Tag Archives: night

Electricity

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Strung more tightly than violin strings, the two sweeping the darkened, smoky room in a feral arc know a dance that defies all others. Piazzolla provides the backdrop of sound, but the pulse is found far deeper inside–somewhere near the center of two souls, perhaps. Will the world implode in this, their passionate spin? Love, darkness and brilliance compel their moves; time will race or freeze and stars may blaze or die, but as long as the dance goes on, the night will be filled with mystery and animal joy that only these hearts could possibly make. Let the music stalk on, and learn to live and die of love: here in the night, the tango burning in these two will keep a world of beauty pulsing long beyond their lives.

digital artwork

Her Moment of Respite

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graphite/digital illustration

Reading

A heavy braid of brown-black hair

Coiling over her shoulder frames

The mourning dove-brown collarbones

That rise and fall in subtle flight

As she breathes, sitting back there in such quiet repose

As if to lend some grace to that so humble vase of white

Field lilies at her side, and when she turns

The antique pages of that favored book,

She spares a moment’s look to watch the lilies catch

The kitchen windows’ waning light

Just as the late-day sun tips in

Behind those distant trees to

Chase the night

Magical Night & Mystic Day

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12

photoEnchantments

One night I stood upon the green

And every nightingale a-wing

Stopped in the linden trees to sing,

A perfect choir though all unseen,

Encircling in the meadow’s crown—

Night-blooming flowers ‘round my feet

Reflected moonglow, and their sweet,

Sweet breath rose up as stars fell down

In meteor showers to earth because

Its beauty was so great, so dear,

They longed to draw the night sky near

To all this peacefulness that was—

And while I stood upon that lawn,

Aching with joy, with ecstasy

As sharp as ice and flame in me,

I woke full wide, and it was dawn.photo

The day that came up in that place

Made all the green-wood hum and quake

With quivering for pleasure’s sake,

At seeing the full sun’s clear face,

Yet, basking in the softest fall

Of constant rain, as mist, to fly

In colored arcs across the sky

And shower prisms on us all—

The birds of day joined in that hymn

And coaxed the foxes to the green,

Contented beasts not often seen

In sun, and as I stood, a slim

Grey foal came, too, and nine or ten

Of rabbits, and the beasts all danced,

And I stood still, transfixed—entranced—

And blinked my eyes, and it was night.digitally painted photo

The ABCs of Me, Episode 2

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26

The Awesome Blog Content Award, Courtesy of HRH ‘Nessa of the Stronghold, requires that I provide you with an entire alphabet of Me-itude in response, so in order to prevent your eyes from snapping back in your head like the cylinders in a slot machine and your brain going into hibernation, I have subdivided the alphabet into three parts. I will reiterate only the award rules–to get the rest of my response to it you should head back to Episode 1–and share the second series of letters in today’s post.

Rules of this award:

1. Pass this on to unlimited fellow bloggers.

2. Share some things about you, using the alphabet.

photo

K is for Krumhorn

not clues in Trivial Pursuit,
but instruments from ancient days–
I’ve newly learned to sing their praise.
Light, come clear the darkness, break impenetrable night
to let in day and sanity and set the wrong aright,
to open hopeful windows wide, to raise to higher station
these wond’ring, wand’ring souls of ours through your illumination.
Mute as the grave, voiceless and weak,
I haven’t a singular word to speak
when the signal fails and the synapse strays–
but only on my worst dysphonic of days.
Night calls to me. I love the velvet
darkness of its touch, its song,
its slowing breath, the way a well-met
dream can draw me right along . . .
Ossified as I can be,
a stuck and stubborn brute am I,
unwilling and unchanging–see?
I let the whole quatrain go by–
Peculiarity is my gift! My adoration for the weird
knows few bounds–I get a lift from thinking fish could grow a beard,
from dreaming idle silly dreams of lizards singing, candy socks,
electric sofas, grey ice-creamsand giving grown-ups nasty shocks.

photo

Q is for Quiver

Quiver full of arrows, yes? Here in my heart I quiver with glee
because in love I’m a quivering mess,’less Cupid comes to puncture me–
No, no!–the quiver, instead, should hold an armload of arrows of skill and wit
to set ye a-quiver, as though fell cold, in astonishment I had thought of it.