"moonstones" poems
✿⊰✲⊱✿
"She's finally here!" Sue claps as we all rise
from our seats and walk to the Ballroom.
There they are, atop the marble steps!
Queen Donna and Dean of proud Vesian,
both dressed in bright red. The couple faces
each other with loving smiles as the cacophony
of cheers and claps echoes through the great
Luciuscemi Palace.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
From afar, I study Donna's beautiful gown;
the shade of wine, made of velvet, her sleeves
long and puffed. Her bodice embrodiery is
extraordinary; patterned with red Rose of Vesian,
but since her marriage, she added a white
one. The embrodiery comes alive under the
light of chandelier; glittering with intricately
cut rubies and agates and sunstones for
Donna's red roses, emeralds and peridots
for the coiling stems and thorns, quartz
and white opals and moonstones for
the white roses.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
Her hair in a curly updo, ringlets framing
her wise and kind face with a simple white
diamond tiara resting upon her head; a simple
rose chain and earrings to complete her look.
In contrast, King Dean wears a deep crimson
coat of red and white roses brocade that falls
past his knees and above his ankles;
slits on the sides and on the back as well,
I imagine. I can see the black lining
underneath that fine coat.
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 6:10 PM UTC
You're a real comet boy
aren't you
everyone wants to call you a
shooting star
but you know you're just a
falling rock
glittery and pretty boy
all bright and cheery
we all want to know if you light up
the dark
eyelashes cluttered
with star dust
do you wear a crown
of broken moonstones?
cracked and gorgeous
your beauty is your pain
oh,
so sad yet so pretty
comet boy
we all want to heal you
won't you let us heal you?
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 11:09 AM UTC
Libra ♎️
~~~~
Libra uses healing properties of Lapis Lazuli
In Peridot,& Sapphires, Aquamarine stones
Bloodstones,Emerald stones, Sunstones,
Rainbow Moonstones, Morganite, Lepidolite
Aventurine,GreenTourmaline,HerkimerDiamond
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip.
December 22nd 2018.
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 12:32 AM UTC
sometimes it feels as if
I have too many milk teeth,
too many parts of me that belong
to a time when I climbed trees to touch the sky
and I swam in sunflowers
and fireflies -
to a time I have long since
painted in sepia tones,
long since pushed
to the back of my mind
with hands so tired
of being filled with splinters
- too many seeds
and not enough light.
there are too many parts of me
that I have placed underneath pillows,
that I have kept behind closed lashes,
that I have slept upon, waiting
for the morning to arrive and them
to be g o n e ,
replaced with coins that I could place
underneath the tongues of the dreams
that I could not ferry to my
frail realities.
but in the morning, they return -
one by one into my mouth,
daring me to speak them,
daring me to sing,
daring me to find someone who will listen.
listen.
it feels as if
I have too many stories,
too many secrets,
too many sins and not enough space
for the words to fly out of my mouth
and into the world -
I have too many milk teeth
that I cannot remove.
and sometimes I think maybe that's why
I don't understand
permanence.
I don't understand
change.
I don't understand
growing up,
growing out,
growing apart -
I don't know what it means
to stare at the sun
while your feet are moving forward,
only forward, never back.
because I have spent all my life
climbing on the shoulders
of mountaintops and moonstones,
and standing tall
was never an option.
sometimes climbing is tough
when my mouth gets too heavy
with overgrown memories
and I can almost feel myself cry out
"save me," can hear myself whisper
"listen."
but pride and false bravery sew me shut
and I'm left to watch my bones
taken over by page-pressed petals
and old phosphorescence -
and it's in moments like these
that I stop climbing and think
maybe it's time for me to grow now,
on my own:
hands and legs
and lungs and heart,
spine and ribs and
collarbones, cranium,
and with baby teeth bared I am
blooming fire and gold and
facing the sun -
smiling.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 10:36 AM UTC
the sea murmurs of moonstones
and loneliness, every breath
the drowning dark,
every leaf of its emerald
tree, a whisper, a cry of
sorrow, a silver dream.
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 1:26 PM UTC
A ring, not just metal and stone,
but a whispered promise,
a tangible piece of my heart offered to you,
my Dragon Princess of the East.
It sits before me, a vision taking form,
rose gold warmed by imagined sunlight.
Floral vines, delicate yet strong,
climb and twist, embracing the gems.
Amethyst and moonstones,
blossoms of purple and pearly light,
scattered amongst the leaves,
a garden captured in miniature.
Is it engagement, then wedding,
or a seamless blend of both?
The rings intertwined, inseparable,
a symbol of a love without beginning or end.
Alexandrite, chameleons of light,
nestle beside the Amethyst,
their colors shifting, whispering secrets,
a dance of green and purple, a perfect harmony.
And at the heart of it all,
a trillion-cut diamond,
blazing with an inner fire,
a beacon of unwavering brilliance.
The ring is not alone.
Dangle earrings echo its beauty,
Royal cut Alexandrites cascading,
from small to large, a symphony of color.
Three stones aligned,
a delicate dance of light and shadow,
catching the ear, whispering of magic,
a perfect complement to the ring's embrace.
And then, the necklace,
a tear-shaped Alexandrite pendant,
resting against the alabaster skin,
a single drop of captured starlight.
It hangs suspended,
a breath held, a moment frozen,
a promise whispered against the skin,
a symbol of a love that transcends time.
The entire set, a constellation of dreams,
born from my heart, offered to you,
a testament to a love that blooms eternal,
A Circlet of Dreams, waiting to be worn.
Feb 13, 2025
Feb 13, 2025 at 2:27 PM UTC
Moonstones - cool to touch,
Unveiled by only the grace
Of the fine new moon...
Moonstones - glimmer fine
As an iridescent white
To veil the black blots...
Moonstones - smooth, gleaming -
I love to keep them than the
Caging wedding ring...
Moonstones - sea-polished -
I wish I were a moonstone -
Adored, but left free...
June 17th, 2010
Jun 18, 2010
Jun 18, 2010 at 3:59 AM UTC
I’ll chase you over
backwards and sideways
cover you in chocolate,
peel off your shell,
fill you with another body
I’ll eat you a rainbow
separate the opals,
moonstones,
malachite
love—little girl with scotch-brown hair
soft, eggshell yellow and
crack
oh god...
I'm sorry.
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 9:34 AM UTC
An Exercise in Love
~for Jackson Allen
My friend wears my scarf at his waist
I give him moonstones
He gives me shell & seaweeds
He comes from a distant city & I meet him
We will plant eggplants & celery together
He weaves me cloth
Many have brought the gifts
I use for his pleasure
silk, & green hills
& heron the color of dawn
My friend walks soft as a weaving on the wind
He backlights my dreams
He has built altars beside my bed
I awake in the smell of his hair & cannot remember
his name, or my own.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 5:44 PM UTC
Pencils that write me in words that delight me and play fights through long nights with verses so light as to almost float away.
Then there's the day,
Where reality bites me in scenes quite unsightly and 'words don't come easy' among the dropouts and ****** of society,where poetry is not spoken but ripped off your tongues by the hopeless and broken and pledged in the pawn shop,
all we become as we become tokens to buy are the mute and the word blind,the cruel and the unkind and there's nothing to find here in the hearts of the lined men,
whose faces belie the truth that rockets inside them.
And some speak at times in riddles and rhymes but the words come out wrong because the days are so long and the alcohol's strong and nobody hears them,more silence from lined men,
when will it end?
Oh Babylon gone,
done for and taken and left us forsaken in this land of the prophets and the profits we take from the fakers and spivs,give us some sense of living in the land where no giving is easy and it's easier to take than to ask.
All hope has left on the last boat to Zion and those that are left have no shoulders to cry on,
but the lined men are here to take your last words,to write them on moonstones,the groans of destruction,construct your own melodies
as the blood in you freezes and the heating goes off
as we all do
at some time.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 2:12 AM UTC
Don't moan,
that is a drone
Instead make,
overblown moonstones
Filling your aura with,
comforting breath,
using Solar Plexus chakra
Emotions in check,
negative reject
© 2021 Carol Natasha Diviney
Jul 14, 2021
Jul 14, 2021 at 12:17 PM UTC
I want to wrap you in a blanket of stars,
kiss the moonstones behind your eyelids
and pray to the cosmos that you'd never leave my galaxies.
They say shooting stars aren't always real
but if so then why did my wishes come true?
My shooting star shot through the gleaming sky
and brought along you.
If not to say for certain, I feel this is true love.
L for laughing at the weird things you do.
O for opening up my eyes and realizing you're for me,
just like i'm for you too.
V for visualizing you in my mind, in my head for hours, 100 visions at a time.
Finally, E for the way I claim you as my everything.
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 3:41 PM UTC
In the corner of my room
stands a desk,
a humble desk beside the window.
Upon the desk lies a tome,
open and inviting, that
leads me on a path I will continue.
At the lonely hours of the night,
I cross the threshold to strange
and seminal worlds,
illum'd by simple candle light.
In truth, the tome casts its own glow:
it gives me its glimmering gems of wisdom,
its waning Moonstones of inspiration
and the precious treasures
of knowledge that emerge from the
shadow!
My soul seeks these pearls of
grand vision; I seek to
enrich my view
of our whirling, protective sphere,
to unearth the subtle shades
and hidden layers of
Her verdant frontier.
From my solitary desk,
windows of crafted prose and
elaborate description open to
a world rich in
wondrous experience!
These pages are portals
of the exploration the mind, the
discovery of the heart, and a
spirit of enduring resilience.
From the pristine pages of
my beloved books rise
mountaintop vistas on
our multifaceted world,
our diverse history
and our creative power.
And the light flows to me and around
my lonely room.
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 12:12 PM UTC
Moon spilling through a cloud, east
Eyes locked in incense spirals
A lovelock of moonstones
Ideath worn proudly
ideath worn quietly
Someone on the other end
breathing and her
Something between
like a rod of tired wind
Silent wind
The type of wind that blows down
egos and
dreams
and all ambition
ideath and trout
and i and the letter
And somewhere behind it all
An inspired lover
drawing his lovers portrait
for the first time
in flowers
only
flowers
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 2:52 AM UTC
At sixty plus
a series of scenes from a life past
started flashing back...swaying,
like soft organza curtains, giving
in to forces of the wind...blowing,
recalling...things that used to be,
places, faces i no longer see,
people i haven't met and long to meet,
words i meant to say....but didn't,
things i failed to do, but still meaning
to, given fresh starts...it's tiring,
counting "should haves," so i'm saying,
etcetera, etcetera.....the list is unending.
At past seventy,
sunrises are lovely as ever...and bolder,
sunset moments are quieter...and holier,
old days seem nearer,
with poetry-writing, the call is stronger
while still dabbling in beads-making,
designs pour over me, when stringing
moonstones, sodalite, and lapis lazuli.
I am in a different zone.
when mixing poetry and natural stones
to me, a word is a crystal, a gemstone
it's merely a word to some...a stone unknown.
I guess...at late seventies,
i'll still be in white shirts and blue jeans,
creating unique, interesting themes for poetry,
say, a big bus with travelers, seated hesitatingly,
or, finding a bright tunnel's end, serendipitously,
or, unrepenting souls sinking deeper, regretfully,
more silly love poems? i'd indulge willingly
my frame may turn fragile...i pray, not my poetry,
not my judgment, nor my decision-making,
not my courage, especially, when I reach past eighty.
sally b
©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
June 18, 2021
Jun 17, 2021
Jun 17, 2021 at 10:19 PM UTC
Her soul is like lace
Her eyes are like blue moonstones
Shimmering from the bottom of a clear lake
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 9:01 PM UTC
is it love
if you never loved me back
the butterflies in my stomach
were unmatched?
is it love
if i saw the gaze in your eyes
on the girl whose eyes were moonstones
and smile was the great wide ocean
is it love
if i built you a ship to her heart
from the wood of the forest in my soul?
is it love
when i lay at night no where near
asleep
wondering where my shortcomings were
or how i can fit her moonstones in my eyes
is it love
is it love
is it love
am i in love with you?
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 12:10 PM UTC
let me taste your skin,
i want to eat your sin,
give me your ivory bones,
your eyeballs like moonstones.
let me taste your skin,
i want to eat your sin,
give me your ivory bones,
your eyeballs like moonstones.
let me taste your skin,
i want to eat your sin,
give me your ivory bones,
your eyeballs like moonstones.
i am a kolossus
i am your superfluous
are you my star?
je ne sais pas
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 8:49 AM UTC
Throughout time
And space
And stardust,
There has been
A mystifying
Phenomenon
Where people lose themselves
Within their sins.
Blow me away
Into shards of glass and galaxies,
We are the disappearance of inhibitions,
And the birth of the notion
That love is unconditional.
Find me in the sunlight,
Find me in the starscape.
Lose me in the love of the night,
Lose me in the escape.
All that is good,
And all that is right,
Left me with moonstones for eyes,
And a missing piece of my heart.
But I've found it within you,
And I've found my light in the galaxy of your eyes.
We are of stardust,
And because of that
I only know of light,
Just remember that light can burn.
Go supernova
Within my soul,
Twilight reds
And midnight blues
Lead me back to you.
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 5:57 PM UTC