Jean Renwick

Your smile lights up my world
like the sun lights up our earthly one
and my heart sings out in joy.
For I have found you, or you me.
...

I stand by the river looking at darkness.
There is the moon and there are stars
though I don't know which constellations are what.
The moon reflects bright and gently rippled
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The love of time and the grief of time,
the harmony of life and life in change.
Dead eyes have loved and changed.
In the grief of time I hide:
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I spy with my little eye, something beginning with L.

Give me some clues, you try to glean.
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Behind the glitter, the laughter, the make-up
Something lies bitter and bizarre
A cast of characters outside God’s creation.
Under the bright, wry smile of a low-slung moon
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Make love in a rainforest,
Make love in the snow;
Through a storm in a graveyard
That’s how it would go.
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Woman of Troy −
You cause what’s called the Sin of the World
Have mercy on me.
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I love travelling o’er hills and dipping into valleys,
Moving across mountains and sweeping plains.
I love resting in the shadows and reflections of sunlight in hidden caves.
But nothing can compare to the brimming lake of liquid sweetness
...

...

There’s a girl
sitting,
surrounded by the golden glow of sunset.
Contemplation.
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Silence breathes…
When all is still
and there is just you and me,
I can feel the silence
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...

I burn.
Loss like acid devours my soul.
I seize my body in tight
desperately clinging to myself for comfort,
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I love how you love me, but fear
I cannot return such depth.
I’m reaching for your comfort,
yearning for that which I still hunger.
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Bands of shadow and light
touch gently your cheeks
revealing their slight flush of colour
and an outline of your parted lips.
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The clarity of mind
the purity of spirit
the strength of body
the passionate soul
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Will you hear me if i whisper “I love you”?
Words drifting across the unconventional space between us.
I knew you before I met you
how dear you would be to me.
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We went for a stroll, you and I
Under the blue, through the green.
The sun was only low in the sky
All the freshness of the morning to be seen.
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To write the saga of a dying soul
one must feel it, deep
in the hollowness of the body.
That which causes anguish, joy, detachment and passion
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Remember when we first met
Conversation was an easy flow.
I was used to keeping my hurt well hid
But you drew out parts of me I’d tried to forget
...