San Miguel

I went on a journey
          I went on a journey.
Far to a distant land
          .....a distant land
and on this journey
          .........on this journey
there were strangers and friends 
the long, dark shadow of the past
and the underbelly of desire. 
Fear was there
wearing his long, silver cloak
I recognized him. 
Joy came too
in a reckless costume. 
She danced with abandon 
through cobblestone streets. 
Anger made a guest appearance, 
just to keep it interesting. 
Laughter was there 
in the faces of new friends 
hot gurgling spring-water 
and underground wombs echoing with song. 
The stars were there, laid out 
as guideposts of direction
leading to puppy piles and great, bowls of 
fresh papaya laced with lime. 
All the guests gathered
tossing of our old faces 
and trying on new ones. 
Who are we here? 
Who are we together?
I went on a journey.
I went on a journey. 
Far to a distant land
          a distant land. 
And on this journey 
I found myself
I found myself again. 

    -Darcy

Blackberries Ripening

They grow in the summer sun 
out of the soft, cool earth
among the green, furry leaves
among the sharp, pointed prickles
soaking in the heat like it was water. 

In the mid-day we search for them
between long clinging arms
pushing back verdant leaves
to find these bright, purple jewels. 
They explode in our warm mouths
succulent offerings 
from a summer already giving so much:

barefoot dances across soft, warm sand,
dunks in the freezing water 
that cause you to shriek in delight and surprise,
long hours in the hammock studying orange dragonflies
and these
these sentinals of beauty
these knights offering a viewing of the holy grail
her royal "lush-ness" the queen 
who, having ripened all of the months of June
and July under the sun, her lover, 
now spreads open the breadth of her foliage 
to reveal these delightful kisses. 

Taste, bite, suck over these with questioning tongue
and like a drunkard, drown in the forgetful haze. 
Where, the leaves of autum?
Where the call back to duty 
of house and home?
Where, the invisible breezes of darkening winter
when old age and colder weather will 
wither the vine into barren beauty? 

Drink now, drink from the temple of desire 
and return with your mouth and teeth 
stained purple from over-indulgence. 
Above the fields, high over-head
the sun smiles down his pleasure. 

    -Darcy Lyon 6/04

Conch

Outside she is textured, spinney, porous,
when my lips come near I am always
awed by the sounds she yields.
Inside she is smooth, pink like the sunrise--
curves up to a place I will never fathom,
that I always seek to conceive.
We come together and all else stops:
lips pursed, head falling back,
both hands wrapped around her sea shape,
eyes not aware if they are open or closed--
the entire body arrives.
Roaring floods the ears,
bones dissolve, the ground swells,
echoes bellow back across
this harbor of strong waters.
The breath reaches its crest, and
together we rest in pools of saliva, tears, sweat,
surrounded by the smell of the sea.

    -Martin