The light of the moon is a reflection of the sun. Though we perceive phases, she is never in truth illuminated, partial or full, she is always completely whole. The sun goes on burning, while she compliments him. We respect them for the light they lend, but why do we not laud the darkness? Why don’t we dance for the shadows? Here on our self-centered planet, we think we own the world, when truly we are at the mercy of our vision. Without cones or rods, how could we perceive light? The planets don’t rely on our sight. Mercury is still mercury without our feeble map of the stars. Navigate the self, and one discovers therin a fine ash as black as obsidian.
I sat at the foot of mount Vesuvius and heard a conversation between the sun and moon:
Sun: you are my mirror.
Moon: what do you see?
Just then the earth shot up in flames of jealousy, whose aftermath resulted in a sea of hard black stones, which shone like silver, but you’d never know, if it weren’t for the darkness.
I’m reminded of the opacity of the river at night, under moonlight.
The silver glow of the undertow and the mystery of what lies below.
I would skate out far, under the brightest stars and never reach beyond the depth and darkness.
Skating in circles, with sudden leaps into the air, then falling effortlessly down on solid water. “We skate around the truth of who we are,” out here in the dark, but more will be revealed they tell us.
I hadn’t yet known you, couldn’t conceive of things a world away, blinded by the glare of those serrated tips, carving dreams out of ice, sculpting our future one gliding moment at a time, cutting through layer upon layer of falsity to the divine mystery of who you are.
Visions of self reflected on the sparkling surface, emerging complete, defined, loved into the translucency of truth and beauty.
Your army green eyes camouflage our inner war, never to lose each other in love’s battle. I am your gypsy child forgiving the gaps and the distance, forging our world anew each day.
You are my grand spy master, averting me from disaster, reshaping my love for you always.
You must be a chameleon, the one that so fascinated me in science books as a child, able to blend into the scene at will, emerging with hand outstretched, ready to take in my true colours.
Filed under Beauty, Colours, creative, Displacement, Ice, inspirational, Intimacy, introspective, Love, Moon, Poem, poetry, writing
What cycle of the moon would bring us our doom; two fish washed ashore in a forest.
The tide pool offers us a view of birds, previously hidden, but for those moments we would jump above the surface of the water.
They build nests and create something numinous beyond all seeing.
If only we could grow wings.
If only we could find our way
free from this puddle before the sun rises and dries up our dreams.
“But where then shall we go and what will we behold?” Asked the one fish of the other.
When our sadness flows in streams we will drown in the river of our selves, sink deep into the roots of the trees and then branch out to the sky and swim among the stars.
Filed under Beauty, Bird, Death, dreams, Drowning, Fairy Tales, Fish, Forest, Freedom, Moon, Poem, Sorrow, Soul, Stars, Sun, Time, Tragedy
Her hair is stained by the 56th nucleon of an Orion constellation, surrounding a planet that rains pure silver.
Curled into long locks by the graceful fingers of a Jupiterian Queen.
Her eyes are green, like emeralds plucked from the Nile in Egypt.
Her body was formed on an ancient land under the sea, somewhere long ago and far away from me.
Filed under creative, dreams, Infatuation, inspirational, Longing, Love, Mermaid, Moon, Poem, poetry, Soul, Stars
Red tape, white tape, things to break and be bound by. Seal my heart away in a box, in storage where it stays, incapable of remaining any other place, but categorized under things to take out when unpacking, things to decorate this empty space.
There was a turning door that alternated between dark & light, among all the places she led me. I could not follow her in, could not let myself process the shadowy barrier I would never have the chance to cross.
Her mouth was gentle and breakable by invisible kisses, kisses stained black, white, dark, light & beautiful in their pain.
We cannot get beyond the dusty smell of death in all the old places we stay.
I see a flutter of butterflies carrying stars to the river, to drop them deep in the murky silence & the gush of waves.
Some day I will drown in stars.
Some day I’ll rise silver & moonstruck, to hold her in my arms and stay in a place where my heart is still and my body never defies me.
Filed under Beauty, Death, Displacement, Drowning, Freedom, Longing, Loss, Love, Moon, Poem, poetry, Sorrow, Soul, Stars, writing
Can you catch death from an owl, or freedom from a butterfly?
Wisdom & transcendence.
I have walked along the palace walls and witnessed the loneliness of the queen; the things she has seen and been above, and the absence of true love in all the stars we wish upon. Saw princes turn into demons and princesses hide away in dark places, praying to false saviours in the sky.
I have rode trains near ancient remains and felt the sorrow of the broken stone goddesses, who are a testament to the war we wage against all that is different.
I sat with you one winter night and you held my arm tight, trying to catch my pulse. It froze like a piece of glass and lodged into my heart.
Midnight arrives and I skate down the river, to the edge of the city. I stare up at the lights in the sky and wonder if it matters that there’s life on other planets if it’s all the same as this.
When I was twenty I drank a bottle of vodka and disappeared. The truth appeared to be nothing but a blur on the horizon. When I woke up I was sober and nearing forty. I found I had missed nothing. Being awake or asleep, life still carries on in the same way with or without us. We have gravity to blame.
I decided to become an astronaut and float above the world, alone. Out here in the dark no one sees me. I hear the desperate pleas of the lost ones back on earth, crying for something, anything to take it all away. Some pray for little things; like jobs, children, and marriage. Some pray for bigger things; like freedom, truth and love. Not one of them sees how futile their efforts are. Not one of them cares for the things beyond.
In space you are weightless and mute. You can’t hear the sound of bombs going off in the name of love, because bombs don’t even matter and love is only a word. Nothing can touch you when you are free, not even gravity.
Filed under Astronaut, creative, Death, Displacement, dreams, Earth, Eternity, Freedom, Gravity, inspirational, introspective, Life, Longing, Loss, Love, Moon, Mortality, poetry, Sorrow, Soul, Space, Stars, Time, Tragedy, travel
You told me you love me to the moon and then the moon shattered in three crescent pieces on my floor. (The crimson moon necklace made of clay, you bought me on the island that day.) Where will you love me to now that our moon is broken?
Ovid said that although all things are temporary, nothing perishes. Everything is flowing. It’s sink or swim.
I doubt this was an accident.
I meant to replace the picture I had hung in my kitchen that reads:” those who love passionately teach us how to live.” I was going to hang the calendar you sent me for this new year, the one about unlikely friendships in the animal kingdom, and then smash, down from the nail, like a fallen Christ.
Is there really a Hades? Can we take a boat there? What will Persephone say when she hears the news?
We may never see another spring.
What a tragedy.
And I walked about my small coffin of an apartment repeating “I broke our moon, I broke our moon.” Bury my heart at the Acropolis.
Filed under creative, Death, Greek, Grief, introspective, Life, Longing, Loss, Love, Moon, Mortality, poetry, Sorrow, Soul, Stars, Sun, Time, Tragedy, travel, writing