The Poetry of Robert Saffer

It’s winter and it’s cold and it’s pleasant

the trees have transfigured

and the green has become a dismal grey

In the background, I see depth, drawn

to the silent light echoing from the wilderness.

No movement except for the constant

struggle ventured by the wind,

occasionally the woods laugh with

nature's own divinity and rattle charismatically.

Shadows created by the misty wake signifies

Falls end and the air is solemn but soft.

Mountains overlie the tranquil surface

and I long to walk upon nature's path.

Prove your love to me. That

is how our love will grow.

Swallow your pride and bathe

in fear that is how our love

will grow. Place the valentine

where it has never been and talk

to cupid in your sleep, draw a

picture of the sea, walk in in the

valley of the diseased. Paint your

heads with knots and pins, write

a letter to your sins, smoke some

bitterness into your womb, grab

your breasts so your nipples bleed

taste my piss and swallow my greed.

Imagine darkness as a lovers

sphere, cut your throat and your

ear. Give it to Mr. Naked breath

and breathe upon a branch of death.

This is sacrifice, make it so.

Prove your love to me. That is how

our love will grow.

The winds which blow upon the green have quietly interested my eyes again. They no longer move without shadow. The winds of time lose their wings again. The 4 o'clock sun is shining, the sword is calling. if you stop it can be heard. Far away a man fucks a girl. The ultimate and tender savage who seeps his seeds near me wants to play till the end.

That transient bitter fool should know better than to knock when the 4 o'clock sun, wants to shine,

as the battered sky holds fearfully

the not so near picture of what it all means.

I want the love in your fingers.

I want us to be able to share the best of each other.

Finally a day to myself.

I think about you all the time.

All these clowns thinking because they read a book they own our information.

What we share is unknowable. It is the love in our fingers.

I miss your smiles deeply, like my brains missing a chemical to exist.

Though it may be of a discomforting nature, I must get used to being elsewhere but with you; What can compare to holding you.

Sorry we're not together. It feels wrong.

So now that you've lost a hand, the magician becomes filled with God, fed upon God, intoxicated with God.

Little by little his or her body will become purified by the internal lustration of God;

day by day his or her mortal frame, shedding its earthly elements will become in very truth the Temple of the Holy Ghost, masquerading about like a broken promise or a deserving smile.

Day by day, matter is replaced by spirit, the human by the divine;

ultimately the change will be complete;

God manifest in flesh will be your name

and the love in your fingers will no longer blame.

amen

And the wise wouldn't kill
If the lies lay still
And time ran away
From the fires chill
Each place
Another crease
On the folds fleece
And the cows don't
travel there Anymore
They tore their spirit
On the snowy molds
They turned the
corner and then let go...
And swooned
the hills
Over the edge
A cliff lay still
And the waters
were flowing
past the ledge
For the idiot cows
On that day
saw that the sun
Wasn't allowed
To shine through the gate
And afraid they went,
Over the hill
Where the wise shouldn't kill, instead, they
Stand with a deepening thrill.

Sweetness, how art thou?
How long if I'd have to walk to you?
Nice sometimes to hold blue
Swear it must be true
When the rocks all come forth
From the sky flying course
Overhead, in your arms
Silhoutte status on the minds of the ravished
This is no average stone
Swear it must be true
Nice sometimes to hold blue.

The naked brilliance of the sky n the voluptuous night you fly

With song, with jewel, with perfume Wake all my roses blush and bloom

Drink to me Love me I love thee My love, my lord you shall see.

It seems to me

that this forest of rusty greens that gently weeps in the echos of this heart is surfacing.

For how long will these

branches of solitude remain an acting

spy for emptiness

shouting in corners

of internal decadence,

warmth and pleasure.

There it is again...

that face I’ve never seen.

Beautiful as autumn bleeds

Colours to bright to understand.

I linger for its movement to rooted land

And although I have never seen her crystal

presence,

my heart will remain resting in the

forest that sings her name.

Some lives are so absurdly unrealistic to the president and even more misgiving to the prince of used car lots with friends who own skyscrapers.

But what about the lonely and surreal, the beauty of another name who hopelessly nomads through nameless scenery hoping just to get a bite of some used sandwich some very fine damp day...

Sweetness; my love

U R a wonder

A dance of soothing

Sensation: A warmth

Flowing through the

Corners of my blood.

And up above

U smile a miles

worth of resurrection

so bewitched & willingly -

my erection waves only

for u & your love

Insane Normality

I was talking to a friend

when this topic came up.

I was walking towards a

cloud that I can swear made me laugh.

A Poem to our Being, by Robert J. Saffer

My bark and bones ware without wind towards her.

Her juices merge without contesting

the harbour of our sperm.

Our bodies move together as if

we are some architecture of science.

Our wake is sleek and expressive

An atom bomb engine of peace.

Our connection is felt, heard, stretched

thrusting with all wills of life.

We pretend to be alone

Warnings shout from some infinity within us.

Our palms sweat as we awake

in the grips forming beyond our mouth.

Our minds stripped from the foam of pretense.

We are a blazing river blasting prayer into the same seas.

We are diviner remnants carried forward by our thoughts.

It is time to give our being renewed strength,

her eyes now rippling with understanding.

This indeed is one of those moments

that a memory feels.

Our sounds sing through the ridges of the mountainside

as we break for a soothing reminder of a deadly smoke.

For More Words by Robert Joseph Saffer

contact him @ livedproductions@yahoo.ca

Falling into her heart

from the very start

I knew she would be true

to the flow of the wind

to the beat beyond sin, so disciplined

And a sense of supply

from the stories woven in the sky

When you see her next to me

You will always see the reason

our love was meant to be