A Flying Bed Poem by Naveed Khalid

Not e'er this world of first frost
her falling snow,
so swayed by some dry leaves,
in autumn of thy book,
beside a wrecked boat, a broccoli,
of maiden pride her looks to the lark
at break of day arise, arise
in self-consuming art, a star-y velorum:
of golden tress his hair upon the sand dunes,
the setting sun at my door, my age-old love
of seventy winters have thy November!
sweetly wed to my thought, of blushed roses
his ethereal Wing, robbed of me my rosebed,
of doomed youth, a rose, by the west wind
in heavenly smile; has but the last scope of days
that are gone, blows the trumpet horn,
o'ershadowed by lone bark of a tree,
small minions of soring thumb impressions;
of starry wheel the nightsky still
from Santa's mini skirt
of a dragon skin at clover-beach;
the boundless sea of veneral amores
runs in deep sorrows, of straw hat on knees
in ruffled feathers, a barefooted shoe-horse,
entombed within e'ery flower upon
a barren heath, pricked with a furr coat
in the cellar-barn,
of plucked parsley half-way between
the carpet upon my shipwrecked dreams,
outshines in white bier to brave
thine holy eyen:
of clay and wattle-made thistles
under the cow's shed,
the Eagle on wings, on wings
still musing o'er the dale in silent hours
of soliloquy, bereft of charms,
full ripe gourd of hazel nuts down the lane
in amber woods, of laurel wreath
thy myrtle crown in rosemary garden.

(C) Naveed Khalid

Copy Rights (C) 2017.
All Rights Reserved.

DAte Created: Monday, May 08,2017 12: 56 PM

A title revised: from a flying bed To A Red Carpet