnambulistic spirit.
Sinking to the bottom of awareness
I almost crush the upcoming moment
The strength I so much need
To verify my existence,
the matter of the fair child in me
enraptured of passion but also
in view of discretion and respect.
Now among the pebbles and the sand
I follow the waves of my sea
Drowning my lameness for ever
Catching up the white foam
Flying away with the grey clouds
Regardless of a pouring illusion.
kc Sept. 2020

There Are Still Sparkles


There Are Still Sparkles
There are still moments mounted on the wind
That carry your lightly painted countenance
Your blushing in light rosy tints
From the mild smell of the young garden.
There is still a springtime, with buds in early growing
But also, the riper ones will by time decease
So, hurry your way, don´t leave your love behind
Short is the path to your heart and mind.
There are still streams of gleaming light
Landing on my paper and my figures
Touching my short moments of fortune
Predicting the knowledge in your eyes.
There are still sparkles, Longing with lust
With wish to bring you some living flowers
So, you could paint my sorrowed face
In rosy mornings,
And in the image and virtues of your heart.
Copyright kc
April 2020

Love is forever mine

Love is forever mine.
Love is mine, in the flaming fire
infused my thin fingers with a burning longing
Brushing my hair into a golden stream
Lightening my look to what I most admire.
Love is mine, in the purple coloured rose
That filled a line of your forehead
with a gentle hand laid shimmer over your eyes
made your shining gaze into all beauteous flow.
Love is mine, in the foam of the speechless waves
Like a swan, white and beautiful
Rising and diving in the tide
Climbing on the heavenly hills of ages.
Love is mine, in the pink blooming clouds
Flying with my dreams in a sparkling sky
Turning the rain of my tears into poetry
Attending the relief of the day
that slowly arouse.
Copyright k.c. 2019

Touch me Now

Touch Me Now. From the verse cycle (To You)
Touch me now,
that may express thy love or thy merits,
Nothing great my dear, but although like wishes' divine.
 I tell myself that there is nothing old and nothing new,
just this very moment when I live and die.
Touch me now, touch my mind, that colour my senses
that carries the dust, the first conceit of love
ever spoken in your name,
the love that shakes all beauties down from the trees,
Still green and fresh like the view of Spring.
Touch me now, I know the nice hue is changing
while your love stands still and ever spire,
My fear of being deceived,
is taking the strength from the growing stem,
 for being the means of a most balmy time
and for making age never being born.
Copyright 2018. k.c

Love a fervent Fire


My thoughts, so often in disorder 
My reasons I am blowing on your mind 
Unique is the feeling of passion that alone will consume thyself but together,
 in both of us, it's glowing plainly following the fire of the yielding love.
My hours, organized by someone centuries ago, knocked me into a guarded being 
in where I signed a confident agreement entrusted the will of my heart 
that runs through the blood, 
holding as a pledge In where I only could be with you.
My mornings are a vision in lavender-blue, In pink and grey foggy clouds, 
A fragrance, stirring the will to win your grace, before the eyes shifted 
and softened your leniency, In purity and beauty designed, 
inspiring the apparent amusement for perfection.
In time, I wasn't anybody, I wasn't anything until you lifted your ever lust and sensibility,
when you got the ember growing again that burnt my eyes, my complexion, by your sight. 
You are unfolding the napkins nicely for my tears inviting me to your bouncing chest.
None could find the three old pines in the valley or the third presence of a place in my heart 
but with delicate moves you woke the slumber and for a short moment 
touched the core whispering, 
to the inevitable closeness of ours, 
shaping my fragility into a divine moment.
Copyright March 2018 kc