Revisited Thought Revisited

in the warm flesh
bleeds the bright
silvered perspiration
haunting night
perfume imagined
on the breeze’s flight
serenade the senses
with such delight
that what is writ
is more than dealt
’tis both the thought
and passion felt
such is the hour
past midnight
and its power
to desires ignite.

A Dream Of Lights

a dream of lights at year’s end
silk garbed golden promises
to fragrant gardens do they send
my thoughts to heaven’s premises
wherein the precincts of my heart
open to the gentle grace
that she to my eyes impart
the blessings of her loving face

knighted

if I were pure as Galahad
only you would tempt my piety
thus I would taste perdition’s flames
glad of our improprieties

Ballad Unfinished

what measured chance,
perchance
my love
that this romance
will dance
my love
upon the graves
and waves
of lovers lost?

for we must not miss
that kiss
my love
that our lips
in promises
my love
have twixt us
a-whispered hushed
without
a thought for cost.

the woman thou gavest me

you held your face to me my love
inviting but the sweetest wish
that lingered on your brow a while
before we shared a lingered kiss
held now in place as almost stone
eternal ‘fore the elements
as is our love in marble honed
under infinite firmaments.

Darkness

the darkness speaks a thousand tongues
each of discord’s malice’d tears
yet of this myriad of voices
’tis mine alone which stokes my fears.

Flowers

bright flowers of the summer’s morn’
turn their stares toward my eyes
accusatory earthly scorn
the gardens artifice defied
yet in defiance beauty glows
despite itself and jewels our days
thus on their blooms our mercy’s thrown
until at last we part our ways.

THE MAUSOLEUM

the candle shook this darkened womb
scattered gold around the tomb
and in that lantern’s light did see
the sum of life’s blithe mystery
vitality, virility
captured for eternity
as decorated ossuary
the irony of effigy.

Artifice

this poetry is fair pretence
masquerading finery
without an honest sense
that bears my soul’s reality
although ’tis not a lie
the lines are artful laid
and in their rhythms try
to my true meaning pay.

Unfinished

the moon summons us
to share secrets in her name
a benevolent confessional
devoid of any blame
in which we may know our thoughts
how our souls be stained
but they be equal measured
both the sacred and profane