Misha Allport

Limpid eyes, quiet reticence
Reflections in the granite
Distant repose from my heart
Our tired souls find union
...

Quasi tactile contact and taste
A light, ghostly attempt to touch
Wet and tender, a sensuous attempt
My woman's lips-Baby, Beer and Love
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Sparkling golden eyes above a Portuguese smile
Tenders forth romantic Westphalian treasures
Bright colours, cold days and verdant splendor
Quiet, gentle, dignity on a Cearan afternoon
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It moves below;
in a tender flow;
like a quiet show;
in a difussed glow;
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The lovely green hills roll across the land
Sweet and gentle is this earth of Vietnam
A tender music guides me along the way
A girl sits by the soft riverbank
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Qin and Shu, the sons of spring and autumn
Are the warring states of rapacious kings
Dear Sichuan, gold and stone open a rift
Somber clouds threaten the Shu dominion
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Floating on the wind, an ethereal smile
Eliciting an innocent, joyous response
Etched in eternity, pure haunting echo
Our exotic fate, sensual, tender-womanly
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Swirling circles of silver glass
Precious views before my eyes
Their own unchanging directions
Eternally dancing through vision
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Erratic sea waves splash about
Swirling, uncertain, violent
Washing away ideal femininity
My traces vanish without tears
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From our sacred and medieval riverbank
Where lovers chase and flee our history
cotton fibers entreating my attention
Along a dusty, ancient and unknown byway
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Misty rain on skin and sand
Frame a warm, rolling surf
Sweet sentiments flutter
Birds tend to their tasks
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Wind pushes loneliness to new extremes
Broken dreams and ideas die silently
Under the azure sky and sea
Unknown, unrequited and unimportant
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Black leaf nestled on
rolling, unending currents
Unable to seek a timeless
space, a fathomless void
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Bille like Ophelia lain
Offers such mortal bane
Bille as the tender rain
Proffers not a lover's wane.
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Wounded animals only feel violence
Lashing, burning, destroying spirit
Endless forms of deadly expression
Roving, rampaging, murdering beauty
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A diffusely lighted gallery rolls on to harrow
Framed in a raven tint, the portal-a barrow
Transitional tides in a cloister untold, narrow
pale blue flushes the passages to the marrow
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Well within the banks of our eternity
Sky-blue bloom evinces a sad delicacy
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Hilton always knew it was there
Twisting, turning-a current rare

Waiting, foreboding to his soul
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