Blog Archives

Breezy Kiefair a poem by Maggie Slighte

Breezy Kiefair

by: Maggie Slighte

A Sick Rose,
yet
an angel-
beautiful
and rare.
None
can compare
to the artist,
the being,
who is
Breezy Kiefair:Wings
tattered
and torn-
like the
leaves
that adorn-
her art
pure and wise.
Her dreams
and hope
she shares
with us,
through
green-tinted eyes.Sharing
a fragment-
a potential-
yet barely
tapped;
of
a little girl
lost,
but no longer
trapped.Flitting
and flying,
hither
and fro-
Seeking
fertile
soul soil
where love
might just
grow.Seeking
and searching
for those
more
worn
and war-torn
than she:
Ones
anxious-
pleading-
desperate
in need.Praying
the Creator
sends
them hope
with a smile;
on the wings
of change
sending
her energy
over the
miles.A fragile
yet wise,
Ginsberg sort
of a Girl;
On the
border
of being –
out of
this world.Searching
Seeking
Hoping to find-
All she
can help
in her very short time.Her maggic
is sacred –
Her intent
is so pure;
gods and godesses
of old
seek to them
to bring
her near.Demons abound
a fount
believing they
to have found;
Yet to one-
her Creator
only,
she so is bound

A heart
pure
in desire,
for absence
of animosity.
In her
dreams
she
once beheld
recipreciosity

Her heart bruised
yet open
to one
and to all-
True to
the Creator
for that,
none shall fall.

A lighte
of the ages-
A friend
true and rare-
Such is the woman
known as
Breezy Kiefair!!

at 12:26 AMfrom

Poetry and Random Reflections of Maggie Slighte. “Everything I do; I do, Slightely”

Open your closed eyelid
Which is gently brushed by a virginal dream!
I am the ghost of the rose
That you wore last night at the ball.
You took me when I was still sprinkled with pearls
Of silvery tears from the watering-can,
And, among the sparkling festivities,
You carried me the entire night.

O you, who caused my death:
Without the power to chase it away,
You will be visited every night by my ghost,
Which will dance at your bedside.
But fear nothing; I demand
Neither Mass nor De Profundis;
This mild perfume is my soul,
And I’ve come from Paradise.

My destiny is worthy of envy;
And to have a fate so fine,
More than one would give his life
For on your breast I have my tomb,
And on the alabaster where I rest,
A poet with a kiss
Wrote: “Here lies a rose,
Of which all kings may be jealous.”
http://youtu.be/B_7MiojC3ys

%d bloggers like this: