So aside from that one entry, I missed most of national poetry writing month. But two days late won't hurt.
Our call to arms: the newly risen moon,
Her howl of provocation unrestrained.
We heed, haphazard: armor shed and strewn
along, familiar territory gained
with practiced hands, in earnest contours mapped,
two heartbeats shared like sonic booms resound
across the linen war zone, spirits rapt
with bliss inflicted, minds sensation-drowned.
But even we to sated dreams relent;
thus, white flag raised, we yield to deeper night.
With dawn's approach, She makes Her slow descent
until next She in mortals' blood ignite
the roiling taste for skin; with fresh desire
we'll charge once more and welcome friendly fire.
--English sonnet, October 2010
And here are two versions of the same-ish poem, written at very different times.
What the Moon Saw
Last night the moon seemed to say something
As across the water we watched the city burn
Distant flames licked our sea-chilled heels
And our breath was as salty as the wind
Blood rushed louder than the surf
Sweeping us in its rolling embrace
Calling us to depths starry as the sky
Neither and both sinking and floating
Earthbound bodies learned gravity's dance
In the gauzy fingers of celestial light
Feeling only sand and skin
And a pulse shared by two
What the moon said we both failed to hear
--free verse, September 2009
What the Moon Saw (Revisited)
Last night, the moon seemed to say something
as across the water we watched the city burn.
Nicotine exhalations replaced the meaningful words
I'd promised myself to say.
Across the water the city burned,
its flames silenced by my roaring thoughts.
I'd promised you once
that being alone doesn't mean being lonely.
But the silent flames and my roaring thoughts
drown in the star-strewn waves,
hissing of loneliness without being alone.
Like the moon is pulled to the earth--
isolated in the star-strewn skies--
a victim of uncontrollable gravity,
my body, waning, is pulled to yours
with no hope of ever reaching.
So I, the willing victim to gravity,
replace meaningful words with nicotine sighs,
giving up hope of ever finding courage:
Last night, neither the moon nor I could say,
"Hold me closer."
--pantoum, November 2010