POETRY

Slender Gods

I got dressed in the dark this morning while you 

were sleeping, I didn't want to steal you from your dreams.

 

I'm going to a place far away, I'm going to stand

on a bridge with nothing but a blank sky in my mind.

I'll remain suspended in the in betweens until 

the wind spins my whimsy to another land.

 

When you awake and feel the weight of my absence  

on the bed, push open your window and see my face in the

junipers, hear my footsteps over the rustling leaves.

 

If there is a place where my voice was held, extend your

hand in a velvet glove, let my speech brush against

your fingers.

 

Lift my voice with yours, to the silvery phosphorescent 

ledge, know that our words will bloom like iron roses,

swaying towards the moon like slender gods in forest

groves.

 

Know that our bedroom mirror was a book of glass pages,

and If there is place where gypsies and angels go to read the light,

turn your face to the sun.

 

The warmth is my hand, 

the tear is my refrain. 

by Andre  Feriante

Woman of Moon

Mother water love takes you to the night of the moon,
She says "rest your body on mine and I will sail you to a far away place..
to the oceans of light where the stars pull spirit from blood
and truth from love.."
Your echo is a pure nakedness, from a greater beauty,
Your flesh is maiden music, your bones, alabaster and time.

You are the un-veilable bride, the sister of unknowable gods
Your breasts take the heat of the sand,
The salted song,
Your rose is a window, a portal to a sea of wonder.

Rest your humanness in the cup of her hands
and let the first ray of moonglow
swell in the sweet of your back.

by Andre Ferinate, full moon 5/28/2018

Mythos Untamed

This will be the year that wild horses will come to the gates of your dreams.

Their midnight black Eyes will draw the moon to the open prairies of your sleep.

This will be the year you defy windows and doors and boundaries and forge new frontiers

in freedom's land.

 

The air will move about like soft velvet curtains around the contour of your desires. 

Everything you ask for, everything you reach for is galloping, glorious and invisible,

is waiting for your unbridled surrender.

 

This could be the year that you finally let go and fall into your own arms,

embrace your furious beauty and fly like a winged horse over cities and towns,

the steeples of churches and old weathered barns. 

This could be the time for the moon to show you your heart through the pure and unbroken windows of her eyes.

    

This could be the year you break from the herd and dash to your mythos untamed.

The sun will flood your heart with a golden storm of light, 

you will be your own horizon, 

you will be the shape of night. 

by Andre Feriante

The Surrogate

Somewhere in a room far away a man cries for me,

maybe on a train or on a bench, he wears my tears,

public and confidential.

In the hour of less forgetting, he is the surrogate for

the war I cannot display.

 

Somewhere in a sea of people, he sings my laughter

at a restaurant, or a theater, he breaks into a jolly sound

for me, he paces hallways and stands by windows peering out,

he feels my apathy, deeply, as if it were his own.

 

And the longing I feel for you is bursting from his eyes,

he feels my lover's hand, the body glove of memory,

he writes letters from my mind and signs them in

earnest with the pen of anonymity.

 

If I ring the church bell or the death bell he listens

from the seaside and answers me by chime or lengthened wave.

Somewhere in a lifetime far away he plays a lone

violin for me, he shapes anthems for strangers

and the un-translated heart. 

 

He has a house in my chest that is sinking and sometimes

I feel my gravity through the levitations of stars.

In those times I let the whole world in, I open all the doors,

in that moment you can see me dancing sans the

doubling of my soul, you can feel me warming your

aloneness with mine,

 

Somewhere in room far away from here a man smiles for me, 

maybe on a bridge or a stair, in a hidden island town,

he moves my human mouth for me when it's sometimes

difficult to feel.

He propels me beyond perceptions thru the gentle

orbits of my infinite surrogate mind.

by Andre Feriante

Serenade

Remember the salty sea that filled your mouth,

The far way dreams of youthful girls.

The slow terrine of sun filled days,
Remember poppies in your childhood eyes,

The lids that opened light to the morning awe.

Remember the rose shell of beauty that birth bestowed you, 

The prefect act your human landing,

Remember the child that flew by the oceanside...

Nothing has changed, 

You are your daughter jumping,
You are your little boy's smile,
You complete the future's countenance.

You are the angel I see that looks back at my eyes,

The clock is a river that returns to itself, 

Sweet birds fly over,

Your body is a field of outstretched life.

You are the dancer with the sacred perfume and the secret wound,

You are the woman who changes ashes to seedlings, 

Sadness to raw thunder and the maternal mists of spring.

Remember, you undressed the eyeless face of the moon, 

You are lighter now in this empty room.

by Andre Feriante

© 2020 Andre Feriante                             email: AndreFeriante@gmail.com                                                          P.O. Box 19864, Seattle, WA 98109