I am a novelist/screenwriter swimming upstream against the violent currents of life. Fighting the usual obstacles every writer has to confront; rejected queries, distractions, loneliness, editing, writer's block, and NEEDING to have my voice heard.
A friend gave me a ticket to a Latin Moonlight Cruise (basically a floating nightclub). The ambience and music; perfect. The ladies….oh so beautiful. A perfect night for romance. One little problem…….it was couples night.
This poem and photo were born on that night.
An abandoned yacht sits on a dock Unsure if it will ever sail again My moonless heart Remains still Like a sailboat without a breeze He studies the sky Without constellations Finding a single star That winks back Advising him A ship only looks forward Reminding me Of the girl I haven’t met Where is she now Does she admire the night sky Is she loved Or is her heart moonless too
Flying to Las Vegas this morning. (Don’t ask me why, I loathe gambling.) Lonely Author will find something to entertain him in Sin City.
I would tell you all about my little vacation when I get back, but what happens in Vegas……blah, blah, blah.
Grateful for all the warm messages and wishes. Doing much better now. Thank you.
Now, let’s get back to poetry………my muse deserves that.
My muse is a prism for when she writes I see the other side of light As I read her words I become an unraveling knot That slowly comes undone If she knew how she brightens my darkness with her inspiring poetry my muse would understand she is a prism illuminating a spectrum of love deep inside of me
My love everyone wants to know our little secret can’t they see you live in my poetry For every beautiful word every little inflection is an alluring reflection of you For I never seek inspiration in the birds or bees or classic Greek tragedies This poet writes by inclination Don’t tell anyone of this little revelation there’s no denying that it’s true our little secret My heart beats metaphors just for you
I would like to dedicate this to my muse, if I had one, but I don’t. So, I won’t. (Wink Wink)
bubbles of love
Soaking in an effervescent tub of your warm poetry tiny inspirations burst all around me Sparkling suds of passion cleanse my soul of the unsightly stains of dirty lovers and tainted memories For you are the nymphet of my passions a sensual siren of sonnets The warm bath that never goes cold Now I find myself submerged in your verses blissfully drowning in the fountain of your never ending bubbles of love