Moonlight Wakening

On nights
When the purpled charcoal sky
Hints with a smile
A time to graze under the cosmic whales,
I ascend to the candlelit clouds
And caress the moon,
Watching the gems on my ringed fingers,
As drops of sparkle and shine
Run through them like a stream.

A liquidly body of rippling ultramarine
Lies glistening below me,
And entices me
To swiftly glide across it,
Laughing with my reflection,
Whilst bushy, lamb-like maples
Invisibly stare
At the festivities untold,
Above lands soothingly shaded in cerulean.

My desire is to share this secret.
So I draw myself
To a dreamer's window sill,
And I gaze at her blue cheek,
As I gift her with dreams of my adventures
And expressions of my hopes
Of one day
Collecting every star.


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This one's an old one. I guess I was just having fun, not trying to send a message about anything in particular, and simply trying to write an eloquent-sounding poem. It was one of the favorites when I attended Creative Writing Club in high school, and I originally titled it, "Moonlit Wakening" but either Mr. Pasca changed it or someone else when entering my poem into the annual Writers' Block compilation. I suppose "Moonlight" sounds better than "Moonlit" but I figure the latter is less used. I hope whoever stumbles upon this poem enjoys it for what it is, as just an exploration of beauty in the night.
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photo credit myshots.deviantart.com

Encased in an Emerald Undersea

They see the sharp facets,
With their inherent adoration of its viridity,
Encircled by a lustrous halo.
The banqueters need a closer look
And request holding her pallid palm
For the chance to caress it lightly.
Yet here I linger inside her ring,
The golden spheres of air crawling up my face,
Imprisoned in the fathoms of an emerald
Undersea.

I am sealed by her machinistic grin
Floating, sinking, whirling
As if by whim of her moods.
My love for her I once thought true and pure,
Her love for me measurable by coin.
Here I sink
Helpless and blank as a statue
Waiting silently for when she is ready,
When my voice no longer irks her,
Ready to be my life again.

I wonder
If God knows these hidden places
And if the angels have it better,
Being born where none know tears.
The toxic green water curses my eyes
For veiling burden and weakness
As a prize.
But she knows better than me
Because I love her, said she.

Proverbs of Nature

Two birds connect eyes but face their silent, sunny chests
North and west.
Love is a game always lost before it is won.

Fireflies flutter above the darkening green in erratic loops
And swirling swoops;
Always within reach, as old friends should be.

A wave rolling and ripping, above the ocean floors
And ancient shores,
Stacks upon the remnants of the last, as generations do.

Lilies rock and sway by the farm whether in bliss or alarm
Arm in arm.
Heartbeats of sympathy, from any kind soul, emanate from family.

A flock of ducks collides against the side of a home
And plummets like stones,
Humor is the humbled nakedness of emotion made public

The beagle lifts his cheek and squints at the swimming dust
"Wake Master" he must
A morning is ever sunnier after a long night of rest

The monarch butterfly's body lays spent, twitching its last wing,
Poor heavenly thing,
For all great spectacles are too precious to live long.

Ferris Dream (Part 1 of my most awesome summer dream yet)

I never see dreams in any way other than the first-person perspective. I was younger than my age. My limbs were light and made no odd clicks regardless how I would move them. I stood at the edge of a bronze gondola foliated with golden leaves and red roses carved from cherrywood. The ferris wheel was fluid and merely clicked like the sound of a ragdoll's limbs. It gave the soft repose of a faint stream on the edge of hearing distance. As I grasped the edge of the gondola while leaning outward, barely able to stick my little head out of the edge, I could see the sky featuring the pink, purple, and blue colors not unlike those of cotton candy. "I am in a child's world," my mind said to itself. As my bastion descended, I felt the plummeting disorder of my innards and tightened my stomache, for it was all I knew to do that could possibly help. Above the clouds stood small, horseshoe-shaped, rainbows that stood like flags over almost every cloud and each color had surfaces as opaque as pearl. But the roof and the wheel circling me to the bottom blocked the sky, and diverted my attention to the familiar field around me. It had pieces of places I have seen before, in parks, summer camps, backyards. By having been to all these places that I see parts of in my surrounding environment, the realm I was in no longer felt so outlandish to me, although there were no other souls in sight. I felt the wind clasp the sides of my neck, and saw the clouds open up as I ascended once again. The cracking roar of the sky made way for some raindrops. I could not see the origin of the raindrops due to the luminous clouds, but cheered, "Yehoo, Sunshower!" as I raised up my arms.

A Monarch of Higher Winds

An iris of oak
Humble shadow of his lead hood
Droplets of earth sunk in proud pinions

With whips of fierce gusts as he elevates high
Climbing unseen steps of the sky
His stern eyes as fixed and unchanged as time
Beak like a young emperor’s sword
Needling the air, weaving heaven’s garments
Carpet of currents scrapes the tale
Drilling his way seaward from his high throne
Clouds clear a path and speculate

Waves below are unraveling blue scrolls
Holding proverbs of the ages
Delivering God’s blessing to the world
A message of hope and virtue
Of lively winds and peaceful relations
The will to honor the heavens
And exalt the humble that live to serve
Fly on, rule your kingdom with pride

A Moment of Her Love

Heavens, is she so cute. Oh. Good Heavens! Everything nice and warm and fragile, sunrises and the look of her she oh sweet why is-how-yes! Thanks so much for now that is happening in me-heart will burst with her eyes so nice and shiny and cute and mine! I am Tarzan- no, I am Hercules and she is- prettier than the prettiest of pretties! My Queen Pretty. Forever and ever and ever.

A Lunar Companion

Shine, moon, shine, I am never alone at night
You are my companion in hardship and delight
Gleam, moon, gleam, you light my way home
Your luminous aura can guide my midnight roam
Light, moon, light, please bring your presence here
Help the night travelers, you midnight overseer

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photo credit korbexo.deviantart.com

My life didn't start until I was 17

That's how I feel. And although I don't want to turn this into a trashy web journal, I thought I'd just recollect some events in my life and ultimately explain myself to myself. Junior year in high school was when I first met my favorite teacher ever, Mr. Pasca my AP Language teacher. He was a true role model. I smoked pot for the first time, not saying it opened up my life or anything but my life got a little spark from that and incentive to thrill-seek. I started hanging out with some friends that lived near me, finally, and learned that being by myself sucked and I hated being in a bubble. I have a pretty decent circle of friends in college and at home that I can trust and be glad to know. I guess so far I've learned, in my 2 years of living, that if you can't help but be bored, you're a boring person.

Unborn Love

Do people in love
Wonder if they are in love?
Do they worry if the other
Can attest to the same affection?
Do they know if it is true?
That the kisses were intended?

Do they dare doubt the obvious?

I see it in the sharp corners
Of your cherry-cheeked grin
The thin glass wall that bars your fervor
You do not wish me to stop
No, you adore the passionate kindness
Yet you search for more reason
To look for me in your memories
To imagine love once again
For it is not yet purely love we emote
But it resonates unnamed
In the pools of our hearts
And pulsates, warm and unborn
In the muscles of our bellies
As the closest, closest thing

Lime Lantern

It is well past midnight. A soundless walk tends to magnify one's senses. To my left is Cambridge avenue, a caving hole of a road, with dimly lit windows glaring back like eyes of nocturnal animals. I heard a buzzing sound and looked up at this light. Every object below it, tree branches, cars, pavement, had an otherworldly shade of green to them.

Plumes of Peace

I've never seen you grow
There were still broken shells at your feet
From your birth of gloomy nights
And as I unconsciously waited for you
I turned and watched the birds,
My eyes sifting through the flocks
Of pretty, laughing faces

It is no effortless task
To aid a bird with a broken wing
And understand your moods and pace
While you enjoyed my company
You needed more time
Than I hoped would suffice
More time than I wanted to believe

I know of the day when I will see
Your peaceful wings ready for the world
How high those plumes will lift you
While I remain humbly grounded
Neither of us remember what brought us here
But my heart grins regardless
And I will wait and watch you stay or leave

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picture credit http://ragdollar.deviantart.com/

Five Dollar Dream

Strolling on a floor of dollar bills in a field
Never have I sauntered on such a sweet deal
As a green trail of five-dollar bills in a field

For anybody free money makes a day sing
What conveniences can five dollars in a dream bring?

Five clouds shaded teal, five ripe banana peels
Five dollar-menu meals, five little, golden wheels

Such verdure in a field and sylvan sheets in my wallet
Greedily kneeling across a trail with fat pockets

A road to wealth and sybaritic desires and dreams
Never have I thought in sleep a place I’d deem
As a magical, green field in a five-dollar dream

"Shi'Loh"- a poem that turned into a short story outline

"Shi'Loh"

He does not know yet that the birds are imaginary
A murky, cloudless sky reminds him of his need for company
There is much he can not recall, a place, a brother, a face
Only a broken windshield and a name
That lies on his tongue,
Caged inside the walls of his mouth
He felt invited by a wooden bench around a tree
In a windless, illuminated field despite the stygian sky
Across the lavender pond stood trees skirted with a restless mist
That failed to hide the unfinished emptiness behind them
They stood shoulder to shoulder; each was the other's twin
To the left and right was more identical trees and more hints that he belonged here

A certain amnesia that only occurs in early mornings
Clouded the smooth storm in his head
So he said the first thing he knew
"This here is a pond. And I will come look at it."
Drawing nearer, he heard a faint, maternal voice
That died as quickly as it came alive
"Sweetie, don't get too close to the water."
But, for a second time, he would not listen
Near the outer edge of the purplish pond was a spinning, floating ball
That, to him, always resembled a distant planet made of candy
Reaching for the ball gave him a mirror below his face
An inquisitive child staring back, with an outstretched arm dwarfed by his own

Startled, he stood up, never taking his eyes off the child
Curious to see more of this child, he took a step forward
And then another; he paced some more above the water
Watching the reflection follow his movements like a puppet
Until the opaque liquid mirrored the top of a house
Eyes fixate on the white building past the shore
Lights were lit inside, as bright and vibrant as the voices of laughter and elation
This house belonged to his mother
A dark trail of blood followed his feet up the small, white steps
He thinks he knows why he is here
And why he has a leaking crack on the corner of his forehead
And why the doormat says, "God bless all who enter"


---
(I remember my aunt telling me about a place called Shi'loh, as a level of the afterlife, and fyi I don't know the proper spelling of it. This is all my own fictive interpretation of it, as a mental place created by the mind as a dwelling for the soul, before the soul ventures into its true destination in the afterlife. It became too prosy so it might eventually become a short story.)

Wish

I wish, I wish. I wishidy wish.

Wish for more.

Wish for gold in an apple’s core.

How I could put an end to the dreadful

To allow room for the pleasant

With but a single wish.

Wish for a wish store.

Wish I could wish for more.

It is all seemingly futile.

Is it worth the trouble

To make a wish so small?

What can a wish truly befall?

A wish can do so much

By doing nothing at all.

Picturesque Moments

Occasionally, mundane things begin to look surreal. It may happen during a significant and blissful time in your life, it may occur when you make an astounding discovery deep in the profundities of your soul. It may occur when absolutely nothing is in your mind at all; when no words come to thought, when the senses are free to explore the environment at hand. The colors of leaves appear more vivid, or maybe the textures of a brick building tend to protrude and pique the senses of the eye. It usually lasts a few seconds to a few minutes, which at the time all one wishes to do is devour as much beauty from the world as possible before the moment ends. It is far from facile to make happen on command. Just be grateful when you do encounter these moments and ever open for more to come.

Back Again

No, the Sinking Old Sanctuary hasn't sunk yet. However, I have abandoned it for quite a while due to college and friends. But I am back for now and hopefully I will contribute more to the blog and better show what it's all about. This is a dream I had some days ago.

The first picture I can recall is seeing down my bare feet and hairy legs on a rocky cement path about as wide as an arm's length. On both sides of the long, undulating path are flattened wet grass. The cement path is dry as my feet are sliding down steep drops, however much of what I could see consisted of seas of wet green hairs of the earth. It looked like the grass wasn't cut for quite a while, yet every blade barely stuck up but instead all pointed almost directly forward to where i was going. Hill by hill i slide up and down frictionlessly, cautiously having my knees bent so that i don't fall. When I saw trees to my left or to my right they seemed miles away. The path begins to curve around a small pond and towards a familiar clock tower from my college campus, where I see several friends surfing on the dewed grass on their surfboards, as well.
I recently finished college for the summer and had to do a lot of traveling on the day I came back home, which could explain the long runway I had to myself and no one else. The grass could explain the type of environments I have been around, as the last few days of college had a lot of sun and rain. What I can't figure out is why I'm dreaming of coming back to college after just leaving it.