The First Light

The First Light or Sunshine
Aug. 13, 2010

Volegov's Malta Waterfront

Turn thy head sweetest,
So I may see them
As they bounce off your hair, your flowing locks.
And they animate every strand, every curl.

Smile for me my dearest,
So I may enjoy the moment.
The shimmer on your shoulders, sharp curves and angles.
The contrast of shadow against your supple skin; light bouncing to mine eyes.

My sight, don’t fail me now.
Lend me your grace once more.
As the sun draws her to me, like a painting on an easel.
Let me remember as she basks on sunshine.

The Morning Sparrow

The Morning Sparrow or Silly Little Games
Dec. 29, 2009

 Bouguereau's Humuer Nocturne/Evening Mood

On the small hours when you rise,
When the sun’s rays first lighten the skies,
I woke with you as you rose from the bed,
Feeling slightly lonely as your side laid emptiness instead,
As you take your night gown off; slowly undress,
I pretend to sleep, you wouldn’t guess
As you glide your beautiful body to bathe,
Small pretty legs walking with grace as if through warm water wade
I watch you from behind the soft sheets of our covers,
Stealing glances from a goddess, much akin to how lovers first discovers
When you came out, fresh and sweet, hair wet and towel soaked,
In my heart an extra skip evoked,
That soft Chinese lullaby you sang, with the classical music it brings
A hidden smile, under the blankets spring
As you put your clothes with graces full,
I moved amidst the sheets feigning lull,
There in that soft chair you took a pose
I saw your face through mirror, oh how it glowed
Sweet beauty that the shadows line
With make up painted, none such divine
As you leave, by our cradle you lowered you head
Pull the blankets off, my guise was shed
You kissed me on my forehead, wet and sweet,
On early mornings no better greet,
“I’ll see you at lunch, you silly boy!”
With musical voice you toyed
I fought the smile from my face to accrue
But I can’t be guile, you already knew
I pretend to sleep as I smelled your perfume,
Though you’ve parted your presence loomed
This little game we play every morn’,
My days with happiness adorn.

The First of October

The First
Mar. 7, 2010

Vettriano's Altar of Memory

It has been years and I almost forgot,
The days roll off my calendar, but today I’ve been caught
I’m sitting here reminiscing of your scent
Oh these damn memories, the feelings they bring I resent
When I look at the mirror I see your face
It almost looked real, I was dazed
When I open the door, all I see was your silly pirouette
Remember that dance you made that summer night?
They play over and over in my head like a broken cassette
I brush against my blankets and I remember your touch
You soft smooth skin, I miss them so much
Its half past three and I can’t sleep
Me and the mutt sitting on the balcony, we’re reminiscing your voice,
Oh how the times weep
I should forget this day, cross it off my life
Its useless now in my calendar; foolish memories cut like a knife
I wonder sometimes if I ever cross your mind
Because you do in mine always; wondering if you do in kind
How’s he treating you? Hopefully much more than the happiness I could give
All I have are these memories, the cold, and the alcohol that give me reprieve.

---

Samson's Prayer

Samson’s Prayer
Feb. 7, 2010

Bloch's Samson at the Treadmill

Remember O Lord, Your greatness
With the strength that I threw my enemies into the abyss
The thousands of foes I flayed
The boundless obstacles to waste I laid
When evil cringed at my mighty hands
In thunderous droves I fought till I was last to stand
Yet with little humility I took it as nothing divine
The virtues You’ve gifted; I boasted as mine
But now as I lay bald and blind
As the whips rack, with these stones I grind
Mine enemies laugh at my demise
With body broken and hands tied; I cannot reprise
Yet I look up to You, as I swallow my tears
Give me mercy, undo my fears
This final prayer I ask of You
To Your ungrateful servant please be true
“O Lord God, remember me, I pray thee…this once”
Give me just a little, avenge me from their arrogance
I forget Lord the thousand hills I ran,
This last barricade is all I ask; let it be the most glorious of my hands,
Lest I die wretched, please reprieve me from my affliction,
Hear these cries, award me my last conviction.

The Great Pretender

The Great Pretender
Jan. 31, 2010

Magritte's A La Rencontre du Plaisir

Charades and masquerades:
Games for my talents of hiding shades.
If feigning happiness is an art,
Then I’m its master at heart.
Watching you walk away with a smile on my face,
No hesitance, no regret doeth trace
Yet every second I’m wallowing in my own disgrace.
Because my love, I’ve always been the liar,
I’m the great Pretender, the best nature did sire.
I’ll never feel lonely; I’ll never miss you, not once,
If you knew how I really felt; like a wretched dunce.
But you’d never know, you’ll never see,
The sacrifices of my craft did to me.
To see you love another and say I’m happy for thee,
With a gleeful demeanor none could the heavens decree.
But when shadows could craft no more guile,
My heart is dead; O it’s the end of my trials.
I’ve won the test, the crown is mine.
Yet I cannot tell if it’s worth it, without the love of thine.

Selene

Selene or Lonesome is the Night
Apr. 30, 2010

Bannister's untitled work/Full Moon Over Harbor

Lonesome is the night
When the moon is full and the clouds are dark
Blinding rays stain the murky haze
Like paint grazed by brush, a wild painter’s abandon daubed
Yet nary a star dot thy skies
The howling winds that freeze the skin and rattle the bones
Retreating vengeance of winters’ twilight
The deep pools that are my eyes
Saddened by the beauty upon its gaze
Oh piteous sight, sorrowful and void
Through my window you wallow, calling forth my curtains dry thy gloomy face
The splendor that is you, O Moon
Reminds me of my own melancholy
For the fates that gave thee your glory
Are the same that imprisoned you to the cold solitary dark.
To dance and shine only with thy virtue alone; forever and always.

The Beauty of Walking Alone

The Beauty of Walking Alone
Mar. 8, 2010

 Hopper's Nighthawks

As I walked through the sea of flowers under a setting sun,
I couldn’t help but to pity my lonely feet; my life undone
On a path that the leaves and the flowers had mantled
The rustling of the trees as the soft breeze come, musical harmony when they rattle
These old familiar places that my mind recall,
Full of laughter and joy; now quiet and lull
Green grass where we tumbled and fell,
A slight throb in my chest from the reminiscent spell,
The cold shadows cast by the parting day,
The darkness it impart, that’s where my sadness stays,
But as I look down on my lonely feet once more,
That’s when the man in me implore,
Perhaps loneliness is an art all of its own,
In appreciating the good things in life; that’s the beauty of walking alone.