He never asked she change
She was the moon and white and always would be,
Or her phases,
He knew she would wax and she’d wane, it was plain,
He didn’t even ask she be faithful,
Just that she’d
I am staring at the moon,
it is full and orange, round,
its face seems inquisitive, wondering,
it makes me wonder what you’re doing.
Posted in Love, Personal, Poetry, Slam
Tagged alone, Love, memory, missing, moon, oral sex, poem, poetry, sex
Posted in Love, NaPoWriMo, Non-fiction, Personal, Traditional
Tagged DNA, drugs, eyes, Las Vegas, Love, magic, moon, mushrooms, napowrimo, napowrimo 2013, NaPoWriMo2013, nature, sex, smiling, time, writing
There she was one Sunday night, full in her power and in a rusty red and orange hue,
Kissing her lover, the mountains, goodbye to cut her swath across the valley inverted,
Her face a perplexing medley of ecstacy and resignation and duty and sadness,
Longing to be free but looking back in fondness on the love she shared with the brutish mountains.
They brooded, those mountains, in the gathering dark,
The light of their lover, the moon, lingering slightly,
And soon, as she crested the vestiges of their peaks,
They sat contemplating how they had once been lit up,
A reflection of a reflection but enough still to give them a glow,
A glow that started outside them and worked their way in,
And even though she was gone, there was still warmth radiating out their stones for some minutes,
But soon they grew cold.
Seventh shuffle rounds the bend but I won’t stop,
Afraid to splay the cards on purple silk to see just what they might portend. It doesn’t matter anyway – I can tell you what they say without looking.
Posted in NaPoWriMo, Personal, Poetry, Slam, Theology
Tagged Love, moon, napowrimo, poetry, pressure, stars, sun, Tarot
I want to tell you everything I know about myself and so expose when the moon hangs low,
Growing nearer as the stars glow gallantly in comparison to the brightness in your eyes when I have you in my orisons.
Core untrimmed, contents revealed:
I’ve known loves that dropped like out of the sky,
Didn’t pull my chute out of fright and plummeted instead to the ground,
Ended it with the clack that resounded extra loud.
Clack! Rounds rebounded, stored and stacked,
Some might say he’s slack in the stack stored upon his back,
Boasts a knack at knocking words together,
To turn them toward some poetry,
When the fact he’s writing poetry should yet fill her with some worry, see?
Posted in Love, NaPoWriMo, Poetry, Slam
Tagged artifacts, daisy, eyes, fire, flaws, flowers, lilac, lily, moon, poets, roots, rose, sanctuary, sin, song, stars, tree, truth