Tag Archives: Beauty

The Moon and The Sun

Containing an insatiable excitement,

Strikes me as foolhardy, an unnecessary impossibility,

As driven by my favourite ladies,

So too I hope for you they will become,

This enchantment we can share,

As we did once, we will again,


Intoxicated by ambrosia,

Mistresses Destiny, Fate and Serendipity,

Clashing together in a beautiful symphony,

Where the universe is conductor,

And we are but pieces,

Brought together,

For our assimilation of what can be,

Such that only budding feelings may bloom,

Those that began the day we met,

Our eyes, our smiles and our souls,

Who could have known, between then and now,

Directed by the goddesses of love and attraction,

Into infinity,

True love never dies.


These Celtic deities; Achtland, Medb, Finncaev and Aidin,

Conchenn or Oenghis,

The sexual chemistry obvious and ready to be tapped,

Not touching you one of the hardest things I’ve ever done,

Touching you, even more so,

Possibly, though as yet unproven, one of the best,

With subtle giggles and tempted expressions,

Conversations free from the unnecessary melodrama of the daily grind,

Instead of aspirations, inspirations and the things that brought us here,

Carefully considered as this odyssey presses on.


Those passionate Greeks reveal,

Aphrodite, Eros, Hebe and Suadela,

Thalia, Venus and Cythera,

Each singing songs unlike the Sirens, toward our yearning,

Rather like the Muses,

Reaching inside of me and commanding forth,

Words that resemble silent thoughts,

Until this time was nigh,

Words unspoken,

Quiet admirations for precious enticements, subtle,

Those soon may unmask spellbinding intentions,

Those that again show this heart can feel,

Does feel,

Fluttering as hummingbird’s wings,

Flickering like the bright of a bonfire,

My temptations.


Perhaps Bintang, Ezili or Havea lolo funua,

Each together as quorum decide,

This pure desire shall be rewarded still,

Beating anew the drums of sexual fervor,

Communicating still in the abyss of time,

Finding a simple shared smile,

That leads to so much more,

Ix Che, Kanikanihia, Qadesh or Tlazolteotl,

Around personal fantasy’s conference table,

Drawing decisions from distinctions of pure desires,

Raw, ripe and blossoming,

As has been true for as long as we have known,

The perfect glint in the others’ eyes,

Knowing what we could have done,

Choosing what we did not do just as much as what we did.


What of Sjofn, Suadela or Urunrupuin or maybe Xtabay,

Are they to be believed that these hands,

These invisible forces,

Prevented us from jumping in too soon,

Giving rise to passions that may have dulled,

Without the anticipation of something so fresh,

As to rejuvenate our minds, bodies and souls?


Only time will tell,

If the grand design of these goddesses was of such import,

That the result, now within reach, is undeniable,

Their fallibility unchecked as mortals we,

Come together,

Crashing into each others lives like waves,

Leaving something each time we crest,

Taking something as we depart.


Only time will tell,


The wisdom of these loving sages,

The wisdom of our decisions,

The wisdom of our love;


Though I suspect,

Their sagacity is beyond reproach.

I am the sun,

And you Hmong Key are the moon,

And as the Hmong tale reveals,

I like the sun,

Die every night,

So that your beauty can live on,

Every night,


I love you!





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I’m Glad I Didn’t Meet You… Before… I Died!



It’s funny, how words reach the soul,

From a smiling song,

I’m Glad,

I Didn’t ,


Before I met;


Even an ocean apart,

Once literal,


Now figurative,

No longer true,

For it is beyond the realm of possibility,

That I am starred in the face,

By thoughts that are indeed not,

So great for those ladies of amorous deliberations,


My Mistresses Destiny and Fate,

Sing a tune invisible and unheard,

Like those scars I try to hide,


Through a choir of distant stars,

To a world not ready for their imparts,

One song that reaches at the strings within,

Tugging them,

In directions only moments before unthought-of,

For they bequeath to me,

Through the soft caress of words,

And the subtle knowledge of touches, deft and daft,

Wild insight to the nature of human longing,

Two erstwhile lovers without love,


Both passionate souls refined in time,

Seeking that moment, that delicious second,


Nanosecond, time seemingly standing still,

For it is,

Where the spark of intention broadcasts plain,

The brain no longer holds the wheel, the mind captive and captivated,

And instead the heart and soul incite you to feel,

To truly sense,

Their songs a ripe intoxication,

Such is the beauty and wonder of time,

Such is the beauty and wonder of life,

Such is the beauty and wonder of these words,

As on my shoulder, Darling, I feel the imprint,

Of My Black Dog’s paws and

Of that spectacle that only true believers feel,

That quiet unknown that roars for consideration,


The sentiment of confused fire,

That without life IS somehow less,

But not today, not here, not now,

Not you,

As I feel the hand upon my shoulder,

Guiding these tender sentiments,

In a mind askew, distant in deliberations,


Ripe and abhorrent, torments,

Of love come and gone,

The subtle grasp that a heart feels when lost in romance,

In you,

Releasing the past while relishing the future,

Delivered in the present, and you are a present;


Serendipity revealing a wondrous accolade,

How do I clamor when I feel her blessed admissions,

Over time, she calls with premeditations understood,

Though not entirely clear,

For she speaks to the soul, beyond the minds recognition,

To my soul, beyond my comprehension,

Leashing in my hound,

Syncopating the hearts steady beat,

Jarring it into a body sensation that is without equal,

For her calling card,

Is here revealed,

For you,

For me,

For All;

For what are these words,

But the jewels in the crown,

Of this coronation,


Like Phoenician purple,

Trading sorrow for joy,

My Black Dog,




For real understanding,



Promise and surrender,

That never before now,

Could I know,

Could you?

For what are these words,

But the true expression,

Of a wandering soul,


Like a butterfly in a net,


Longing to be freed,

For you,

To you,

Knowing that it is only this expression,

Of what is known,

That releases me,

Back to the Ether,

Back to you,

Back to me!

Returning To…

Are you singing?


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Lady; In Waiting?

The cosmic present having travelled the expanse of our universe,
Eight minutes,
Could not break through,
It tried,
The suns rays, held at bay,
Through the arrogance of our designs,
Pitiful fools,
Transforming landscapes to meet our needs,
In violation of the laws of nature,
Without consideration to anything other than our desires,
Spiteful offenses to the obvious balance of the universe,
Though strictly within the purview of the laws of man,
Recognizing the bone chilling iniquity of our ways,
Though soft and nearly imperceptible I heard her intoxicating tears,
A sobbing I understood, understand, far too well,
She was calling out for relief,
She was calling out for freedom,
She was calling out for life,
The dank and dark station,
Magnified by its emptiness,
Trains long ago stopped running,
The familiar hum and whistle of a century of progress,
Darkened and silenced by our haughty insolence,
From where I stood, I could see,
My soul momentarily uplifted as there she sit,
Finally clipped the strings of her masters,
No bank account, no phone, no place to call home,
As she could no longer live inside the bubble or fabricated comfort,
He deafening screams no longer a daily pursuit,
As deaf ears surrounded her,
And us,
Fools that we are.

Sitting prone, upon the rusted rails,
Those that had long since gone unused,
Her calculation one of symbolic representations,
A prism through which she realized her own destiny,
Her fears were palpable,
Introduced by inaction,
An immobility that only reveals itself,
When one, such as she,
Has reached beyond the violent conformity,
The gross inadequacy of just being one of the crowd,
The same that threatens you and I,
Immobilized by the acknowledgement of our arrogance,
The monstrous daily accord whereby we choose to ignore,
The plain truth, readily apparent, viciously true,
But not for her, nor for I, bearing witness to the lies we’ve told,
In that moment, realized, a kinship,
She as sister, daughter or mother, abstract,

Lover in waiting?

I as brother, son and father,

Lover in waiting?

As I approached her, the tears grew louder,
Perhaps sensing she was no longer alone, as she still sit prone,
Each of us, keenly aware of our role in our transformation,
From minor transgressions in lands far away,
Now brought home to cheat us all,
Further demand our acquiescence to the tyrant of the invisible hand,
But not her,
Nor I,
As I will take her pain and make it my own,
I will feast on her soul, endearing it mine,
Such that she may be free, truly free,
To arise, as phoenix,
From the ashes of her own submission,
To the grandest passion of her ascent as universal master,
Her own,
That I might be the final step,
In her awakening, an enlightenment that begins with personal freedom,
In exploring wants and desires,
Those do not require her submission to the slave mentality,
That shackles us all,
As I approached her, curious and wondering,
Without warning or provocation the tears stopped,
She lifted her head, turned it to face me,
Where I could see the raw beauty of her intention,
Liberated by the simple words that she could barely speak,
“Help me.”

“Help me!”


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Longing for YOU!

I still find myself thinking of you,
The lustful fire that brought us together,
The intense passion that swirled,
That mentally still does,
One I can recall at any moment,
Merely by imagining your perfect little body,
Your inspiring mind,
Your beautifully menacing smile,
Realizing that you saw a piece of me,
That I myself am yet to understand,
Of course it is too soon,
And in your care and compassion,
You had the verve to tell me,
Though I still think about both good,
And long times,
Pondering the smile on your balcony,
The one that revealed things in an instant,
that neither of us wanted revealed,
for passion is not love,
desire is not love,
lust is not love,
even if it is on fire,
with you I found that it was alright,
for me to be myself,
for you accepted all of me,
knowing that I was wounded,
knowing that I still am,
I still find myself thinking about you,
How words slipped from my mouth,
That I wish I could have contained,
Lashing out at you,
In place of another,
Lashing out at you,
Because of another,
And that leaves me empty and cold,
Wishing that I could somehow turn back time,
Take back the tempered insanity,
The alcohol fueled rage that had absolutely nothing to do with you,
I can’t take it back,
I can’t change it,
Though I must seek to understand it,
To understand me,
To find the space to allow myself,
Once again,
To find my way if not to you than another,
And another and another,
My greatest desire,
Still unattained,
My greatest desire,
May remain,
Creating a chasm that no lilac can fill,
For I know what I did,
Though I don’t know how,
I know what I did,
Though I don’t know why,
Involving you in a melodrama that had begun,
Less than a month before,
Lashing out at you,
In place of another,
And you knew,
And you knew,
Still your kindness reigned,
And you forgave me my alters trespass,
You forgave me though maybe not him,
For I certainly have not,
And now all I have,
Is the dazzling memory,
The marvelous surrender of me to you,
And you to me,
Of tender kisses,
Of caressing you as you slept,
Of the distinct sweat smell of two bodies thoroughly engaged,
Carried to me on imagined gusts,
That lingers on me,
As your fingers did,
And I am longing for you,
As I think about your smile.


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