Merritt of Living

A call:
there is a way the soul stirs itself
out of sleep from centuries
and bruised hours in the night
with a voice wail in the dark.

Snow-locked, absolute white,
the other side of morning
and yet with no desire
but to drift and be.

Then a call, a summon,
as though someone waved
and sent a current of want my way-
so I go, wonder-filled again,
in the dark road black with ice
towards my love.

The Kiss

With eyes open
we meet in
the gentle brush of lips,
a flicker of tongues,
a gaze again and smile;
then, lips closing together
in sealed contact,
our tongues begin
their slow embrace,
their sliding dance,
surface to surface
bending and twining,
pulling back,
diving in again,
in curve
and counter-curve,
as one breath passes
between us,
one continuous current
on which our spirits glide
in and out of this
wet cave of consciousness,
and there in spiral blue
rapturous space,
our twin flames meet
and weightless spin
on one cool axis
from which all
joy is made.

Blue

I love the blue room
windows frosted with our breath
your skin blue glowing in the night
my hands electric on your hips
your hands warm fire on my chest
our lips a gate to sacred breath

and from our kiss a world is made

Douglas Cole has published over fifty poems and short stories in literary journals and small magazines, with recent work in The Connecticut River Review, Louisiana Literature, Cumberland Poetry Review, and Midwest Quarterly. He currently has poems available for viewing on the following websites: Cricketon Line Review, Poetserv, Avatar Review. He is also a winner of the Leslie Hunt Memorial Prize in Poetry for a selection of work called, "The Open Ward." He now lives in Seattle, Washington and teaches writing and literature at Seattle Central College, where he is also the advisor for the literary journal, Corridors.

Email: Douglas Cole

Return to Table of Contents