2018 Travels ~ A Poem a Day for 40 Days

Aug. 21, 2018

How you float and flutter
Without a care in the world
Little creature with gossamer wings
Teaching me of delicate things...
...
The kiss he bestows is light
And then more urgent ~
Shoulders ripple
And I am lost in his silver, silken chest

He asks why I am crying
And I have no answer
He kisses my tears away,
Commenting on the salt

I remember how my Father
Would catch and eat my tears
Saying we mustn’t waste them...
My tears are not lost on this man.

A man who knows even a little
About the heart of a woman
Is a composer, an artist, a healer,
A butterfly.

Kira Braun
Aug. 16, 2018

Amidst the splendour of crystal seas,
Surrounded by rugged cliffs and time-worn paths,
I ponder my insignificance in this vast world.

A spell is cast on me,
A consciousness I cannot name,
My soul flies with the wind;

And I wish that my heart
Will be fully open to convey
This feeling to all whom I meet.

My chest heaves with desire
For peace to invade me,
And I weep.

Kira Braun
Aug. 11, 2018

Dusk ~
A haze settles on the face of the slope;
Dusty facades rise precariously...
Bougainvillea stubbornly clings,
Blooming with bliss in the salt air

Cypress stand elegant and proud-
Amidst Olives that survive everything,
The tree signifying Death reigns supreme;
A reminder of ages that have passed by

Port of Call since Spice Route days,
Did my ancestors tread here?
What love transpired,
Beyond those walls?

The same lovers’ embrace, aeons old;
Blood mixed with the salt of man,
Skin upon skin of every shade;
‘Twas here the fabric of the world was made.

Kira Braun
Aug. 8, 2018

I sat near you
Dreaming of days gone by,
Marvelling at the butterfly

A bed of flowers covered you,
And overhead,
The pine boughs swayed

The cherub held his head in his hand
In disappointment...
An unfinished column stretched to the sky

You understood the skies,
Sun, moon, and stars;
Most of all, you knew of life and love

I sat quietly and listened ~
There was silence,
But I have already heard your gifts.

Kira Braun
Jul. 31, 2018

I think a flute
Will make me cry
When my mother
Is gone...

Through the years
The sound was ‘home’
Now when I hear it,
She comes to mind,
Always such beauty,
So rare to find...

How lucky I was
To live and learn
From this artist’s soul,
From her I discern;
Her gifts are many,
My heart is full.

When we are young
We never quite see
The lesson in front of us ~
It’s not until later,
When we look back,
The meaning is clear.

When I return,
My mother I’ll find,
And hold her so tightly,
For my soul to bind,
With my teacher,
My mentor, my guide.