"moonlighting" poems
I have a time zone of my own
I can stay from dusk to dawn
I feel like a dead meadow
I can't sense life,
I can't even moan
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 6:57 PM UTC
As I walk down these streets, I'm smiling
the streets aren't slippery,
they aren't riddled with puddles,
the sky sits like a blanket,
just resting on the top of the city
As I draw in a deep breath
of cold, crisp air
I'm slapped in the face
as it all comes crashing back
with every click clack and scuff of my shoes on the street top
it's as though my feet aren't mine
they walk, and I have no say
in where they go
or how fast they move,
or where they stop
I know they think they're going to the market
I know they think they'll walk the isles
and I know they think they'll carry me to the checkout
but unfortunately I know
that although they are amazing feet
and they've gotten me where I am today
they will not pay the bill at the grocery store
and their full time job as my carriers
leaves no precious time for moonlighting
so it's been left up to my soul
it's will to survive is much stronger than the feet
it knows that though I've done somethings
somethings that hurt too much to allow them to turn into memories in my mind
that scar, and brand and torment the soul
injury after self inflicted injury
that us two, we belong together
that even though I may have sold you,
dear soul
to someone else
for just enough money to pay the checkout clerk
to fill my stomach, if only for one day
to feed my demons, and steady my crutch
you forgive me, for my survival is yours
you know this pain I feel, for it's your pain too
so when, dear soul
tomorrow comes, and I always wake up,
with that brief moment just before I allow my eyes to open
where it's like staring at the sky, walking to the beat
of my feet click clacking down the street
as I feel the crisp air move into and fill my lungs
and escape quickly a little warmer
when nothing else in the world is in my mind
you are there.
Dec 4, 2010
Dec 4, 2010 at 6:47 PM UTC
Grey dress, moonlighting
You’re perched again on the rocks, balanced on the seam between the sidewalk and the street
You always burnt softly in the daylight
Your face is lit up like a distant star
Like years ago
Like humming breaths, sober and deep, that I fought to keep in
Like bodies pressed into rock
Like stories escaping your lips
We begged, but the endings never came
They thought you were the veins in the granite
The current in the lake
The light in the trees
All the things you’d curse when drunk
I knew you as the Goddess of Twilight
A profound emptiness at your disposal
To me, you were an eternity in longing
Lost in dark rooms and vacant houses
Sometimes you were an exercise in blindness
Other times, a chant
Thin and narrow
Just blood on the concrete
But most often you were the living one
The beating heart
We would count your lives on our fingers
You’d had fourteen and a half
In thirteen short years
Tonight you’re silent
Somewhere else
The day’s distant, far-off
Promising to drown you
Fiery asphalt informs you
That it should feel all too familiar
Yes, but this time you’re not here
Lingering halfway between going and gone
You’ve written your name on your cheek
For fear of forgetting
Heard a ten-year-old reciting fragments of stories the other day
Stories of a girl lost in dark rooms and vacant houses
A Goddess of Twilight
Blood on concrete
Stories of a girl with fourteen and a half lives
Stories with no ending
Oh, heaven always comes right when you’re leaving.
Sometimes you wonder why you bother to stay at all.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 12:00 AM UTC
I think I'll take a trip to I don't know
So I can sit back and whistle low
Thinking about all the loves I've come to know
Thinking about how they go
I'll sit warm with morning sun
Kidding around can be so much fun
Golden rays upon my plate
Eat up my waffles , it's getting late
I wondered where the pale moon went
He's out moonlighting is what I think
All last night he was certainly a no show
But who am I to even know
Somewhere there's a distant dream
Hiding behind the unsewn seams
There's a tear in the universe
I guess it could be so much worse
The clouds are playing tag in the sky
Fumbling around , putting on a show
Watch out as one falls down
The tears are falling , I might drown
I think I'll take a trip to I don't know
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 7:30 AM UTC
Begin here
The forbidden hope of the poor,
The firmament under shimmery
Skies sailing dreams on the moons
Glass light.
Begin now,
What dreams may come
I become many things,
I am the man who loves,
However I am also the man
That hurts from the same source.
And I can't help being all the things
A heart desires,
Two hopes on my chest
And soon I am the world
With my solar ways and my
Lunar thoughts,
Moonlighting on the precipice
Of the promised,
The fugitive love that conquered
The momentum,
I proclaimed myself the undefeated,
And I,
Here and now
Become a bird
With a song of flight
And all the treetops
Like a sea of greenery.....
Listen, my wings flapping,
I alone will dream and conquer,
The infinite hope inside
That yearns for my humanity,
And that makes me king,
For hope is the glory of all men.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 8:19 PM UTC
Landing at Belfast International Airport always made Byron feel better, but nowhere near the way he used to feel when Megan was alive. He was glad for the busy workload ahead of him, a very welcome distraction.
The latest nightmare revealed more to him than usual, which, according to his phsychiatrist, was a good thing. Climbing into a cab, Byron opened his laptop and immediately noticed the little envelope at the top of the screen. Messages from the site. Beautiful Words was a luxury, especially since adding his new friend, pen name Maiden, real name, Holly.
Byron could be a normal person on the site, no disfigurements, no judgement, and nobody would ever know about the fire, his failure to save his Megan.Of course, people could read between the lines but that was unlikely.
The message from Holly read "Dearest Phantom, i was so moved by your latest poem..." It went on to state her amazement at Byrons last name, Lorde. " is it really true? so, your name is lord Byron in reverse?" Byron felt a little flutter of excitement at the thought of someone noticing his name, for the first time,.
Byrons mother was a lover of poetry, especially romantic poets, hence his name.The opportunity was irresistable , her name being Lorde.Megans grandfather would poke fun at Byron, saying he was lucky his mother didn't like Edgar Allen Poe.
He almost replied immediately but noticed he'd reached his destination, shutting the laptop, promising himself to pay more attention to beautiful Words, Holly, Jester, and the rest of the crowd.
Byrons shrink was moonlighting at the local hospital, community work made him feel more human, less robot-like."Well well well," Byron and jake were friends from way back, even before Megan.After the fire,Byron would surely have given up, had it not been for Jake.He poured them both a mineral water while Byron made himself comfy, he knew the drill. The age old cliche, lay down on the couch, close your eyes, "Count backwards from 10, slowly drifting off the closer you get to 1,".
Byron could smell the smoke, taste the charcoal at the back of his throat. He could see her, more clearly than before....
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 11:32 AM UTC
You know how you're down and out
on the river, three sheets to the wind,
doing some night casting, a little
moonlighting to pay off the bill,
and you decide, by god I'm tired
of drifting, I think I'll anchor here.
Me, I'm living on beer, boiled eggs,
and ruined mascara. Tonight,
I'll make enough to buy a roll of dimes
so she can play the box, so she can drop
them in the sawdust, on purpose
and lean over, oh me, oh my.
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 10:30 PM UTC
Walk thee behind me, woman
Cast down thine eyes; thy mind
Deposit thy wealth in my account
Pay a penny at this coast of mine.
Moonlighting is imperative to survive
Veil thy face and hide thy tongue
Do obey my word upon thy ear
Bother not with thoughts at all, *****
Seek not a soul to assuage thy pain
Fall upon me in eternal gratitude
I grant you the wherewithal for my pleasure
And always behind me, thy feet shall be.
Star Toucher, 20 March 2013
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 4:18 PM UTC
The work I do is not easy,
but it's not bad.
I'm glad to have it,
when it's all I've ever had.
I am a student of the night.
I wear a black patch
on my sleeve.
My teacher's name is Sleep,
and she goes by Dreams, too.
She moonlights by the creek
that flows like a gust of wind
through leaves I never knew,
places I've never been.
We sing songs about you, love.
This song's about you.
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 7:46 PM UTC
Silver tides roil and spill
across wayward toes
and crossed fingers,
haphazard eyes
moonlighting as mirrors
flicker and stick
and there might be something here
that I can touch
that won't turn to stone.
I navigate through
cnidarian carcasses
and splinters of shattered sunlight
to find your fingertips-
an X where reason meets delirium,
and I trace the passage
of cerulean veins
that never lie.
It seems that time is circular here
and all of your questions,
rhetorical.
What the **** is love,
anyways?
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 4:32 AM UTC
Under the sun kissed moonlight
Which dapples the streets below,
A man leaves his life time employment
To go forth to his new temporary job.
Along the streets he lurked,
Like a thief in the night
Walking not by faith,
But instead by his sight.
Across the city 9 hours before dawn
He evades any face time
To avoid any wasted time
For he cannot be late,
Not on this date.
Under coincidental circumstances
He found this new job,
Around a few drinks,
A clever little minx.
Illumination by the queen of the night
Stolen by the king of the day,
Breathing life into this forbidden foray
A pillaging of the heart.
At the doors of his temporary career
Intentions in his mind much too clear.
Reaching inside the institution
Risking himself with no safety of income.
Into the office he put himself,
His presence made known
More than qualified
For his personal assistance.
The moon stares within the confines
Of this deep, seedy establishment.
Shining light on the dark proceedings
Which are about to proceed into the night.
Ready to work for his promotion,
Changing into his work attire,
Takes his seat in the workplace,
Planning to come second in this work race.
Forgetting his full time employers face
Moonlighting,
Under the moon light.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 6:10 PM UTC
On this crisp white sheet
The mind will be moonlighting
Editing the day
© Marcus Lane 2010
Feb 3, 2010
Feb 3, 2010 at 1:25 PM UTC
MMMMmmmmmm......
MMMMmmmmm.......
MMMMMmmmmmmelancholy melodies of misery, Mish-mashing memoirs in my mind.
MMMMmmmmmmmmistakes of my mademoiselle misshapen maladies, messing with my mental mire.
MMMmmmmmomentous man might made minute by mammary marching miseries.....
MMMmmmmmy oh my – my many marching miseries.
MMMmmmmmakes me miss the mystery in meeting..... Months of magical moonlighting...... .....mind you masterful mating!!
Mmmmmindlessly meshing membranes of moderately matching mettle.
MMMMmmmembering my moods and modes........messy and mostly misty as my mind makes it mildewed mould.
MMMMMmmmissed OH SO MADLY, if I may........ is the mercilessly milked MEANINGFULNESS in the mentioned misbegotten mismatches....
MMMMmmmmind you.....my merry moot mistakes.
MMMeeeee??? Meh!!! maniacally meek....moreover......momentarily MAD.....
MMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmm.......
5-03-2010.
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 9:09 PM UTC
Some of Al Jarreau’s songs that come to mind are “Ain’t No Sunshine, I will be here for You, Summer Breeze, Mornin and of course, Moonlighting theme from the TV series
Mr. Jarreau had a secrete serene soothing voice
The captivation being his choice
All his songs having the right melody and texture
It was tone being felt throughout every one of Mr. Jarreau songs
This was a story in every ballad
Mr. Jarreau often spoke to the moon
It might even hear love coming at noon
A summer humid night would often have a breeze
Whispers being preparation for another rhythm
The beat always went on
It didn’t matter Day or Night
The name Al Jarreau that always shed some light
He achieved with what he wanted to get done
Mr. Al Jarreau was about entertain
His legacy is what will remain
Heaven has a new voice
Mr. Jarreau achieved much on Earth
But Heaven has given Mr. Jarreau a new spiritual birth
He sung until he couldn’t sing anymore
He was like the key being to a shore
Mr. Jarreau was talented and his songs had everyone wanting to explore
He conquered and saw
It was what his music was all about
But Old age set in and sickness was now a bout
We will miss your songs Mr. AL. Jarreau
No more Mr. Radio
The connection straight from Heaven
I left us in body
But your were enriched in spirit
Music never dies
It’s a remembrance, and I know, you don’t want us to cry
Your time was up
You fulfilled every moving desire
You left us with a message, “Be encouraged and stay inspired”
Mr. Jarreau, you stated, “This is not goodbye, but until your music crosses our path again”
Meet me in Heaven
You walk, but you are not alone
You are now under God’s throne.
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 2:45 PM UTC
Moonlighting this Dreamscape,
the Eye that gleans panned...
indelibly placed as to overcome,
meanings unmoved
till they mean.
For the sake of: here to here...
a head shakes in fluid agreeance.
As if to understand stars cannot
pepper what they've issued from.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 1:12 AM UTC
Stars open between
the trees in which
I’m hiding,
the river catching
their light,
ghostly reflections
of the men
I have known
wink at me from
their watery depths
I play a game,
imagining a
narrow boat
that a family
inhabit,
a small child
running its length,
folding their bed
into kitchen
space
inside, I am
panicked,
knowing that I
cannot swim and
that the forest
is closing
in
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 4:50 AM UTC
Rowing on the moonlight,
that falls upon the water,
quiet is the night
on my lake of intimate desire.
The shores are strung with stars
that dance between the morning mist
and the oars caress the water
like the water in your sensual kiss.
I feel the cool wind whisper on my neck
and then I breathe you.
I taste the salt in the ocean air
just like your skin
and then I want you.
There's a rhythm in this motion that will bring me home to you.
Oct 13, 2009
Oct 13, 2009 at 2:11 PM UTC
Leviathan / by: butch decatoria
Linger, loiter longer
Leviathan,
These Lovelorn Lanes Fast
with lustful highs …
Fly
Farther, furthest, way Far away
To Starlight
/sweet nothings,
Interstellar sighs
Of space/ time
Feel the Empty / pain / bleed
Except great expectations’ need
To accept, expecting none
(Yet most believe doing nothing)
It’s Not for reflecting / empathy
To tragedy then forgetfulness,
On purpose, disposable friends distract,
Life’s strange viscosity hopefulness
Motions forward….
Oh monstrosity!
Wishful obsessions, stiff upper lip...
The Silent servants’ musk, mask of milk
White cream silk whips
Aftermath of drunken trippin’
The rush of us who trust, slippin’
On the white, on the hip
snow man fall melts, drip dry
The poles and hell rains down from on high,
Hush now, The storm hither comes...
Torrential
The colossus of silence beyond
Jupiter’s red eye, Ort cloud shroud—
The yearnings surpassing blood,
To feed
The human gargantuan greed
The need for love…
Soon On sale, flesh compliant
A Commerce for feelings to
Galvanize
The Giant
Drowning in his Whale Songs
moonlighting the deep...
Anglerfish
Amidst the pitch of dark sea
Tocold vastness
Go there
That other ocean
infinite canvas interstellar interstate
The Void of space,
Deep Emotions pace
Times asleep & awake
(elsewhere)
Swim my assuaged dreams,
All of thee: ye
Makers bright,
Meteorites brief
flash of freefalling lights
Like my hollow heart’s leap:
Blind,
But for a feeling,
The monster that I trust.
In the human ocean of emotions.
Leviathan.
Oct 7, 2021
Oct 7, 2021 at 8:01 AM UTC
I know you are wild moonlighting
so fool me like I am dreaming
As if your wistful eyes have meaning
"You are the one" your eternal silence is always screaming
your erratic heartbeat has a notion,
which brings my grey heart to motion
Every frosty night you haunt me
I am amazed by your warm devotion
Your stare fills my naked soul with colorful emotions
No matter how much I refuse you always seek my attention
You are a seductive mirage of the sensational desert
alluring me to my sweet destruction
one lightest touch of your's
my cold sanity has stopped it's tuneful function
you have become its owner now it won't listen to my instruction
for I am an emotional volcano, ready for my catastrophic eruption
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 9:27 AM UTC
Street sampling word, pierced on its side...
work zone cones the wickedest witch
cruel-worlds under.
Cab meters left running,
ante upping ante.
Wheatpaste wars boom-blocking,
moonlighting black
gum splotches under years of feet.
Millions of ways of home, trample-trials in this
stink-thick Dutch settlement.
Where faint of hearts get blown in handkerchiefs,
and the court jester plays his head in the face of the fallen.
Where plastic bags fill trees, like women with hair rollers
screaming at children to come inside before nightfall.
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 12:27 PM UTC
I am slowly becoming mute,
A wary fool moonlighting as a practiced mime...
Trembling hands make feeble passes,
Mixing the oils on the canvasses of life...
Talk is cheap, mostly hollow
We're all but ghosts trapped in a dream,
A tortured marathon of reruns
I reawaken, yet again, to these old scenes.
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 3:14 PM UTC
Reduction asper daylight hours to worship
will immediately arise after
2018 North American orbital trip,
viz zits summer solstice (human primal
solar deification) riding astride spaceship
Earth, albeit 6:07 Ante Meridiem
Thursday June 21st noticeably slip
ping thru space beginning to harvest
incremental darkness as Gaia rip
pulls across wrinkle in time
daylight will undermine a loss,
and over the next month approximately jip
ping United States kinsfolk, who revere El Sol
quotidian solar rays, by one hour
and eight minutes (i.e. 4080 seconds),
thence trumpeting seriously
moonlighting re:
getting down to brass tacks business - grip
ping a markedly steadfast advancement,
whence August arrives (watch out),
cuz cutthroat prime rate (zero APR) doth clip,
and clock about two minutes per diem,
quite a substantial blip.
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 2:59 AM UTC
The Maniac
This day has been one of great terror of the mind,
My illness made me hallucinate; my head was exploding
****** bit of brain everywhere
People are calling this a spike, me calling it a step-down
The ladder into the grave without the dignity
And around my grave, they will throw soiled napkins
The padre will giggle laudable and do a jig and
Read from a funny script, he is a stand- up comic
When not moonlighting as a padre.
She, the dictator of the domestic scene, tells me I'm
Hallucinating, me? One of the most normal people
I have ever known.
You only feel sorry for yourself, says the cake munching
Ogre, I get up, but my voice is too weak for words
But I manage between heaves of fear of imminent death
To tell her of the wood I have carried to the house
I give myself another shot of insulin, wish I had a cigarette
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 5:51 AM UTC
as a child
the happy child
had no notion
of a childhood
he knew of ghosts
because things moved
whether he minded them
or not
he was haunted
by visibility
and cared for
in theory
by a woman
nightly moonlighting
as a man
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 12:24 PM UTC