An alias? Don’t be an ass!
clouds of incense
sewn with threads of
the Silver Cord,
out of body nakedness
stitch-by-niche drifting under
the moon, luna parts the dark side
of her thighs to let in some ethereal light,
’tis the passerine
bird who scolds us out
of the physical body into
the astral body –
assemblage of the
songbird, the evening
grosbeak branching on
what is balanced of All-That-Is
going out on the astral limb of a
protector of love –
the eros thimble
under the moon of
the evening grosbeak
to repel the puncture of
the needle; the closer I get
to the honeycreeper’s nectar
the more I drip with sweet prophetic
Copyright © Ms. Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist
On a balmy summer evening
the scent of jasmine’s in the air
and I sit on my balcony
counting stars – just killing time.
I breathe the night air
and an awesome sense of comfort
comes over me.
That taste of vanilla on my lips
such sweet essence
suddenly turns bitter in my mind
It was so long ago,
another time, another place,
a different moon, and peaceful nights
and you were there,
then you were gone.
Perhaps my fault,
no… no perhaps
I know it was.
Some nights, when I sit on my balcony,
I hear the sound of broken voices,
muddled bits of conversation;
so I close my eyes and dream of yesterday
when life was good
when we talked to each other,
and whispered little secrets,
and I wish I could hear them now.
Some nights I hear the neighbors argue.
Their voices are harsh
and I struggle to remember yesterday.
And the guy from-thirty six B
makes frequent visits to twenty-four A,
none of my business…
I’ve seen misery happen once or twice,
but last night,
hard to tell who was racing hell
and I don’t care.
Night time is cool in my balcony.
Let the neighbors sprinkle their dust
as they go along.
Let me just dream of vanilla
and pipe tobacco…
…my own dirt’s under control
neatly tucked inside tiny terracotta pots.
She stares into a pool reflecting midnight stars
A scrying glass of mystic mystery
A portal to dimensions where the brave may pass
Without a password or a golden key.
The shimmer of green oceans in the mind’s third eye
Reflects a myriad of distant lands
A chalice raised; a sip that brings the lips to sigh
Wingbeating spirit hears and understands.
The trees are hung with lanterns giving amber light
The sky’s festooned with stars in veils of cloud
Reflecting in her eyes. In decadent delight
She takes another sip and sighs aloud.
The light green potion lingers lightly on her tongue
Unfolding tastes of mint and aniseed
Promising deeper pleasure while the night is young
Where evening moths and fairies stop to feed.
Sara L Russell 5/6/12
Poet, Artist, Cartoonist, Goth, Time Traveller, UFO Spotter, Friend of cats everywhere. Former Editor of Poetry Life & Times. Founder of
Strange, the charge – the larger thrust –
the feeling that you must – the yen to thrive –
the urge to amplify all senses you’re alive –
strange when they don’t come. Reassurance
shuts you up, and – dumb and deaf to it –
and left to the conundrum of your inanition –
your ambition seems to be less to establish
some new basis to arrive more widely
into consciousness than to retreat to stasis.
Pep talks sound like parakeets. All the sweets
Enthusiasm eats taste bitter in your mouth.
Hope goes south. You sigh. You can’t
say you feel better. But somehow you decide
you don’t feel worse. Perhaps that signals
something like the lifting of a curse.
These cloudless nights, the sky becomes a wheel
where suns revolve around an axle star …
Look there, and choose. Decide which moon is yours.
Sink Lethe-ward, held only by a heel.
Advantage. Disadvantage. Who can tell?
To see is not to know, but you can feel
the tug sometimes: the gravity, the shell
as lustrous as damp pearl. You sink, you reel
toward some draining revelation. Air:
too thin to grasp, to breath. Such pressure. Gasp.
The stars invert, electric, everywhere.
And so we fall, down-tumbling through night’s fissure:
two beings pale, intent to fall forever
around each other—fumbling at love’s tether …
now separate, now distant, now together.
Originally published by Sonnet Scroll
Michael R. Burch’s poems, translations, essays, articles and letters have appeared more than 2,000 times in publications which include TIME, USA Today, Writer’s Digest and hundreds of literary journals and websites. His poetry has been translated into Arabic, Czech, Farsi, Gjuha Shqipe, Italian, Macedonian, Russian, Turkish and Vietnamese. He also edits www.thehypertexts.com.