RICARDO ANTONIO GARCIA

Ricardo

Antonio Garcia

PAPER BOAT

If time forgets the past and heals the heart

and it becomes water under a bridge, then why

do I pass this way again in a paper boat?

Laying in bed under a soft light

night after night the poet became the Moon

casting its glowing shadows

reinserting the dream back into its setting.

Paper boats are fragile

but trustworthy emissaries to loves worthiness

which you have administered within

the caprice of your desirous heart.

If time wallows in the instant moments

carriaging the memories to a lawn of beauty

then it is in your trailing blue dress

calling him into the space where you are caged.

A gentleman to love

has bridled your hearts capacity

to become fulfilled by the generous rewards

and fit for a Queen

you became an immigrant sighing and crying

for another refrain to ensue.

Shall we take pity for those that oversee?

As the paper boat leaves your maiden hand

and starts its way onto the horizon

the sweet pain and anx of foreboding love waits

as you lay on the tarnished shale.

Has my dream passed through you daily

reading the words and indexes of my Sonnets?

Have you at times wished for courage

to avenge the disciplinary style of your life?

Letting go brings the Light of God

for to trespass against these rewards we try

but only the angelic horns sound

when the temperance of love is melded.

You watch the paper boats float away ...

knowing ...

it will return again someday ...

CANTERING NIGHT

Lamplights dimmer against an indigo evening.

Your pink dress flowing

Degas paints your charms in his chalking stutter

and the Perfume air is your necking lace

saturated with a gift from a whaling Hollander.

Beauteous night of sparklet stars

my Shakespearean heart undresses for your love

cadenced awkwardly and smiling amidst.

Leaning against the rails

wooden boats and their party signals on

and I become stained by your immortal face

flaxening your eyes into my own.

I hear the horns of the fog master blow

and the dining air jubilant, shouting above

to listen to a whisper.

Lamplights shimmer in the museum hall.

Tho’ my death has been compounded by the years

I still walk this pier and watch nightly

the women that appear lost without loves embrace

with a haunting upon their face.

Allured by thee art, I am an over handed man

logging the crab nets and their contents

for a dockworker I’d be and always will remain.

Is beauty beyond my poverty

tho’ recognizably pure and adulteress free?

Old England would not have me

be a second rate husband to the benefiting

so I loom like a crane.

I'vet seen Degas with my own eyes

his Spirit in my own discontented heart of tears

wanting to express all that I know of love.

The cantering of this night diffuses the mind …

for such latencies are preserved by the heart that sees …

To a heart that feels… I will deny.

TO YOU LADY

Ricardo Antonio Garcia

To you lady

whose eyes will open soon

breathe me in

and exhale me into the room

for I will fog

the clock face, and

be the effervescence of your smile.

What would the day be

without waking from within

washing me out

into the flora of your Spring?

To you lady

whose coniferous song

mutates into the Soul

growing higher than the clouds

every morning you rise.

I am the haze

obscuring tragic hours

with hope and joy

tearlessly impregnating

your beauteous heart.

To you lady

in the waking hour awaiting

floating in your lungs

the air I breathe

and the life you live

disfiguring my fog aside

from things you see, I am

an abstract illusion

in this variant dream.

Whilst lipstick cures a smile

my kiss you will need.

To you lady .. my Spirit soars.

Ricardo

Antonio Garcia