Category: Blogging 101

Moonlight Mistress

Draw me deeper,

Moonlight Mistress

into your land

of soft shadows,

the blush of your

cheek tinged

in deep blue inks

 

Draw me deeper,

Moonlight Mistress,

into the lemon-pale

playpen of your

midnight lair.

 

 

Draw me deeper,

Moonlight Mistress,

into silver-flecked eyes

that hold

mystery

and key

 

Draw me deeper,

Moonlight Mistress,

behind fragile,

obsidian feathers

hiding tender lips

that kiss

and whisper

and sing

of love

 

Draw me deeper,

Moonlight Mistress,

into the

Essence of you,

real and intangible,

far-off, yet visible,

distant, but reachable.

Incomprehensible.

 

Draw me deeper,

Moonlight Mistress,

and disperse me;

I would be the lunar light

suffused upon your

starlit skin

 

Shining on you

from the outside,

glowing with you

from the inside,

until the

cold, unfeeling dawn

baptizes us with dew,

and the

absolving morning sun

dissolves us

together

 

Drawing us

closer,

and

deeper still.

You Are Most Welcome Here

Approach in reverence,

my friend.

You are most welcome here.

The fires will light your way

to me

and calm your doubt and fear.

Long years have we been waiting for

your soul

to bring its light.

And patience is its own reward.

Now welcome

to the night.

For when the doors are opened

friend,

there will be no return.

And hidden from

celestial sight

you’ll burn

and burn

and

burn.

 

Do the Bones of Men Remember?

Do the

bones of men

remember days

of brave and

daring deeds?

Do they long for

love and battle

when they rode their

noble steeds?

Do they mourn

the silent rhythm

of a strong and

beating heart?

Do they miss the

lilt of melody

and master works

of art?

Do they once recall

the clamor and the clanging

of their toil?

And the scent of

perfumed women

and the seasons

and the soil?

Do the

bones of men

remember night

and moon and sea

and star?

Do they contemplate

the faulted flesh that made them

what they are?

Do the bones remember

holding onto children, home

and wife?

Do the bones remember

anything at all of

loving life?

When we return to dust

I pray our bones will only sleep,

instead of dreaming

of the things of life

we couldn’t keep.

 

Dark Artemis

What verdant limb

tore

the remnant

of

my soul

that you hunt me?

What spore of heart

did I scatter,

that you

search me out?

My desire for freedom

is as deep,

if not deeper,

than your desire

to kill it.

Yet

as I flee your arrows,

my Dark Artemis,

I wonder if I’m really

searching for

a trap,

that you may

claim me

 

Or a corner,

where I must fight

to keep my heart,

or die a trophy

in your embrace,

 

And wonder

which I’ll choose…

No Glory Here

There is no glory here for me

The victory flame is quenched

No more the striving, driving fight,

in perspiration drenched

No more the laurel crown

that wreathes the winner’s fevered brow

The tender flesh of virgin maids

press not against me now

No more the cheering of the crowds

resounding in my head

No smiles or chants or accolades

No rivals full of dread

In this arena here I stand

though weary, sad and worn

But not til death’s hand pulps my heart

this sword from hand be torn

Dead Affections

I come again by the light of a sickle, sickly moon

to an old, cracked and mossy stone. In front of it, a

tarnished vase of long-decayed flowers, liquified

with rot and mold

Cold mist covers me like a tattered prayer shawl,

and the wolves stand still and watch from the pines.

I go down to one knee, and brush the lichen off the letters,

now almost level with the stone.

I sigh, searching my heart for the kernel of it once again,

hoping against hope, knowing it is no longer there,

and just not willing to concede.

Its leaving was painful, and it almost

severed my fingers

as I tried to keep it close.

The pain was so great, I could only beg in silence.

The thought of the looming, yawning chasm

of its absence paralyzed me, and my trembling fingers, unable to

take any more,

released it.

On my first visit here, the memories were like the flowers:

fresh, vibrant, full of color, fragrant with life.

But just as the flowers would make no new petals,

we would make no new memories,

and in time, these I cherished turned to sepia,

now tinged an ashy gray.

You made me feel life was worth living.

You lied.

And yet, still, the letters of your name

can be seen,

and I whisper it to the

black, eternal sky.

“Love.”

The Haunting

The haunting

of these

hallowed halls

comes when the

Midnight bell

is ringing

 

And the maiden

climbs the stairs

to stand there in the choir loft

singing

 

Lovely, high and sweet

her voice

The notes ring long

in beam and rafter

 

Then sweet voice

begins to quake

And singing turns

to demon laughter

 

And the fight

for her fair soul

begins with

every night anew

 

And I relive

the sin I did

that killed her love

and turned it blue

 

I have no reason now

to stay

I only know

I cannot leave

 

For I did love her once

you see

and for her fair soul

I did grieve

 

but my eyes strayed

as did my heart

as did my flesh

and I unclothed

 

Drove in the knife

that pierced the heart

and damned the soul

of my betrothed

 

 

And now she walks

these ruined halls

Once stately, grand and

full of life

 

And looks at me with

sad,wet eyes

that say

I should have been

your wife.

 

So from the palace roof

I plunged

while Midnight bell

did twelve times toll

The last knell saw a broken

shell of bone and blood

and fleeing soul

 

Now two walk

moonlit halls together

when the Midnight bell

is ringing

Saying now their

wedding vows

 

in harmony

in the choir loft

 

singing

Knowing Alexandria

Such secrets

such mystery

such knowledge of

promising delights

unwritten and unbound

shine

in your eyes

 

Alexandria

 

The bow and curve of

your teasing, smiling lips

holds the binding lock

of a

challenge,

daring a kiss

to pass the sensuous

bow and curve

of

your hips,

where the

key of release

hides

by the curved bow

in your hand

 

I am not

afraid

of

knowing you

 

Alexandria

 

I would explore

the shelved labyrinths

of love

with you

 

I would trace your illuminated tears

with my fingertips

and peruse the story in your laughter

with my hands in

your raven hair,

turning the page of you

to my heart’s content

 

In our storied, torrid passion

I would hunt at your side

and be your prey

in a bed of myrrh

buried

beneath

you

in fiery ruin

 

I would know you,

 

Alexandria

 

and never be

the wiser

 

 

 

 

Uncharted

We sailed

on a serene

silver river

to a

place

 

unknown,

unnamed,

unpopulated

 

uncharted

 

To discover

what we would

about the new world

we would claim

our own

 

and when

we skimmed

through the

billowing cloudbank

 

we were

suddenly

drifting apart

in

separate vessels

going

opposite ways

 

unmindful

unhappy

unneeded

 

unloved.

 

 

The Grave Worms

How quietly the grave worms tread

And tunnel through the fertile earth

For now I lie here cold and dead

Devoid of sorrow, done with mirth

 

But yet I hear them whispering

To centipede and fly and ant

That they can hear me breathing still

Did Death consider and recant?

 

“We’ve eaten them alive before,

So even if they haven’t died

We’ll feast on warm flesh bountiful

Before he claims a demon bride.”

 

The wood that forms my coffin creaks

And rodents too join in the fray

But dead blood never, ever leaks

Dead eyes don’t see the light of day

 

And yet I hear them

Scraping, scratching, clawing, whispering

Whispering still

 

I wonder will my hearing stop,

Or will I hear them eat their fill?

 

How quietly the grave worms tread

And tunnel through the fertile earth

For now I lie here, feeling dread

Devoid of sorrow, done with mirth.