Moon Stories

Sometimes the moon is full.
Otherwise an eerie scythe.
The moon is a man too, that is
also a wolf. Or a girl with a rabbit.
Often a girl walks through a forest.
Do you not live near the forest?
I meant the city at night, neon-bright, slick
like advertisement. The girl is red as
menstrual blood and spilled guts.
Does that seem too harsh?
I meant the scarlet of lip-stick and Valentine.
The wolf has hairy hands
all the better for catching the girl! No?
Soft as velvet then, to caress her cheek.
The girl can be the night (if it pleases)
enveloping the wolf, the man, pressing herself
down on him, fit to howl as well as any beast.
Sometimes the girl becomes a woman
sometimes she lets the man in on this secret.
Sometimes one eats the other, and that
can be interpreted any way you like.



A phantom love,
Once felt,
In a lost dream,
Cloaks itself,
In the eyes,
Of an infidel,
Staring at me,
Like destiny,
To a sinister wish,
I try to reach for,
The fading stars,
Spread across galaxies,
And withering black holes,
Of fire works,
Swallowed in the sky,
Bursting on our tongues,
Like an inexplicable feeling,
For so long,
I have passed days,
Passing time,
Fooling the heart,
To fall in love,
With all that,
No longer remains,
Your touch fades,
In the carcass of memory,
Your scent follows,
The lingering wishes
I create scenarios
In a world of make belief,
I keep picturing,
You to be with me,
And just before,
I open my eyes
I take the final leap,
And fall into your arms,
I am with you,
In between the rain drops,
Reading poetry,
Submerged in coffee,
Writing vows,
On our skins,
I try to decipher,
The meaning,
Of impermanent,
For every inch of me
Now resembles,

The Fae

These things the Fae would like you to remember:
Your world is very big beside our own.
We are ashes crushed from cinders, one last ember
Left to smoulder through the Winter all alone;
The tower in the rowan-grove is leaning;
The tunnels from the blasted oak run under
The new estate, its solemn children dreaming
Of the slow descent of ravens like a wonder:
But we may not yet survive the next December.

These things the fae would like you to remember:
That straying from the path is never wise;
The beasts out there don’t care who they dismember;
Our night, as yours, contains a thousand eyes;
That wisdom is a salve against adventure;
That the knight who rings the bell at set of sun
Knows a whispered spell to save you from indenture;
That dismemberment can sometimes be undone;
That the dragon leaves the tapestry at midnight;
Pull the red thread, not the green, behind her tail;
That the ravelled thread will vanish in the sunlight;
That the witch has only smoke behind her veil:
Tonight the hunt will have another member.

These things the Fae would like you to remember:
The fruit is bittersweet and tastes of freedom
From those things you do not want to set you free;
Some say it is a trap, and you should heed them,
But some find though it a self they need to be;
That there is no riddle here without a catch,
No power so strong you cannot still entreat it;
That the tower’s wicket-gate is on the latch;
And if you do not want the fruit, don’t eat it;
That our time in sparkling runnels and in torrents
And in floods and gyres and mournful doldrums flows;
It will loose you from your hours’ weary warrents;
It will teach you things that every forest knows:
As distant from Midsummer as September.

These things the Fae would like you to remember:
That gold without its glamour is just metal;
That you have bled and burned from iron too;
That beneath the hemlock-umbel and the nettle
Is the earth that claims us all as well as you:
The gentle earth of May knows no November.
These things the Fae would like you to remember.


Swinging in the sun’s iridescent hoop,
Gold and red feathers swaying through its shine,
This image imprinted in your suspective mind.
We cannot wait, the time is due,
Bird ends it song with a stunning swoop.
A gorgeous tail and sapphire eyes,
The bird incinerates and dies.

Dream State

My hands fit in the space in the small of your back
My fingers gently grazing your skin
I don’t want this moment to ever end
This intimate connection between two strangers
Who were brought together by pure dumb luck

But when I close my eyes and imagine you sleeping next to me
You’re gone
And this was just a dream

Extinguished Light

I still recall the clear and cursed day,
That crushed the calmest man I ever knew
In Kandahar with cool and crafty crew
From cabin to cave to search and clear way
Set out from camp with charged spirits gay,
We reached our chaos, ceased and sidearms drew,
To cut about; collect our tales too
The men behind us quiet crept away
The sounds behind the shadows came and then
Saluted solemnly and stuck to wall
You snuck towards the door, shot it open
Still standing there, I saw my captain fall
That sound stunned me yet thoughts and fears run
I’m here for stories; not sequels, damn all

I dart around the dark and fearful room,
With pistol drawn like dancers in the night
Beyond the dusk some forth and likely fight
Ready to die and take my rubble’d tomb
Arched over you this drummer makes a plume,
Of dust and dirt, and folly in moonlight,
I damn and dare to take my friend tonight,
The voices behind walls begin to loom
Hands break the gate and burst before the door
My muzzle bucks as blast and powder shout
Their waves befell our blind and rushed the floor
Still I, between the bevy wait for rout
And if our bones shall bare we die as lore
We burnt too bright to suddenly snuff out.

Of Memory

Shiny and unforgiving
The bracelet apparently grew thorns
The run in my stocking
Was shaped a little like the buildings
In a photo he once showed me
When he was in Porto

It’s funny how the mind can recall
Something so seemingly vague
But of course the exception:
Staring at the outline of a cityscape
For days
The brain also favors repetition


My pain could write a thousand poems
Or break a thousand hearts
It could shatter someone’s very soul
Into a thousand parts

My love could heal a thousand wounds
It could span a thousand skies
It would gladly to stop to wipe the tears
From a thousand different eyes

My love and pain: they go to war
They are forces that refuse to yield
They fight until my heart is sore
For my life is now a battlefield


There’s a beast living within me
Prowling the depths of my dark soul
It’s deadly, hungry as can be
To devour, its ultimate goal

Hatred fuels its burning eyes
Venomous tears run down its face
Its tongue forms only wicked lies
To demons, it’s their greatest ace

Kept at bay with chains of my will
Escape is inevitable
And once it is free, it will kill
My death by the despicable

But that end, I know I deserve
The beast is none other than me
For I, it is, and it, I serve
From it, I will never be free

Thoughts Of A Madman

In transit to life.
I escape the cruel hand.
My life begins to shimmer again.
Spreading light in this cold dark world.

The worth of my being is already measured by what it is to believe in the real and in fiction.

Progress. Not perfection.

I feel warmth in the coldest depths below.
I feel safe though my faith is shallow.
I grasp the concept of life in its purest form.
I experienced the calm before the storm.

Progress. Not perfection.

Though everything is falling apart.
I find hope in the things I’ve lost.
Wishing it will ever be back again.

The existence of the being inside me is immortal for it has tested the sands of time.
Gone through life and death.
Conquered heaven and hell.
What will I do to prove this all to you?

Grant eternal life to me!

To My Younger Self

I am sharing the work of a fellow blogger and poet whose work is out standing! Please comment and follow this blog to be updated with more work over the coming few weeks and to be involved in my latest project!

Copyright for Video – Sarah Drozdz

More of her work can be found below at


I am the same person

And yet,

I do not write as I used to.

Not as beautifully, not as easily,

Not anymore.

Time has quelled the anger, the pain, the frustration

That lent themselves so easily to my words.

Now, they are dull and as much a part of me

As the things I deem not worthy of writing about.

Love’s Hunger

I’m hungry.
Not for food.
Oh, no no no…

I’m hungry…
For you…
I want you.
I want your hugs.
I want your kisses.

I want to hold your hand.
I want to touch your face.
I want to stare into your deep brown eyes…

I want to go back to the past…
I want to feel your love again…
I want to call you mine again…

I fear this hunger for you,
Will never fade.
It will only get worst.

I’ll be starving for you…
And I’ll never be able to quench this hunger…

Blue Light

If I could have just a fraction
Of that great light that shines in you
I’d set off a chain reaction
And turn these grey skies into blue
I would, but no

Your light is not mine to borrow
I’ll have to find some other way
I’ll keep these dreams till tomorrow
Till I know how to make you stay
Or let you go

Should I just learn to be lonely?
Is that the path I’m meant to take?
Would I be happy to roam free,
Or would it cause my heart to break?
I still don’t know

Will I be doomed to remember
Every day that you were with me
Our promises of December
All those plans that we made falsely
When time was slow

September came and we shattered
The leaves turned brown and we turned blue
In my world, only you’ve mattered
The only light I’ve known is you
Please… please don’t go


I feel the moss on my bones and the sea in my stomach,

There’s a world inside me that you’ll never see

My eyes are the sky, my tears are the rain

lips painted by petals

I feel the waves crashing, around me, inside me.

I’m always feeling, I’m always experiencing this world… Within me, around me

You don’t know me unless you’ve stood beside me while I was on the edge.

My mind is the sun, my soul is the moon.

I am eternal.


There flies the unyielding wind
Over the lanterns of fire
They whisk and curl and ring for peace–
Zip and cry in the night

There lies the old and new
Shifting in the flames
Ashes dancing in the sky
To greet the wavering stars

I am the one that lives in the breadth
Of all changes
I am a chrysalis
Of citrine and amber

My roots know the deepest fathoms of the earth
My canopy knows the tallest heights.

Changing Seasons

Don’t you love it when the leaves change color?
When vestiges of green are smelted into the most ornate golds.
And remaining verdant containers burst into the ferocious flames of orange leaflets.
I cannot explain why the leaves change colors,
why changes in temperature and season defy reason and metamorphasize green leaves into something more.
Color in leaves leave swiftly and just like people you will always spring before you fall.
As falling leaves drift from dying trees and people move apart.
Revealing true colors and hidden folds,
Dying reds and brilliant golds.
Don’t you love it when the leaves change color?
As we age, we change shades but never truly differ from our original state.
We are simply all different leaves on a slowly dying tree.
The only difference as we grow closer to death is our appearance.
If you are one who drained the essence of others in your youth,
In old age your actions will not change.
The first of us to fall are not usually those that stole the nutrients and light of others,
But rather the malnourished and forgotten.
I will not pretend that life is fair, that leaves and people all exist in equal sunlight and die when they should.
As leaves change hues, people change masks, but just as an orange leaf is as much a leaf as a green leaf, selfish people growing older are still selfish.
The scope of greed simply changes, a few drops of rain as leaflets suddenly become all the rain our tree recieves for a few leafy canopies.
As young children we fight our brothers and sisters for materials, toys, money, food.
As adults we fight our brothers and sisters for resources, oil, capital, information.
Wars are a human invention to compliment an innate human behavior.
Our cherubic youth is no more than a precursor to man’s most frightening capabilities.
Guided missiles do not guide the hands that need them most, but rather obliterate them.
The surgical precision of drone strikes isn’t so precise when future surgeons have their futures erased.
The leaves of trees if not destroyed are forever marred by the blood of human beings.
Don’t you love it when the leaves change color?

Poetic Rhyme

Later paint these images in giant rectangles
Slowly melt away into a salt and pepper party
Relax all your thoughts and jump deep into your mind
Feel that the end is near but maybe I am just unclear
This red truck has the firepower of a thousand stinging bumblebees
These towers keep collapsing from within
Explosions radiate the skin
Each moment so opportune in making good things happen
Wasting self away into an egolessness venture
No good or bad can come from this
The world has yet to see
The beauty of my springfield light
The purity of white snowflakes
Melting firmly on the ground surrounded bounded hounded to the grave
I hear all the people say
“What’s she doing with this time?”
I’m just spitting out these rhymes
Finding beauty in the moment to the rhythm of an omen
Desperately awake for one more chance at being happy
Crawling on these bruised knees, answers for resentment,
It’s a New Testament,
To utter divine protection,
The whips and the bees collide to make the branches smaller
The roots are dug from underneath the hard rock earth and soil
If you find yourself intoxicated,
Know where help is near,
Keep your spirits mighty strong
By thanking the unknown
For all its kindness goodness grace
I see a pattern on her face
Reflecting sunlight in her eyes
Distort the color brown to green,
I’ll find you again soon
I know this to be true
I’ll wait here till apocalyptic times degenerate you
I’ll pull you out of slumber and take you to neverland
Where we can live prosperous, unduly escaping the grips of all our social chains,
The fire within breathes its hydrogen bomb gulp
It waits for a minute before settling back down,
Quietly assessing the right moment to attack,
Possessing one determination,
Destination operation,
Perspiration, declaration,
Masquerading fur coats as innocent hardware,
Pennilessly drawing out a map for tomorrow,
Potent as the core of earth,
Leave it to the lava lamps
To render all our atmosphere
impeccable seclusion of decisive final statements
There’s no one around to judge me for who I am
For I have already taken my enemy’s kingdom
To a place where pentagons float on the walls and everywhere inside there is lost and there’s comfort,
Leading you astray,
Or perhaps back to bay,
All those dudes will pay,
So do not dismay and take the new day in the mightiest way,
Remember that the omen points for happiness to come in May
Astrological compulsory heroism blocked,
Trained by his best friend how to fight and fight right
Eventually all will follow him in his footsteps,
But I believe divine decree will lead me to more kindness,
A chance at survival in the strength of an idol,
A karmic display of bad luck from past lives,
A misuse of magic to hurt and entice,
The master of cells holding each and every key,
The wholesome good fight powerfully justified
Lucid as a nightmare, separate from reality
A consciousness emerging from the stillness of my body,
An equilibrium of mind and spirit tranquilizing into one,
And dear when I miss you, do you miss me too?
Are we both just waiting for the other to make a move?
Will history repeat itself intensely on the grand stage?
Or will the tide of life alternate past the bread of love
All you single ladies keep your heads up above,
You know you’re enough for someone to deserve you
Don’t ever deny that your soul carries strength,
Greater in size than any previously met,
Divinely organized complex as parting energy
Herald the underdog who makes it out alive,
They won’t always thrive but their mind at least won’t take a dive,
Lunar eclipses follow me to the next life,
Let us set sail and prepare to sing
Sing beautiful words from the pits of your soul
Crying out each tune from some forgotten melody
Pulled from my subconscious in the moment as I mark it down,
Singing each note and rhyming each beat,
Who’d have known that lightning strikes could sound so beautiful?
Beaten like a dead horse
My voice becomes hoarse,
I’m asked politely to use force,
In order to complete this course
Traveling around the earth like a spindle in a toybox
Promising togetherness in waves of rushing Equinox
Listen to the temples for the answers of the world
Desensitize yourself from pain to see Akashik secrets
Hello, how are you, goodbye??
Well nice knowing you,
Funny how we get along,
Playing with ourselves among
The interior crusading wall
One by one remove it all
Listen to these litigators,
Tell them what they need.
Show them to the answers of all their wildest dreams.
Correctly fixate strings of alphanumerical information
Policy of mine advised to transform every day
In every way
Even if I’m a little gay,
At least I can enjoy a lay
The curse of sexual shame bonding us all to gross suppression
Of basic hormonal impulses fighting to take clear of salt,
Where are you taking me Master?
Have we ever walked this deep into the woods?
What if we get lost and cannot find our way back?
Should we give up now and restart again tomorrow?
The mentor answers solidly
There is no time to wait,
The existence of your fate
Is to open up this gate,
And let the devil take the bait
Pineal stimulation causing my heart to peel its slander
Noticing my enemies and laughing them away,
Knowing what they hate in me is what they hate in themselves too
Jealousy or envy,
Greed and deceit,
Naked in a nudist pool
Evening Christmas Eve
This time is not bought,
It’s what enlightenment sought,
To carry pathways leading forward
Perched upon a golden eagle
Sending metta to my people,
Practicing my jailhouse antics,
Lighting up a storm of cloudy
Girls between the lobby doors,
Trusting in appreciation of ghoulish behavior,
The crazier you are the more susceptible you are
To the ever passing by of different realms aligned with ours,
Subdivide your consciousness and lucid dream to uncover the secrets that truly lie within
Then learn to exit the body,
Not stressing loss of control,
Just loosely basing off my patrol
To walk through the astral realm,
At least I feel at home,
Where the spirits gather around
And terminate me with their pointy fingers,
Ragged unclothed exposed dejection
These spirits weren’t friends, they were all out to get me,
Feeling humiliated,
Refusing to go down
Collecting information round
My eyes and lips and throat
To better trust my gut,
Do not lay out your trust to someone who might take it for granted,
You don’t want to end up feeling used, wasted, and hated
So come home,
I’ll tell you how I feel right now
I feel like I can’t be anyone without you
You are all that holds me up
You are all that shines on through
You are all I truly care for
You inspire me to live
What I wouldn’t do for you,
Trying to get control of you,
Losing my grip on all that remained,
From innocence birth has renewed in my palm
From there it will sparkle and next moment gone
The trees are communicating what it means to stand and pray,
Life purely formed to absorb and produce,
An unsubstantial energy causing all our illusions,
Of a tragic materialistic society in ruins,
Will all its followers take a bow with me?
I am ready to give up but also prepared to fight
For I believe that one must do what they know to be right
And even when one isn’t doing what they think is right,
Every moment is blessing for gratitude,
Forgiveness is up in the air.
So sit in your ruthlessly undefinable chairs,
I know how to fix you and I am prepared,
But you might not want that,
I might even fail,
No matter what happens,
I’ll fall back and feel safe,
Running off a cliff in socks,
These realms appear to all have locks,
Potentially driving martyrs to death,
Making them beg to their very last breath,
Grounded in my own skin for the elevation of my kin,
Pass along what you see with your eyes and your ears,
Share the world with a great big joyous smile.
Wait for dawn to erupt with a disappointing wake up,
Back to reality it seems to always be.
The dull draining reality we suck up on TV,
Our phones an addiction to escaping the stillness of mind,
Intimidated by correct fatherless figures,
Listen to your bones,
Pray with your ears
Pulsate with your mouth,
And let the energy divine sweep you right off your feet,
I’m hoping in time that you and I will one day meet.
And we will splash our hands together,
Embrace the incoming stormy weather,
Fall into its leaves and roses
Unlike the victims with their broken noses,
Recognize scent as integral to development,
Find the source of your deepest pain,
Feel the pain whole,
Feel your body’s pain without suppressing or ignoring it.
If you just let it linger then it will stay there forever.
But if you ground yourself into this moment,
You take your entire body with you,
And the pain is from the past,
All that dirt is unnecessary to your happiness today.
Just remember throughout the day,
Feel your body come what may,
Expect to see different results,
As misery coincides lack of awareness,
And connecting to your body is the ultimate awareness,
For what else composes your flesh?


Running with shackles,
at a different pace-
lost, for a while
found, afterwards

falling into an idea
broken down to two.

Faith rests on a glimpse
that happiness is safe
warm by the fire
of promises, undoused.

My words quake,
my soul shifts
as I have more room
to hide from
beneath gorges
torn in fabric,

swayed into disposition.

Curled, and worried
to know how nothing lasts
with clinched fist
refusing to bloom;

to open up to the question
of letting go
and saying goodbye
to your own shadow
bathed in the light.


My soul, the anchorite. Forest and mountain prone. A silence swimmer calmed at the great stillness of falling leaves. At odds with the noisy dialectic of the religious proletariat.

My soul, full of twists and turns, with a weakness for artificial flavours, like obscure chemical chocolates that contain just enough rot to expose those secretive alveolar tooth sockets. I should be more discerning, even of spiritual gummy bears.

My soul, the winged one. She seems to have a distinctive butterfly shape, with eyes protruding like giant yellow flower cups to attract the slender fae forms of a gentle winged wisdom.

My soul, the honorary coin tosser into the fountain of fate; ah, but even that is of dubious quality, more likely distracted by the shady financial plop of riches, rather than rest and reason.

My soul, the floater, often detaches just below my head and enjoys a post-Hippie romp among the white clouds. Things seem so different up here. Do I have a cultural permission slip to see a little differently?

My soul, the critic. Shunning the canned vocabulary and intellectual flaccidity of nice books; yeah, I know, she’s a rebel at heart with a postal tattoo of smug-seeming naïveté, but I have learned to listen to the sadness behind her rants.

My soul lies on the fringe, a spiritual mutt. A little piece of pseudo-art embarrassed by the brutal candour of those mysterious baptised smiling masses. When I lean down and start a conversation with myself I really don’t like her eccentricities, but she seems so electric.

My soul, the driftwood. Sandle-wearing, sitting meditatively cross-legged before the moon and the stars. Longing to see the night sky for the very first time, an unnatural calm obviously belongs to a peace not of this world.

My soul needed control, gripped the steering wheel of life so tightly that her knuckles became locked in a solid skeletal trance. Unrecognisable, empathy depleted, zeroed at the base camp of exhausted clichés.

My soul, mercy beggar. Mystic. Some would say esoteric, yet still, she remains extremely wary of bowing before the conventional and monotonous. She seeks a secluded mountain pass, where clover or phlox bloom, therein lies a remarkable simplicity to console beyond all reason.

My soul, oscillatory flirt. She has a marvellous capacity for misery and happiness, and both at the same time. She is distinctly and originally odd, a conglomerate of clarity and confusion, and with that an unusual degree of intensity.

My soul, egoic saint. She has reached the heights of an elegant, but fiery egoism. Shall I scorch the earth with wisdom? Shall I loose the orbits of planets? Shall the world gaze upon my un-famous words and be filled with impossible longings?

My soul, sweet essayist. Ah, but see how she now hobbles in an unrefined way. Inflicted with a kind spiritual scotopia causing a brief half-stagger. Humility inducing for sure, but still, she cannot resist being as radiant as the sun.

My soul, grinning child. She has a saucer-sized circle of a smile, though you would never have guessed it, she is always wrestling with the angel of language, limping away with a series of rhetorical bruises, lexiconic welts.