Glenn Currier Jul 2018
I am here in the hazy light of a new dawn
writing to you.
You and I here alone
is like floating in a soft piano nocturne.
Gliding over the keys with natural finesse
is a taste of heaven.

Here in this muted light
with you in mind
a privilege no less
than being in the majestic presence
of loving and friendly royalty.

Writing to you
from the inner reaches of my heart
is a journey
more precious
than the emerald landscape
I can see
to the far horizon
of this new day.

The freshness of this moment
basking in our love
is a tiny sprout
greeting blessed light
thrilled with the sticky twining
of its new life.

It is good being here
alive with you.

Written 7-19-18
Sharon Talbot Jul 2018
I said it was not meant for me,
But what did I mean?
For any youth, any love,
Whose prey who might be,
On whom you’d lean,

In your semi-corseted skirt,
Or dressed full fig.,
Stalking into town,
Shocking men in wigs,
Luring them into false love,
As others had been?

Would you capture me,
Chaining my soul to your heart,
So I must carry on playing
At your command?
I see your dress under the piano,
And your boots and pantaloons;
The piano is not my voice,
Though you insist it is.

I shot a drunken man for you,
Which made me more your *****.
You woke urges I suppressed,
Too strong for one so frail.
With words you pushed me
But caused music to pour
From me as love did.

A storm of disapproval raged all round
Our Paris nest of love and art,
You came and went like a soldier, shielding us,
And at home you urged me on,
To impromptu inventions,
Yet causing us to depart.

Packed into a cabochon,
You shanghaied me,
Away to Majorca
And the wintry sea.
Your searing love and the island’s cold
Were too much for me,
And I escaped with my art.
This was inspired by the film "Impromptu", about the affair between Frederic Chopin and the writer, George Sand, or Armandine Aurore Lucille Dupin. She had many lovers, mostly other writers and artists. Her love for Chopin was excessive and she pursued him aggressively. Once they became lovers, she insisted that his illness (tuberculosis) was due to lack of activity and fresh air and kept luring him out of his little apartment. He supposedly had a duel with her latest lover, but fainted, George picked up his gun and shot the lover, not fatally. She convinced Chopin that it was he who had wounded the man, then overcome by his violence, he had passed out. This seemed to make him feel more manly and open to seeing himself as a ****** being and not just a frail ghost. She and Chopin were together for ten years, but when she took him to Majorca for a year, things did not go well and he left. Mind you, I'm talking about the film, not an actual event, though it may have happened.  Hugh Grant played Chopin and Judy Davis was a great George Sand.
ryn Dec 2017
Solemn nocturne
accompanies my night

Invisible orchestra
serenading the moon

You will sing
the chorus of this respite

But all had ended
in a verse sung too soon
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2017
The moon gives us light but no heat.
The moon hears our secrets but doesn't tell.
The moon gives us comfort but at a distance.
The moon loves us all but it's only dark.
There's a waning quarter moon outside... It's so beautiful
Schwarzer Schwan Aug 2017
nights of wonders
the nights of the nocturnal animals
trying things they haven't done before
wasting their time with immorality,
in this temporary life of ours

born at night,
thus living in the nights
giving away their precious virginity
wasting their beauty to the other night creatures

ah, those wild nocturnal animals
I could only pity them from above

they were whipping on each other
they laughed like it was funny
they ate themselves like Ouroboros
their cage was filled with blood
they were bathing with those blood
without knowing whose blood are they bathing with

poor creatures,
if only I could help them
without touching them,
without making my hands *****,
without entering their cage
those filthy cage
the home of the "cheap *******"

fun isn't it?
watching them attacking on each other,
the bad versus the bad,
and the bad versus the bad (?)

ah, the nights of wonders
an endless night full of wonders
those poor nocturnal animals, thinking they were free
whereas it's a test,
and they failed their test

good night,
lights off!

Schwarzer Schwan Aug 2017
the moonlight shone down on me
I thought I was *** for awhile
with these radiance all over my body
my skin turns to pale

funny me, it was the full moon!
I can’t possibly be a ***
oh, I’m such a loon
no man should ever be a ***!

man is always full of desire
like me - I’m too ambitious over wealth
leaving my family in ire
and so were wishing me death

as an apology, I swear by the moonlight
I shall avenge the betrayer of my family!
and so I jumped from the height
fleeing from my depression and anxiety...

a dark night schlep
and parasitic flies make zombie bees;
this joy of flight in honey delight

why his orbit tilts wide that
never bona fide her legs
till it catches them niggling there
and thrive behind a seance in plight

as their mutation is austere
yet circumcise this oblate mission
with a meadowlark's songs of vamp.
The nights zombie bees lay eggs of  parasitic files.
Bad Vibes Jul 2017
How it hurts to know, to see
that I won't ever have the words flow, like you, through me.

My sentence structure, lacking
thoughts toss upon the sea, the sail we're tacking.

There is no passion to my words,
just novice, vice sent to up to the birds.

My strong desire, though, is meek
to dance with words until my hand grows weak.

Please be patient whilst I learn,
to write, to feel this wistful nocturne.

Corvus Apr 2017
Stars sprinkle the inky night sky
Like crumbs of diamonds on a still, midnight ocean.
I am not afraid to be here, alone,
In the vastness of twilight.
For these few moments, time is as long
As the space between those stars,
And as empty, too.
The uncertainty that sunrise will follow.
As sure as the sun is destined to rise everyday,
When there's only darkness surrounding you,
Pierced slightly by the silvery glow of moonlight...
You're all alone and helpless.
You only have the vague hope that the sun will return.
And as I sit here now, star-gazer,
Faceless nomad on the damp grass;
I feel immortal, and I am afraid
That I will always be alone with the stars.
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