A Page a Day

A page a day,

the sages say,

is healthy for to write.

A poem, a story, ditty,

typed by day or

penned by night.

But sages are not writers

so no matter what they say,

when Muses seize you

by the throat,

you find you will obey.

So write whene’er you want to friends,

and write whene’er you can.

And listen to your Muses,

for a sage is just a man.

 

(*art by Sam Kennedy)

 

 

The Summit of Self

 

You’ve traveled far to see me, child,

and never told me why.

Am I supposed to love you, hate you,

live with you, or die?

 

You’ve traveled far to see me, child,

but I don’t know your name.

Am I to solve a riddle or to

play a guessing game?

 

You’ve traveled far to see me

following some long dead star.

And now you stand before me here,

so I’ll know who you are.

 

No longer sentient, my child.

Not able to inquire.

I can no longer see or hear

your circumstances dire.

 

I’ve no advice or wisdom.

You must learn them on your own.

The maggots feasted long ago,

and sharp fangs cracked the bone.

 

I’ll say your name to you, my child,

and I will speak it true.

The skeleton you gaze at on this mountaintop

is you.

 

Descend now from this mountain, child.

There’s nothing for you here.

Death’s but a silent, endless dream

and so you mustn’t fear.

 

You weep, my child, but foolishly.

The fate of all is this:

the gods who see us war and play

betray us with a kiss.

 

 

Why Do You Love Me?

“Why do you love me?”

Why should I not?

“How much do you love me?”

I love you a lot.

“What is it you love, then?”

Your smile and your eyes,

your musical laughter,

your soft, tender sighs.

Your hair in the moonlight,

Your eyes when they shine

with tears of rejoicing

when I say you’re mine.

Your lips when they kiss me,

your hands when they touch,

your arms when they hold me

too long and too much.

Now tell me you love me.

“You know that I do.”

I want you to say it.

“Yes, I love you too.”

How much do you love me?

“As wide as the sky,

as deep as the ocean,

as loud as a cry,

as hot as the desert,

as pure as the snow.

My darling, I love you.

You know that.

You know.”

 

 

 

Moon Song

Nothing between

me and heaven.

 

I waited,

watched the moon rise,

saw the earth spin

to look away,

 

But I did not.

 

The wind rose

to pay homage

to its lunar jewel,

 

And clouds

slipped across

its sun-kissed span,

 

a wolf’s eye

rimmed with kohl,

 

A lover’s eye

in a keyhole,

 

a peering beast

rising from

sleep.

 

In the night-blue verdant

branches of forest pines

and late summer leaves

the wind sang.

 

My heart found the harmony,

and for a fleeting moment

I was a floating note,

 

Unbound

in

Moon Song

 

Where Will You Take Me?

Where will you take me?

“Where would you go?”

Up to the sky to play

in the moon’s glow.

Out past the night clouds

to juggle the stars.

There’d be no limits,

no chains, and no bars.

“Where will you take me?”

Where would you go?

“Down to the ocean floor

so far below,

stirring the sandy mud,

skimming the stones.

Passing by treasure,

and shipwrecks, and bones.”

“Come, let us go now.

First here, and then there.

Deep on a sea voyage

high in the air.”

 

 

The Mourning After

Amid the wreckage of Love’s palace he stood, looking at the blood and rubble of what had once been splendid and vibrant and good.

No more.

Empty now, his sobs echoed in the broken rafters, louder for that he’d told himself he wouldn’t cry.

Men have no feelings, no hearts. They are but brute and rutting beasts capable only of low thought and high mischief.

Darkness gathered at the window, peering in on him with its pale lunar eye lighting the ruin he’d become, kneeling with his face in his hands, shoulders shaking like a trembling child.

Sudden, cruel, and terrible had been the sound of her high-heeled footsteps, staccato clacking  like small caliber shots to his heart.

Dignity lost, manhood scattered, his ice veins turned to water,and the water came out through his eyes. Despair had him by the throat and pulled the anguish out of him. He gave himself over and vowed he would always remember

And in the morning after, he would begin to become whole again,

But in the mourning after, he would never forget.