The stars sparkle like a gentle spring.
They long to move and give birth to Happiness.
They frolic with desire, wishing to bloom the sky with brilliance.
Let us dance, ladies — to the vibratos of the heart.
When his beloved leans toward him, he becomes her sun.
He shines, blazing, his light carrying his kindness.
He wants to offer softness, to cover the world with a rainbow.
He opens the heart-chest of his body to the one he loves.
Feelings are like a butterfly resting on a flower.
We envy their fragile beauty, yet so fleeting.
The stars capture their hopes with every spark that fades.
No — they want to live as the fruit of his prayers.
At night, sounds become more perceptible.
His heart beats, beats so strongly, his throat dries.
Words no longer come.
He implores the moon to wrap him in a case of golden dust,
to protect him from his shyness.
From this cocoon, the words take their place to offer the essential:
“Inconsolable in your absence, my hand warms itself in yours.
Love, I love you.”
— Joël Charvillat
What Love
There be not love in any realm
might dare love I know.
Not very earth on which I stand,
nor breath from whence lungs flow.
The very sun who makes life live
doth cower in it's sight.
It's righteousness implores my soul
turning darkness into light.
It's breadth as wide as deep the sea.
My life it has consumed.
One surrendered willingly
for through it life has bloomed.
From the guts of hell it rescued me
Without a second thought.
For ever fierce, it's noble strength,
the steel from whence it's wrought.
What love so joyously proclaimed?
What love so undefiled?
The greatest love in any realm
Of father for his child.
Fingers of sunlight fuse and bleed
Pouring through cloudy turbid skies
Gently spilling its warmth to concede
Unsettling winds that unceasingly sigh
Muting the thunderous applause of a storm’s demise
A bluebell sky lights the promises of a changing day
Teeming with the brilliance of light that breach
The forecast of wind and weather relinquishing my dismay
As joy implores happiness in song filled harmonies unleash
This empirical miracle of hope’s heavenly array
This partly cloudy day makes me think of you
You are like the unsettled weather
As your feelings shift from gray to blue
Your laughter breaks through like the sun untethered
While your heart wraps around each loving hue
With tonal loving sounds of our day beginning anew
A man's existence is a weighty mantle,
worn with a strength that belies the toll.
His heart: a labyrinth of calculations—
a maze of endless thought, where love is the goal.
His eyes, two lanterns burning bright with foam,
reflect the turmoil, as his soul resides
in a realm of selflessness, where sacrifice is the norm;
a 100 percent selfless heart, that beats to provide.
He is an Atlas, holding worlds aloft,
a rock, unmoving, yet crumbling beneath the fault.
His exhaustion—a silent scream, that echoes and implores—
a weight that presses, crushing, yet unspoken.
His success is celebrated, but his sacrifices ignored;
his efforts, a never-ending sea, that ebbs and flows, unseen.
He works to make sure everyone is okay,
but no one knows if he is okay.
His heart beats like a drum—a lonely refrain—
a reminder of the weight he carries, the burden he sustains.
Salt a gin and tonic,
It’s too dry.
Assault my temple with sin,
Be honest,
You like the rye.
Look me in my honest eye,
Conversations with myself are the fondest,
Because no one understands me better when I rhyme.
Took a pen and across the paper it slides,
Scribble out the oddest lines.
Apply pressure to the page,
Trickle out ink until the pen has died.
Wet ink is promised to eventually dry,
But tomorrow isn’t promised,
For some reason I can’t help but question why?
After four portions of Moët fine wine,
I tend to think of life as if it’s all just a waste of time.
If tomorrow could be withdrawn then what’s the point of the “grand design”?
If tomorrow I wake up past dawn,
Should I consider myself only one step closer to dying?
Don’t overstep,
The temple has redrawn the walls and implores you to walk within the lines.
It’s not perfect,
But nothing’s wrong with second best.
When it stops hurting,
In comes walking Sudden Death.
We can’t always be our very best,
Attempting perfect,
It feels like burning,
The scars left behind showcase regret.
My ear
to the asphalt
My nose
in the wind
My mind
on tomorrow
Escaping
my sins
The road bends
before me
It twists
and it turns
Where truth
waits forbidden
And love stays
unearned
The voices
grow faint
In this gale
to escape
In front
and behind me
Both early
and late
As the mountain
implores me
Still calling
my name
With fate
at its limit
And death
— here to claim
(Dreamsleep: April, 2025)
When driving in Colorado or Nevada,
where twilight crimson rays on canyons burn,
into ancient layers of blood red strata -
on crooked roads, don't take the wrong turn.
They say, in these parts, a lonesome cowman's spirit
every evening returns
to this despairing place or somewhere near it,
just as the blazing sun adjourns.
For a century his heart was laden,
since his proposal was coldly spurned
by a cruel, but lovely maiden;
and since then his heart has yearned.
The canyon's winds can chill you to the core -
the doleful moan that will not learn,
but waits in vain, and hopelessly implores
an echo that will never return.
Violently thrashing and jerking and pulling
It implores me to act
Desperate to stay alive in it's final hour
Reminding me of our pact
It pleads, it begs, It cries to me
All the while concealing it's fangs
It tears me apart inside
It hammers, it pounds, and it bangs
A love earst alive and warm and real
Now cold and cooling yet
Longing to be revived, it's fighting
Refusing to lose the bet
Once nurtured now neglected, alone and afraid
I must let it die
And to ensure it won't return a spectre tomorrow
I'll stare it in the eye
gosh, look at the time!
he's gotta go
immediately!
wherever he's headed
punctuality is a must,
he can't just go yet...
his mind
in utter disarray,
repeatedly screaming...
"where's my damn keys?!"
as he goes on a tear
for his misplaced keys,
he implores time to slow
to a c r a w l
but she gives him the kiss off.
she's laced up her running shoes
as he searches
frantically;
his inner voice...
wailing like a banshee,
ocean of tumult violently churns
in the pit of his gut.
a mouse scurrying
room to room
wreaking royal havoc;
clothes flying here and there,
the couch flipped upside down.
his impatience
giving way to panic.
meanwhile,
time's already on the run...
daring him...
" catch me, if you can!"
yet the borrowing gopher
paces around the house,
driving himself crazy, then...
he swings his front door open;
sad eureka!
there it is...
on the other side of the door
his keys dangle
in the keyhole.
time now mocking him...
he's late as can be.
Emotional Burdens Set Sail on Dark Waters Lagoon
Adrift, Under the Soft Light of the Waxing Crescent Moon
Subtle the Reflection, the Tapered Lunar
Gently Glistened Dark and Murky Ethereal Water
The Rippled Surface Parted to Embrace Oshun's Daughter
Dark Waters, Uncharted Enchanted Tantric Whispers
With Urgency, Implores the Mystic Explorer
Seeking Light in the Dark
Hoping for Star Lights to Illuminate a Path
Opaque and Obscure Neptunian Watery Depth
Bubbles revealing a Treasure Cave where Creativity is Kept
Nurturing Seeds of Aspiration
Dark Waters Incubate Newly Conceived Inspiration
Piscean Streams of Motivation Needed
To Aide the Birth of the Water Lily Seeded
Dark Water, Dark Moon Daughter
Now Submerged In Blissful Abysmal Depths
Dreamy Trance, Her Secrets the Dark Waters Kept.
There is a quick-witted woman I know with three names; her silhouette is a mystery; she's had multiple fragile frames.
Many have tried and failed to tame her rather long mane, but honestly, they were lame flames.
Her treks motivate her for life’s endless, gruelling games.
Called a traveller but never exploring for fame, she isn't one of those Instagram dames.
Nobody can catch her riddle
runner strides, she won't win any elections; her temper never slides.
But that humour will take you on some rollercoaster rides.
A compass nucleus of fears revives stifled tides.
Some have labelled her a peaceful poet and writer.
This makes her laugh; she's always been an ample fighter.
In her day job, she wrestles with a highlighter.
Glued to a screen, she implores the sky to make her mind lighter.
When she was knee-high, she dreamed of being a screenwriter.
A secret rapper, perhaps she will win a Grammy as a songwriter.
Only time will tell where she will land with a whisky and pen in her hands on another all-nighter.
The trails of fog like cold entrails
that wind and slither through the copse
which shiver at the touch and sops.
A chance at vision clearly fails.
Each jutting rock: a sentinel.
A greying headstone stands alone
against the tones of verdant cone.
My heartbeat sounds like a death knell.
A silver coffin bell from ditch.
As I am trying t’ place the hums;
direction clear from whence it comes
in variant beseeching pitch.
A hand that reaches up from grave
implores me for small change to buy
a warming nip of hooch as I
surrender will at being brave.
In a village, where hearts entwine,
A girl's potential starts to shine.
The community's embrace, so warm,
Nurturing her, safe from harm.
With gentle words, and a loving hand,
They guide her steps, in this new land.
The village's hope, she's meant to be,
A shining star, for all to see.
They share their wisdom, stories told,
Of strength and courage, brave and bold.
The village's hope, her spirit soars,
As she embraces, what life implores.
Sam wears earplugs because his wife snores.
"Please see a doctor" he often implores.
"I think you have apnea
and I'd really be happier
if this is something you do not ignore!"
Sweet and Melony,
Accomplice of my felony,
I'm nothing so you're my everything
Presenting me options to fill fully me
Out in the sky
With where I shine,
You shine
Just enough to guide,
My way inside
And out of a mine
That I mined
Finding chaos & plight
You're fair in weather, I’m sky blue,
Your darkness, I know, I have too,
Your kindness that implores, I try too
It isn't “indifference”,
It isn't “hate”,
It is “love”,
Platonic and trust,
It isn’t “intimate”,
It isn’t “amateur”,
It is “warmth”,
Caring and fond
You are no lover,
I am no lover,
We are friends,
Same but different.
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