Long Like a moth to a flame Poems
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LAVENDER LADY
She was my lavender lady;
Standing by the lake,
Gazing across the sky-blue water
At who-knows what in the distance.
She was the very essence of elegance.
Spurning the mini-skirted fashion of the age,
Her flowing summer dress
Modestly reached mid-calf.
I was not given to approaching perfect strangers
(And I use the word ‘perfect’ advisedly)
But I was drawn to her.
Like a moth to a flame?
Iron filings to a magnet?
Choose your own simile.
“Lovely day,” I ventured,
“For gazing across lakes.”
“Very pleasant,” she responded, coolly.
“Do you come here often?”
I heard myself say, with horror
And caught a glimpse of amusement
In those pale blue eyes
At the outrageous cliché.
“Did you really say that,” she asked,
“Or I did I imagine it?”
“Sorry,” I said. “I always get tongue-tied
At moments like these.”
“I see. And what sort of moment is this then?”
“!t could be a moment of destiny.
“Hmm,” she said, “and, then again, it could be
An insignificant moment in time”
She turned to walk away.
“Lavender really suits you,” I tried.
But she kept on walking.
I called after her.
“You didn’t answer my question,”
“What question was that?”
She asked, over her shoulder.
“Do you come here often?”
She laughed
“Come again tomorrow and find out.”
19th September 2020
Clutching at Straws contest
Sponsor Kai Michael Neuman
Today I turned 14.
I’m hoping this year is better than my last.
And all the others in the past.
But I’m not writing this about myself.
I’m writing this, so others know it’s okay to need help.
13 was hard.
Honestly, I’m left here scarred.
13 was the age I was supposed to love.
But that’s the last thing I felt.
13 caused me pain.
It made me feel like I was going insane.
So many sleepless nights.
Listening to the voices in my head fight.
I felt anything but alright.
13 was full of emotions,
Just not the right ones.
I turned 13 and was suddenly old enough,
Old enough to know about the family drama.
No wonder so many have trauma.
When I was 13, I felt anything but the same.
But all the things I shouldn’t have done,
Attracted me like a moth to a flame.
I hope that one day,
A 13-year-old girl will read this.
Because I know she probably feels alone.
She hides in her own home.
Her eyes cold as stone.
But behind closed doors, in the darkness of her room.
She lets out all the tears,
From the words she has consumed.
I want her to know that she’s not alone.
She’s wanted and loved by someone.
13 may feel like a big number.
But it’s not the number of reasons you should have.
It’s not the last number,
I want her to remember that little girl.
The one still inside her soul.
That little girl has a goal.
I want her to make that little girl proud.
Keep on counting.
13 isn’t the last number.
It never should be.
13 may feel like hell.
You may feel unwell.
You may look at food and feel physically sick.
Or cry and ask, “Why am I like this?”
Just know you weren’t the first to do it.
And certainly won’t be the last.
One day, this number will pass.
Because 13 isn’t the last number.
Unrequited love is the
forbidden fruit of the heart.
And if you lust for its taste,
it will tear your heart apart.
A love that can never be;
drains dreams of all their magic.
And like a moth to a flame;
results are often tragic.
Behind a facade of smiles,
you try to hold back the tears.
Yet hope is mired in despair;
where it has languished for years.
Jealousy results in a
deluge of sad emotions.
And it feels as though you've cried
enough tears: to fill oceans.
You suckle reality,
on the bosom of the night.
For fantasies morph into
shackles at Dawn's breaking light.
Sequestered in make-believe;
love has brought you to your knees.
Yet, in your dreams, you get to
be with whomever you please.
("The Mothership", 2024, original encaustics digitally collaged by Stephen Langer)
What Will You Do
When the aliens come
What will you do?
Will you go dragged kicking and screaming
Only to remember nothing,
Or will you go willingly
With the curiosity of a child?
What’s there after all
In the Great Mother ship,
A portal, a station, theatre of the mind
In multidimensional surround sound
Revealing a multiverse of limitless potential
Or a black hole of limited impossibility?
I don’t know, but it bears considering.
In my experience such things happen without choice,
Like a moth to a flame
Or sonambulator in the dark,
But why not be prepared
With your choice already made?
“Beam me up Scotty”
It’s gotten too crazy down here,
And what I took for an intelligent lifeform
Has turned out to be a mirage.
Ah, much better in multidimensional surround,
Thanks Ma.
(7/9/24)
By Wilma N. Neels
My senses jumped into action
When I became aware of you,
Your presence overwhelming
My body,
My mind,
Only had one desire
Like a song without a chorus
Incomplete...
Like a fire without a flame
No warmth displayed...
You draw me into you,
Like a moth to a flame
Slowly floating
My feet didn’t touch the ground,
Until I stood in front of you
Barely touching,
The chemistry palpable
Undeniable too
It had to happen
If not today,
Someday soon
I wanted to reach out
Touch your face,
Play with the lines around
Your eyes…
I wanted more,
So much more…
I wanted to know if I hug you once, could it be forever.
*For Sidney Hall, who gave me the title,
not sure if this is what he had in mind
but this is what I came up with :-)*
© All Rights Reserved
Contest: Razzle Dazzle
2nd Place
They tell you it gets better
And I used to think that was true,
But that was before I met you.
You came to me like a moth to a flame,
Turned from the love that consumed my heart.
A dark figure clad in all black,
Nothing good to come from you.
You walked into my life
Without my consent,
Changed the way I was
And possibly who I will be;
I don't recognise myself
The way I used to.
You took parts of me
That meant a great deal
And you hole it up in a cage;
I can't find the key.
Sleep has become difficult
Since you found your way to me,
And though I beg and plea,
Hoping for you to leave,
You never truly do,
In fact, you always refuse to,
Following me like a shadow,
Clinging to my skin
Until we are one.
You took away
The most important parts of me
Yet anger does not appear,
For it was not you who took it away,
Nor had you snatched them,
You formed out of the love
Left behind
When they left me.
Still, I am unforgiving
For though I cannot
Begin to imagine
Befriending you, Grief,
I cannot accept
That they will never come back
Yet you will forever remain -
The darkest parts of me
Or as you know by name:
Grief.
Yesterday
I cried my heart out
For I wept tears of glass
To lay a path for you to walk on
Barefoot on the hot pavement
naked as I bleed
In the hopes that you won’t taste my fear
Teeming with anger and hatred
As I stood with a clenched fist.
hot coals in my palm
Ready to unfurl
Shoulders hunched, grasping at embers.
My hands exposed me.
Today
I write with the temperament
Of a subdued bull
As you taunt and prod
Waiting for me to charge
my heart aflame like molten lava
My eyes burning with fire
Shooting darts of laser beams
My lips are parted
but no words escaped
My voice betrayed me.
Tomorrow
I will walk in splendor
Of a thousand suns
Simultaneously rising
In dazzling radiance
I will set the heavens ablaze
And you will be drawn
Just like a moth to a flame
Not looking back, not asking why
Your eyes deceived you
For my heat no longer warms
Instead it burns
Not the kind that cauterizes and effaces
But the one that engulfs and consumes
Like butter on blow torch
Your perception beguiled you
For I am Venus
As you watch me lay motionless
you wonder what goes up and down
but does not move? My temperature.
As I bask in my ring of fire
Feel my scorching heat
As I exact my revenge
and singe your wings of desire
It is too late,
I show no mercy
As my soul deserted me.
A foolish heart on a merry- go- round
Can never see those up and downs
Turning sometimes under, over, out of sight
Soaring love makes you giddy, up on flight
Captivated floating above the ground !
A foolish heart never hears those warning signs
Those spaces between those whispers
that will never be mine
Still seeking with a vulnerable hope
A yearning for affection, or to catch that
averted gaze on a slope!
A foolish heart never hears nor sees rejection
For in time love is all but just a projection
Thrown into madness, the heart but comes alive
and brings
Confusion it was, but how can you run from such a captivating thing?
Attraction drawing you in, like a moth to a flame!
We can die for love, and that’s a crying shame
My heart tried to hide, but came back to seek
What could it do? It was a foolish heart
it became too weak!
3.3.22
Sponsor: L.Milton HANKINS
Contest: “My Foolish Heart”
your love shines outward
like a star in the dark of night
drawing me near you
like a moth to a flame
an obsession grasping my thoughts
can't get you out of my mind
and not wanting to
blinded and thinking of nothing
but to be near you
and the warmth of your tender love
so lost without you
yet no matter the distance between us
your love shines through
even the darkest of nights
showing me the way to you
guiding my soul to a love
stronger than any other on earth
so much wanting to be one
so much wanting
the love we share is a selfish love
kept only for each other
your happiness is my happiness
your sadness my sadness
two lonely individuals become one
The Valley of dead Souls
Jewel encrusted guardians of stone stand before the gates to the abyss of eternity. Above engraved in gilded stone inlaid with silver and gold are the words. Dearth of light and filled with gloom for all that enter seal their doom.
With deaths sweet kiss of nights never-ending silence to comfort them as they walk. Fires burn and give no warmth unto the abysmal souls that travel the path into the void. Pail from life drained drifting through eternity without regret for days long past. These lost souls march on in their misery, no sunrise to inspire the eyes or sunset to charm the soul. Only pain to burden the flesh and dark sorrow to tire the spirit, as the fires of hell light the path.
This is the fate of souls devoid of a moral compass to guide them through life. Their sins guide them to the gates like a moth to a flame in the dark. In the wake of blood filled rivers of despair, innocent children cry tears of anguish upon the waters. Purity defiled by lust and greed feed the gluttony of their desires. Passion and love lost to indifference and hatred by the mindless desire to dominate the destitute and subjugated them to servitude.
All is lost to those that choose to walk this path to oblivion. None shall truly know the futility of wealth and power until they trudge this path of oblivion.
By
Josehf Lloyd Murchison