Long Crepuscule Poems
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We'll meet at sunset, says my lovely Marcellina,
cuddling up to me so soft and warm.
When the glowing sun sets and paints the sky
with all the shades of vermilion hues.
As dusk descends on the carmine horizon
I betake myself to the lighthouse.
It is so pleasant tryst for me since I love to watch the beacon
as its flashes all the time, but especially during some stormy night,
where Stygian gloom blocks out the stars
and pitch darkness becomes tangible.
Oh how secure and safe and warm I feel.
For look, the sun fades fast, as dusk grows intensely into obscure pitch,
take the winding path along the shore
as the moon rises in the crepuscule of day,
throwing obscure shadows behind me.
An owl wisely remains silent while gulls utter occasional squawks.
A breeze wafts, spreading the scent of jasmines.
The warm of love is all around.
So to the lighthouse I softly wend,
attracted by its palpitating flash.
My heart is beating fast in anticipation
and know that Marcellina will be waiting there
beneath the Norway maple that adorns
the garden of the Italian guardian of the lighthouse.
We hug and kiss and murmur sweet nothings,
in harmony to the flashes that emanate
from the rotating top of the lighthouse.
So that even if the night is inky dark,
we know our love is lit with life saving light.
Written: October 10, 2023
Night Bewitches Sponsored by: Shadow Hamilton
A dream is a microscope through which we look at the hidden occurrences in our souls. Erich Fromm
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In the placidity of the night's embrace,
bewitched the cosmos with an arcane grace.
The moon, a silver orb, may induce its rise.
Oozing its ethereal aurora over the skies
Whispers of worm words waft on wafture wear,
As the stars spangle, their nexus is spare.
The night wiles with its vestigial spell,
Drawing us in, under a talisman dwell.
Penumbras plaster pegs poltergeists of trees,
The twilight augury decry casts souls at ease.
Geezers of nightgown awaken from slumber,
Suing solace in the Cimmerian shade to clamber
The eventide sky overawes with a cosmic array.
Stars bedazzle and coxswain us on our way.
Moonlight sumptuous aura in a gentle glow,
Steer us through the shadow as the nexus flows.
Ebony necromancy decry a glamorous sight.
Drawing us close to the serendipity of the night.
In this cosmic wee hour, dreams bear flight.
Our souls are raised, and our hearts blight.
So let us indulge in this nocturnal delight,
As dusk vamps, squirting a glamor of delight.
Let us wander in the moonlit haze,
As sableness susurrous surreptitious sprays
Wee crepuscule twiddles, a plum night symphony
Where conceit phantasm and verity shed sympathy
Allotting an awareness acumen ariose and aureate
Upon ubiquitous utters uncanny unsophisticate.
Crepuscule creeps along the cusp of daylight,
encroaching duly on the day’s blond glow.
As lumbering dusk steps upon its foe,
Flowing forth spills the wine of sanguine twilight.
Behind the ruby blush, with runaway light,
a dazzled sky, baffled by the overflow
of effervescent stars, begins to show
the milky way’s great triumph, it’s broad highlight.
And now that night has firmly settled down,
the radiant band that proudly streaks bright
across the midnight plains shines grandiose,
adorning heaven’s glorious mane, a crown
of speckled jewels, in its brilliant might,
Pouring out its resplendence, saccharose.
Life, are you a blessing or a punishment?
I'm trying to understand how I'm
a slave to the sculpted version of me.
A prisoner without chains,
upon a path forged with my own hands,
feeling lifeless, drained from
premeditated premonitions.
I'm burning like a caliginous candle,
melting in waxing weepings -
fatigued from flames of rage and regret.
In this sable epoch,
I'm unable to master my mind,
as bitter temperatures trigger tenebrous tones,
I tremble, feeling tremors from corrosive cysts.
Birds remain mute on somber mornings.
When did I become their nemesis?
I've stopped searching for sunshine from absent friends,
or explaining to impatient selfish souls,
too consumed in their internal thoughts.
Maybe the problem is my restless existence,
not in their lack of empathy.
I've always been sober to sorrow,
but I hunger to drink myself to death.
Irritated by smiling, I'm slowly suffocating,
losing all desire for me to breathe -
unable to escape the angst of air.
My eyes are like tender lanterns,
guiding with damp cautious flickers,
craving crepuscule hues,
but all I see is a solemn moon,
wrapped in a blank black hoodie.
My cathartic conscience feels unconscious,
defeated from colourless pastels.
Feeling dejected and dreary,
drenched from misty icy rain,
I walk towards a ghostly passage of muted feet,
searching for shelter in my clandestine cave.
I awoke hoping for a gold and copper dawn,
but only lethargic gloom greeted my spirit.
As I tumble like leaves blowing in the breeze,
I return to nothingness, haunted by wraiths at dusk.
How long will this dreary night go on
Seems years since the dawn of morn
Why does anxiety keep me awake
What is this burden I cannot shake
Heartbeats too fast within my breast
Too quickly to grant needed rest
There's no moon above to cast light
This crepuscule gives birth to fright
I smell the wax of candles burning
but something keeps me from turning
If this be a dream, I pray, let me wake
for I've a thirst and hunger to slake
My eyes are open, and yet I cannot see
the willow outside; my weeping tree
"Fear not," I warn myself in voice aloud
the moon must be cloaked by a cloud
I call out for Davinia, in angst and fear
but my dear wife is not sleeping near
I long to glimpse morning rays of sun
Harried for never-ending night to be done
Only sleep could bring a measure of peace
and from shadowed night to have release
but I seen to be shackled to the beast
who fights the dawn's rising in the East
Of going insane, I fast approach the brim
tortured by thoughts, dark, dank and grim
Whispers I hear, mawkish murmurs dim,
"What will become of Davinia without him"
Who speaks of me in grammar, past tense
Someone who's lost all sentience and sense
Fragrant air 'round me grows warm and dense
Could that redolent odor be flowered scents
A memory haunts my sleep deprived brain
It's of a brutal nature, and cold falling rain
An act of violence, like the angry sin of Cain
A man's life taken; from a dagger he was slain
Motionless in rest, but not on my feathered bed
This unnerving moment is one I most dread
In a sepulcher, on a satin pillow, rests my head
In eternal darkness am I to dwell, among the dead
"At the end of my life, with just one breath left, if you come then, I'll sit up and sing. That cannot now be said or written." Rumi
Lyrics of loneliness liberate in a lucid language,
lulling loveless librettos of lamenting loss.
In deadly depths of darkness,
deep desires dipped in despair,
misplace my marooned mind
in metaphorical mists of misconception.
Deserted in a domain of demons,
there's an aura of angst amongst absent angels.
When reality resembles a betrayal of butterflies,
withered wings wilt in wild winters without a wish.
In timeless tender tunes of tearful toxic torment,
nocturnal nightingales cry in a crepuscule chorus,
confessing caged crescendos in cryptic codes.
Sickness slithers in sinister silence,
as grinning Grim Reaper reveals his reflection.
My sojourner soul seeks a saviour's silhouette.
Who soothes in seraphic serenades of serenity.
To float in fate's fountain of featherless freedom.
In forbidden fields where fluorescent flowers flourish forever.
Her effervescent eyes exhale an elixir,
evoking an exotic, enticing, everlasting epiphany.
Enchanting in echoes of an Edenic enduring enigma.
Beneath bluebells, breathless and broken,
let me lay inside the lilacs of her amorphous aroma.
Her swan song closing chapter of my chronicles.
A halcyon harmony of heavenly harps,
guiding my gondola towards golden gates of grace.