The Lonely Author confesses his love for his muse
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The Lonely Author confesses his love for his muse
Tag: muse
doors upon the sea
Poetry under the palm trees continue….
doors upon the sea
who am i to tell the roses
not to bloom
how do I stop the hands of time
or silence a lonely wolf
howling at the moon
how can i not think of you
it’s like asking my heart
to remember not to bleed
or a pianist who lost his hands
to forget his keys
my beautiful muse
tell me I can lock these thoughts out
convince me
I can put doors upon the sea
.
.
Am I wrong to love my muse?
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in the whispers of palm trees
in the whispers of palm trees
my mind wanders aimlessly
like algae on the sea
beneath my rolled-up khakis
warm waves crash upon my feet
reminding me of…..sigh
a gentle caress
trembles my skin
underneath my white shirt
I turn to reach for her
my hands grasp an island breeze
paradise is lost
she is the treasure I never had
sand seeps from longing fists
I call her name
as her silent giggles echo
in the whispers of palm trees
Photo taken by me.
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the coming of a muse
A tribute to my muse (and muses everywhere).
.
the coming of a muse
A woman in red
reveals powerful emotions
performing her tango
depicting a poet’s words
A matador’s blade
carved inspiring verses
of sharp metaphors
possessing the power of a bull
While a thousand church bells
rang in poetic harmony
as red carnations
stood in full bloom
proclaiming his heart aches for you
Cristo Redentor awaits with open arms
So does he
There was no need of red carpets
or trumpets sounding
when the universe conspired
when Pythia foretold
the coming of a muse
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my muse
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
.
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
.
.
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she is love
she is love
She is a goddess
reigning over poetry and prose.
The divinity of her words
written by a siren so sublime,
inspires heaven and earth
my body and soul.
She is all of that,
and so much more.
Befitting of one description,
she is love.
.
Photo from Google Images. No credits provided.
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She Writes For Me
She Writes For Me
.
No one knows our secret
Our beautiful connection
From her pen
To my heart
She writes of love
She writes of me
Perhaps she’ll write tonight
so I can read her words
and pretend
she writes for me.
.
Image borrowed from Google Images.
DISCLAIMER. Fiction, though I wish it wasn’t.
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The Way Things Used To Be
The Way Things Used To Be
Our home has become as lonely
as the last leaf on a dying tree
laughter no longer reverberates against walls
we consummated with our love
old arguments replay themselves endlessly
like a scratched record avoiding the next beat
the eerie shadows of who we once were
turn us into restless spirits of the night
as we haunt ourselves with stained memories of
the way things used to be
Photo from Google Images
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Her Words Are My Aphrodisiac
Her Words Are My Aphrodisiac
Her words are my aphrodisiac
as her tender keystrokes
burn my trembling skin
hypnotized by lovely metaphors
she fills my voids with sin
Her words are my aphrodisiac
let my body be a clean sheet
where she pens a little prose
I will admire every syllable
more than she will ever know
Photo taken from Google Images
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Halloween Fun
Lonely Author had a little Halloween fun with his better half; his muse turned Fairy.
Hope everyone had a safe one.
The Lonely Author 