Intimate Compositions

Luna Moth

August 4th, 2020

A Luna Moth visits me at night.
She is light lime green
With brown and purple borders bright.
She lands on me gently, and
Willingly I indulge her company;
Under the light her stillness comforts me.
Most times she stays long,
But on occasion she swiftly moves on.
In the moving of her wings
She prompts me for a song:

Oh Luna Moth with wings so soft
And beautiful colors who visits me oft!

Oh Luna Moth with wings so soft
And beautiful colors who visits me oft!

She settles, and again I am calm—
On a cold and windy night
With her presence I am warm.
Luna Moth come back again
My nightly visitor and wonderful friend;
Please do not forget about me when the twilight comes
And the rising of the sea.
Tomorrow under the light is where I will be
Awaiting your company eagerly;
Tomorrow under the light is where I will be
Awaiting your company eagerly.
Blood of Vengeance

August 1st, 2020

After the spilling of innocence,
There is the blood of vengeance;
Fire in the eyes signifies a thirst that never dies.
There must be a recompense paid.
There must be an accounting
For every tear shed in time of weeping.
There must be no rest for enemies—
No joyous feasting or sound sleeping.
They must perish,
They must perish with their blood upon them in stifling fear;
They must anticipate their fate
Knowing the hour is near.
And in that hour, revenge will be as a honeycomb sweet;
They are the sowers of violence,
So violence they will reap; savagery they will reap.
Under a red sky, rivers of blood will overflow,
Until the tall reeds and the grass is stained;
The essence of them will not remain;
The essence of them will not remain.
Even the dust of their bones the winds will carry away,
Then will come the darkness of the night
And take away the day;
Darkness will take away the day.
Their last laments will not be heard—
And their pleas for mercy will be ignored.
They shall fade away promptly from history.
It shall be written of them, that they died cowardly,
Without glory or notoriety.
Their ending will not be a great mystery;
With the blood of vengeance they shall be wiped out;
They shall be wiped out utterly.
Mourned Alive

July 31st, 2020

Farewell to what could have been;
Farewell to the voices within.
No black suits or black veils.
No trying to hold back tears after a deep inhale.
No wake or funeral rites
After a passing in the night;
No flowers or wreaths,
Or a gathering to weep.
No past stories or mention of prior glories.
No teardrops on varnished wood
With six metal handles.
No clutching of rosaries
And dishonest eulogies.
No viewings with quiet weeping,
as silk gloves gently brush over the body.
No solemn sermons
In-front of melancholic congregations.
No horse-drawn carriages
With black horses, wearing blinders
Waiting to carry glass caskets.
No pallbearers to carry the deceased.
No end of service crowds
That spill over into the streets;
No consumption of alcohol.
No sentiments of rest in peace.
No crying widows comforted by men
With ulterior motives under the guise
of helping her to live again;
No crocodile tears from estranged family
And disloyal friends.
Alive, they are mourned alive,
For it inside that the spirit dies.
Do you not see it in the eyes?
Do you not witness the desolation in their cries?
Hear their moaning in the early mornings,
The dim lamplight cast against the awning.
Who will pay their respects
And leave roses on weathered decks?
Who will mourn them?
Are they not deserved of tears?
Are they not deserved of flowers
In a beautiful array of colors
Weaved within neat and well made wreaths?
See them lying there in stillness,
Eyes closed and adorned in tattered garments.
Weep in solemn reflection
With inflections of misery within your lament.
A song is sung after the final bell is rung;
A song is sung after the final bell is rung.
If

July 28th, 2020

If you should fade away from me,
Let me hold on to the remnants of you
With tears of longing, weeping, for what could have been
In-between sorrowful singing, appealing to the heavens to hear my cry;

Kiss me one last time lest I die without remembrance of your eyes
And the softness of your skin against mine.
To have tasted of your love,
Is to have touched heaven seven times;

If you should leave, I will weep three days without ceasing,
Then on the fourth day resign myself
To the stark truth that there is
No life without the aura of your being.

The intimacy of our union I will recall vividly in my memory
And indulge in pleasure endlessly;
Seeing the subtle and sensual movements of your body,
Without inhibition, kissing you wildly and lovingly.

If you must go my love,
If you must ever leave me for any reason at all
Before you walk away, take a piece of me,
And store me away from all your other memories separately;

That I may live within you and kiss you occasionally,
To remind your heart that you still carry me;
I love you; I love you fervently.
Never leave; stay with me.
She Is the Sea

July 23rd, 2020

The Sea roars.
The edges of her violently hit the shore.
At even she is pulled by the moon;
She moans as she rises.
Her depth and darkness set under a red sky;
The place where men go to bury secrets.
She has become an involuntary accomplice;
Lifelessness slowly sinks to her cold floor
From the relative warmth of her surface;
She will not give up her dead.
In her currents they become somewhat lifelike,
Moving to and fro like some morbid puppet show,
With wide eyes open in the darkness.
The creatures of the sea
Observe their latest inhabitants;
Like shipwrecks they are scattered
Longing to be remembered;
The last of their tears coalesced
Into the salty waters.
On the surface, the living
Weep for their sons and daughters;
In their distress they go to her,
Jumping from bridges to find solace;
In her depths, they seek solace.
In her melancholy—
She is stirred with waves of sadness.
The heavens look down upon her
And see her vastness;
She is a keeper of secrets;
Yes, she is a keeper of secrets.
She holds them in her bowels for perpetuity
And cradles them in her rapture lovingly.
She is the Sea—
She is the Sea.
She will not be tamed,
And she will remain.
She gives of herself;
In her calmness and warmness they swim,
On her surface they sail,
And in her, are fish, dolphins, and whales.
She is the Sea—
She is the Sea.
She will not give up her dead;
Their tombs she will not reveal.
She embraces them and carries them with her
Wherever her currents may go.
Her cold and salty depths
Are their final rest.
In her depths,
They find their final rest.
An Angel Sleeps

July 20th, 2020

Every time you cry
On the inside I die
Smile for me now
And bring me back to life
Lest I perish without
The last memory
Of your laughter
And intimate passion
With tender kisses
The morning after
Silks of ultramarine blue
Against soft skin
Complement your hue
Your loving eyes speak to me
And again and again
I give my heart willingly
Your touch alone
Eases my anxiety
Even if I’m far away
I am home when you speak to me
My love I am home when you speak to me
Even with my many faults
You love me fearlessly
I love you perpetually
Everyday adoring your beauty
We commune in sweet harmony
And in my arms you
sleep peacefully
In my arms an angel
sleeps peacefully
Goodbye My Love

July 17th, 2020

Venomous words linger even the morning after,
And when even is come, more tears run—
Angered silence constricts the tongue, and words are hardly spoken;
Though remnants of love remain, it could never be the same —
For the heart weeps, and the spirit is broken.
And I Beheld You

July 9th, 2020

Your movements were fluid.
Looking into your eyes I cried,
And you wiped away my tears and kissed me.
The touch of you moved my soul gracefully;
See me now in my weeping
As I kneel besides you sleeping,
Your memory infused in me
And a part of my being;
Rest my love, until the coming
Of that glorious dawning,
When we are again reunited in the heavens.
It was you — it was always you;
Side by side I would have died with you,
Holding hands and in my last breaths
Reaffirming my endless love,
Leaving behind the relics of us;
Kiss me one more time —
Even in death let me feel your lips against mine,
Before the warmth of your body leaves you
And I am rendered listless,
Left to stumble around in the wilderness
Of the harshest winters.
Lost without you, I am so lost without you.
For a time, life had yielded sweetness,
But now I taste of its bitterness,
And my aura slowly withers —
What can I render to you now that you are gone?
A thousand roses laid gently
Around your headstone?
I must consort with the angels
To make inquires of your soul
And to send you a message of love and of longing;
Oh but for the day of that glorious dawning!
Until then I will carry you in my heart
Through rivers and streams,
In deep valleys and dreams, you are with me.
Winter again approaches;
I will warm us by a fire
And sing songs of our love together;
I will commune with you
And take you under the twilight
In your white dress — your hair pulled back,
Your neck adorned with a beautiful gold necklace,
The winds blowing through your dark long curls
That flow in length like graceful waterfalls;
We will dance and after rededicate our vows.
You belong to me and I belong to you.
Do you take this woman to have
And to hold, for richer for poorer,
In sickness and in health,
To love and to cherish in life and in death?
I do. Eternally, through deep waters
And through fire,
Through the hottest summers,
And through the coldest winters,
You remain my only desire;
Now kiss me as I adorn you
With a new ring, you are more beautiful
Than a blue diamond sparkling.
Whisper to me when I am lonely —
Of you I will write beautiful poetry
And remember the first day I beheld you in glory;
It was in the sixth month that you came to me,
And by the the twelfth we were in love
Together forever inseparably.
July 5th, 2020

To find the undiscovered depths of me I descend endlessly;
Falling, I keep falling, yet I fall gracefully.
Long Stemmed Roses

July 3rd, 2020

In eternal sleep the silence keeps,
Those at the wake, awake they weep;
In wooden chairs the bitterly weep,
In fedora hats and veils of black.
She screams his name in writhing pain —
The gloves of silk the tears they stain.

At the final viewing it starts to rain;
In autumn winds it starts to rain.
They eat and drink and speak of him
But never knew his suffering;
The nights he toiled with the soul embroiled,
In torment deep and anguished sleep.

The winds of change — the winds of change
Though he prayed, they never came.
In a lilac field they found him lain,
For it was the night before that he was slain;
In the throes of death with shallow breaths,
He called her name; his mother’s name.
And saw an archangel with eyes of flames
With broad white wings, descend from the heavens
And comfort him; a beautiful angel did comfort him.

He prayed:

God forgive my sins, and in your light welcome me in
As I now go back to the dust from where we all begin.
Amen.

Lying in a wooden box
they pause to look at him,
Eyes closed and still,
with discolored skin.
On his folded hands spill
The tears of his brethren
And the rest of his so called kin
who really never knew him.
They never knew him.

From worn hymnals they turned
To page fifteen and started to sing;
After, two black horses pulling a
White carriage is what carried him,
leading the procession of much weeping
Tears were carried in cold winds
Through drizzle sweeping —
And at that place they lowered him;
With tearful eyes they lowered him.
With red roses with long stems;
With beautiful roses with long stems.