"Absence diminishes minor passions,
and inflames great ones,
as the wind douses a candle,
and flames a fire."
- François de La Rouchefoucauld 1650
Shy stare behind fair hair, across the room,
a spark jump starts a heart engulfed in fume.
The rush of blood will flood with smoky plume:
desire, this burning fire - their world consumed.
As fate decrees, the subtle breeze provides,
the means to end or send their flame to skies,
but will their fill turn into their divide?
Or does true love still cause these hearts collide?
Intense and hot, forget me not, tonight!
Now found apart, 'goodbye' imparts a fright!
So, will the wind rescind passions delight?
Or cause a pause, to fuel their reunite?
A test of time designed to find the cost -
of lust, of trust, and what cannot be lost.
A Simply Stated Sonnet
A Simply Stunning Sunset
A story of the glory in the South,
when light hits right above the hillside crest,
that's found on mounds that Nature has allowed,
if you imbue the view it will arrest.
Yet still, I fill my eyes with skies' reprise,
behold as gold unfolds beneath the days,
when other colors have arrived revised,
and fine design is shrined by sunset maize.
When, then the end begins to rouge my sight,
translucent pale prevails to mask the tone,
sky blues diffuse into the blacks of night,
my joy devoid, destroyed, by the postpone.
So I reside, tied, petrified, but strong,
until Port Hills will sing my morning song.
Photogrsapher Unknown - Please contact me if you can help identify the owner!
The Agony of the Leaves
(Love in 1800’s England)
My horses' tracks click-clack 'cross dim lit street,
while cobbles wobble 'neath their labored cleat.
Pale nights' moonlight lay bright upon receipt,
it finds me seek my love to loves' retreat.
The carriage stops under my crops' command -
black bowler hat, with suit to match, I stand.
I spy her face, such grace encased and grand,
ornate in white, extending tight gloved hand.
My eyes surmise the rapture in her heart,
I say 'I've loved you way back from the start.'
Surprised, she sighs, and fights off tears' depart,
her lips' soft kiss insists we never part.
My palm now calm enough to cup her cheek,
new love deployed, in tears of joy, we steep.
The Dream Weaver - A Tribute to
Martin Luther King, Jr.
Emotions pour as scores beg for his voice.
He takes the stand, his hands command the crowd,
who've come undone from other peoples' choice -
coerced and forced, some bloody but unbowed.
He plants the seeds that lead and feed the mass,
such speech will teach the world to stand and breach
hates' wall - let's all stand tall ignoring class -
so resolute with truth, in practice preached.
A bold proclaim to take joyful daybreak,
emancipate, create, and liberate;
why question 'no oppression' - just partake
to set the scene and live his dream, equate.
In pleas to breathe in parity and bring
hopes' song along, he sings 'Let freedom ring!'
Sounds of Freedom, © 2010
This fight - my plight - begins as I contend
impending thieves against descending night;
inviting sleep to keep with me and fend,
by sending dreams - the means to my delight.
The twists and turns are indiscernible.
Unstable thoughts return and then persist,
resistance sought is fought through vicious duel;
this fool, he lays awake, the clock insists.
Insomnia defeats my chance to dream;
seems circumstance has forced this submission,
within my mind I find resigned to scream,
and deem this time my cognizant prison.
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
Act II, scene 2, line 23. Romeo
Fortune's Fool (Tempestry)
A shore, for which a ship shall soon set sail,
with breaking crest whose grip cannot contain
the breadth and depth of love that will unveil,
lest breath from curving breast impose refrain.
How will this fleet pass 'gainst impending wrath,
in 'tempt to beat such treacherous a sea
as limerence that paves a drowning path,
until compunction plays it's piracy?
While flowing dark abyss absorbs the night,
with cargo never having known a home,
though absent of a single guiding light,
'til last resort, departing port, alone.
Confined, resigned to drift along, in wait,
the windless mast has cast his heart as bait.
Beneath a sheet of mystery, asleep,
my thoughts, they drift haphazardly risque.
In search of satisfaction driven deep,
I raise in ways that words cannot convey.
You lay awake, in sync with every stride,
confide that you'd prefer to ride than drive.
As viscous friction forces tight curves wide,
our gears slip-shift while chassis lift, complied.
Addicted to the edge of subconscious,
our drive begins to drift into drunk dreams,
we slide along the ledge of lust, nonplussed,
adrenaline exploding from the seams.
Now beaten back, confined to collapsed heap,
our minds relax, unwind and drift to sleep.
I've captured rapture in a single smile!
The wind within my lungs escapes awhile.
Without a breath I'm left speechless, a mess,
euphoric rush, good fortunes crush, distress.
These butterflies, I so despise, haunt me.
The sweat of salt's regret - my hands debris.
With weakened knees, this shy disease confines;
my ruined mind can't find Amor's design.
So why won't fate, comply and satiate
this soul, whose goal is to avoid abate?
And then begin to mend a heart maligned,
fom years of tears forever intertwined?
How to forget this new regret I've caught,
and then pretend as though I'm not distraught?
Smoke & Mirrors
High perched under the church of right and wrong,
le Chat c'est Noir shall star in vat of night.
Slight eyes demise insist you'll come along
to forced coerce of tortoruous delight.
How will your will withstand such binding grip
as life that's lived in dance with Devil's grasp,
where scythes reap souls to drain their ruddy drip
'til rivers drown down rope's repenting rasp?
A slave of pride now tied in grave delight,
the purrs infer most should have run along
as claws find pause from light of dying night,
eviscerating waning rights through wrong.
A selfish sip from demon's tipping glass -
though stain remains, the bitter taste will pass.