Midnight Moon

April 16th 2023

I pranced across a midnight moon,

its words surround me, spaceless.

I pranced across it all too soon,

how does it speak, when faceless?

I strolled across a midnight moon,

my steps reverberating.

I strolled about without atune,

a dance made liberating.

I trudged across a midnight moon

attempting to rebel.

My hands were tied, as not immune

to, seemingly, a spell.

I ran across a midnight moon,

this piece in me, left bleeding.

I dove inside the midnight blue,

restrained, and yet conceding.

I twirled across a midnight moon,

a voice inside my head.

I lay with dreams of midnight muse

and darkness in my bed.

Oak

April 13th 2023

I run

and run

and run

and run

‘til breathless,

I am not.

I run until I reach the tree;

a stature, she begot

a significance unknown to me,

or maybe I’ve forgot.

Her surface breached

and roots entwined,

I trip over a knot

and on the Earth,

I lay supine,

in a dream

I’ve not forgot.

Sparrow

April 7th 2023

You sit upon my shoulder,

and pecking at my brow,

your strip-ed wings, they flutter,

a beat to disavow.

But hell, am I mistaken?

A passerine, you are

with browns and grays forsaken,

and colors left ajar.

Here, in a lone arrival

from there you dare not share,

in me you find revival,

a rest from this despair.

A nest I built of sticks and stones,

a fortress for your bellow,

with hope, someday, we may atone

for your life as a Sparrow.

“Stay, sparrow stay, won't you stay in my window?
I've never been so close to anything so beautiful.
Wait, sparrow wait, oh please don't you go!
I love the way I felt it move, vast the wind it blows.”

Tom Odell ~ Sparrow

Subtle

April 6th 2023

I lay by a wakened you,

in the morning light

enveloping me, an enticing touch,

your grasp on my skin,

it ignites

this untold feeling

of happenings we must not

mutter, despite

quiet, subtle inklings

in a world that can guess

at what we’ve drawn anew,

yet only we know the truth.

Lovers

February 14th 2023

I ask for the world to not fear me, as I do not, it.

Fear is an invitation.

If I begin to fear, they will forbid a place where we can be lovers;

a place like the touch of a hand, just warmer than my own,

or the bud on a plant that would go unnoticed,

had I not stopped for a moment.

It is the glass of cold water when I haven’t had enough,

or the glass of whiskey when I have.

It is a place where the birds always sing.

It is a place where the light never fades.

It is a place where even lovers never quarrel.