Original Poetry by Peggy Meeks King

August Grapes 
By Peggy Meeks-King © 1999


The air there, is hot 
and heavy. 
I walk the path to the grapes of August.
All deep purple and sweet to the taste at first-with 
a bitter taste that follows, 
a few green grapes are there also that have not had 
the time to get ripe in the amber sun. 
A tiny bright yellow butterfly hovers near the 
grape vine to see what it may find. 
Hornets and bees gathering in the hollow old oak tree, 
as church bells ring with a sweet sound, 
I long to break these earthly bounds.



So Monet
By Peggy Meeks-King © 1999


The dark clouds of summer, 
the hot, humid air, and shade 
blanket the old apple tree.
Forest green, ripe with fruit,
it glows with red ornaments.
And beside it, at the mouth
of a white sunflower, a hummingbird
hovers, and there's a garden of water
lilies inside a half whiskey barrel. 
They are the Arc en Ciel,
pale pink, the scent almost sinful,
so tropical, so Monet. 
The season gives us fruit
and the taste is sweet.
By Peggy J. Meeks-King

The 2River View, 3_4 (Summer 1999)



Heaven's Gate
By Peggy Meeks-King © 1999


In your dreams you find only
calm weather with clear night skies.

You see visions of a love among loves,
almost as if you have comet fever.

You thirst for one cool drink
from an ocean on Jupiter's moon.

But here on earth the dew runs off
the red rose, the silky petals

of the fire of desire at early dawn.
Your blood becomes the water of the Nile.

The 2River View, 3_4 (Summer 1999)



Reinventing Eden
By Peggy Meeks-King © 1999


Shall I Reinvent Eden with bright paint? 
Should I change the style of the swing? 
Do I see it as an artist? 
Maybe only a poet can behold and then 
sink into the darkness of 
Fragonard's 'The Swing', 
mix it with another garden 
and at the same time become 
one with the canvas. 
I can feel the marriage of the swing 
with Heade's Orchids dancing 
beneath two wild hummingbirds. 
Both paintings so sensuous 
and polished glowing with 
light to almost a shine. 
Saint-Julin who is eyeing his mistress 
on the sinful swing, did he only watch 
her or did the swing become pleasure 
for them both by the cover of darkness- 
the little death under platinum stars. 
Did they reinvent Eden 
in the cool of the evening 
when no one would see them? 
The shape of the snake, 
angel of death in diguise or was he near 
as the paint brush rode the canvas 
like a great whore? 
Babylon standing off in the distance. 
Saint-Julin was to be instead a bishop, 
a scarlet form kissed by a perfect wrong. 
In the sky above a few white clouds 
and some blacksnake -like limbs 
they became sin! 
I might use the color red 
electric pink might do just as well. 
Sin can have a beauty within 
or does one ask for an absolution 
while wishing for one more time 
forgiveness on the lips? 
Tiny cries, rustles and mourns, 
dance on the wind in melted sunlight, 
one silver mask falls into clear water. 
Say it isn't true, you do 
in your image of Eden blue.



Once In A Youth 
Peggy Meeks King & A Dove © 1998


Once In Youth
I wore his eyes
gold fire spindles
creek-bedding dark Nigerian brown
striped stone of his muscular body
as diamonds, opals, and pearls
drew a murky bottom rhino’s bath

I wore his eyes
side-stepped gems below my own
flame throwing spheres
mid-air riding white fur
from a rabbit’s spinning wheel
fine stitching my winter coat

I wore his eyes
tiger walking jungle paths
through hidden pitfalls
concealing the primal thief
javelin thrusting
erect passion

‘Til I wore his eyes, no more
quicksand forming their tomb
salty tears
their only companion
as I stagger from the scene
where last
I wore his eyes

EgyptianDoll Poetry Forum


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