Her hair, dark as a midnight sea,
Eyes alive with untamed adventure.
Every flutter sparked a blaze,
Igniting the world around her.
Even the silent, dreary night
Found its pulse, its reason to burn.

No wonder the wild ones circled,
Drawn like moths to her flame.
She, the firefly of the night,
A Tinkerbell in a world of shadows,
Surrounded by moonlit masquerades,
Entranced by her unearthly glow.

I waved, almost by accident,
And she swayed, a dance of light and shadow.
With her ethereal dust, she slipped away,
Evading the eager hands of men,
Hungry to possess what they couldn’t understand.
For this pearl was not forged to be captured,
But to be revered from afar.

Find her in solitude, and you’ll glimpse
The molten core beneath her grace—
Unbroken, like iron in the forge,
Refined, yet unyielding,
Sharper than the finest steel.

Her essence is a grand tapestry,
Woven with threads of unseen colors,
Simple, yet profound—
Like a child’s innocent crayon strokes
That somehow capture the world’s beauty.

These colors reveal her dreams,
A kaleidoscope of enchanting realms.
From afar, her fragrance drifts,
A scent of elegance and mystery,
Infusing the air with a radiant pause.

She is a rare essence,
A blend of gems, both known and secret,
Glowing with an inner light—
That’s why she captivates so effortlessly.

Even the boldest men approach,
Brave like explorers,
Seeking to unravel her mystery,
But they miss the truth—
Her heart is beyond the reach of charm or bravado,
Beyond the tools of seduction.

Though she ponders what tomorrow brings,
She needs no guide to find her wings.
With the brief time I had,
I saw the rarest of treasures—
I wished for more, more time,
To truly capture the essence
Of a woman so beautifully unique.


Janji Moore - 2021 ©️

Life was, at first, hard to understand.
I followed the rigors of living,
Day in, day out, in vanity—
Forgetting that futility only dazzles
As long as we are alive to see it.

What a privilege to give death a thought,
Though some never get the time
To glimpse the coming plot
Before it arrives to collect life.
This beautiful gift—something borrowed.

In this instance,
Death had made a catastrophic mistake—
Misjudging the chain of events,
Failing to see what I had come to know:
That life is a cowboy’s scene,
And a showman can only leap from horse to horse
While luck still rides beside him.

To be honest, no one really knows
When they will cast their final dice.
Even while staring—
Hell to the left, heaven to the right,
Locking eyes with death itself—
There is still no guarantee the game is over.

I have ridden my luck for over forty years,
Sick, dying, and still living.
I am the cowboy, the main star—
But how many more horses I’ll ride, who can tell?
Hades is only an errand spirit sent to collect.
How much does it truly know?

Some see the plot too late,
Then grind their teeth in regret:
Oh, if only I had known!
Why didn’t I ride harder?
Why didn’t I embrace every gallop—
Every high, every fall,
Every carnival ride through storm and sunshine?
Why did I let the dark clouds linger?

People spending years trying to make sense
Saying, sorry me atop their horses—
Their rich horses, dead-end horses,
The rich, poor and the broken alike—
Instead of simply riding.
The ticket will expire,
We just don’t know when.

As for me, like said
I am the cowboy- the main star,
The Clint Eastwood of buckles and gallops.
I have ridden harder than diamonds since fifteen,
Starting life from a losing position,
With the odds forever against my survival.
All I ever wanted was to ride—
To break every horse beneath me,
To defy the script.

I have ridden in every way—
Recklessly, on the devil’s own steed like a daredevil,
Glamorously, on Black Beauty,
I have tamed Maximus and Hidalgo,
Fought to stay alive upon the War Horse.
In life, I have ridden the Black Stallion,
Earned my title as a Horse Whisperer.

It is a mystery I am still here,
Thanks to Duke—
The one and only miracle horse.

So let death come for me—whenever.
I’d keep riding hard
Till the wheels fall of the wagon


Janji Moore - 2025 ©️

The Name

And if the world knows my name,
if it echoes, if it roars,
if it soars—high as the stars—

Then surely, sooner or later,
No matter how bright, it fades to night.
The shine will dim, the echoes hush,
The skies must weep with rain.
All will fall.

The name, the fame—an iceberg melts,
Its droplets, falling from the clouds,
Washing away with time’s cruel tide.
I, no longer soaring, no longer known,
Another’s new names rise to meet the moon.

Glory trickles down the mountains,
slipping past the hills,
Merging with the rivers, the lakes,
Until it waterfalls—
Falling, shrinking, vanishing
Like water spiralling down the sink.

And in the end, all join the sea,
The resting place of fallen stars—
Those who once walked the earth,
Who once lit the sky.
Yet at least, they left a mark.

So do I rise among the fleeting,
Or let my name dissolve,
Seeping into the soil?
Shall I nourish the young,
Planting roots for others to bloom?

Or do I pass unnoticed,
A ghost among the nameless?
Drifting with the countless souls
Who neither shine nor stir the tide,
Heads bowed, mere dust in the wind?

Life is choice:
to be soil—fertile or barren—
To be walked on or to grow,
Or marvel at the stars or become one.
Though time erases all,
It is never too late
To carve a name,
To leave a whisper of light in the dark.

For in the end, the greatest fame
Is in the joy of simply being—
Of carrying a name, of passing it on.
And if not me, then let my seeds rise,
Let them taste the heights,
May they smile in the sun.

So carry your name.
Extend it before life’s final game.
Win or lose, make it known—
Even if the world forgets,
At least family will remember.

A name is more than a sound.
It is a legacy.


Janji Moore - 2012 ©️