The Moonflower’s Stone
Sorrow leaves a trail like time’s brewing acerbity,
stamping life’s cinema into our fragile minds.
All the while, violet colored veins pulse with weary sighs
As her fatigued soul retires
into the illumination of the Elysian Fields.
Her words, anesthetic to our worries,
were spoken with jagged truths
but delivered on pillows of comfort.
And although her body lived in opposition to her mind,
her unrelenting will to traverse maladies with pleasure
encouraged all who knew her, to meet adversity with jest.
A smile adorned her face in earnest loyalty,
and laugher echoed through her home;
eternally imbedding itself into our lives,
nourishing each loved one
with unrelenting spirit. She was a sprite
among a forest of trolls.
Born a cultivator of optimism and nurture,
she bore the weight of other’s troubles
upon her shoulders. Staving off the fever
that beckoned submission to its hypnotic flame,
a rock, she was. Secured like an anchor to life.
Tenacious in her philosophy.
Humble in her approach.
And barefoot in the fields.
She is now the moonflowers’ stone.
In memory of Barbara Stuart, March 24, 2007
Lady Altruist
Her spirit wears a smile as she journeys Home,
for she knows her embrace
eased the sting of skinned knees.
Her hands, stained from years
of an altruistic lifestyle,
remain mighty in the persons
who have been touched by them.
Painted into the essence of each individual
who crossed her path in this life,
a light has embedded itself
and emanates everlastingly.
Though many of us drive the busy roads
of this country,
only looking towards our destinations,
Lady Altruist walked with nothing more
than a jug of water in her arms
for the thirsting passerby.
It is in this selfless manner
that she cared for so many –
The child,
The husband,
The friend,
The stranger.
If there is nothing more
that can be learned from her,
it is that life is not to be lived in solitude,
or to be lived in vain.
But life is to be lived
by spreading the knowledge and love we harbor,
to those who are in need.
Through this one small deed ,
those of us who have been blessed
to walk through life with her,
may continue bandaging
those with scraped knees,
and consoling those souls who are in despair.
Only then,
may we one day hope to make half the difference of
Lady Altruist.
In memory of Joyce Beck Stuart
December 16, 1940 – June 15, 2003
POETRY
AUGUST BLISS
Approaching slumber in this reverie,
ironically standing in my nostalgia.
Kissing your lips is the last thing I remember,
that and your tongued love.
VESTAL OF MINE
Oracle bowed her head,
and I thought to myself-
“Jesus could use a woman like this.”
Sturdy-backed!
Propelled by a bird shying from flight,
paradoxical universes beg personas
to change outside of their agendas.
Within reach-
Lay sustenance for my starved inquiries for Deus.
“If it is actual,
if we are what we seem,”
I say to Mary,
“Take my sweet night of wandering inclination,”
“I shall awaken”—flesh slightly more scrutinized
by the Divine.
LIP PRINTS
The laughter in my eyes is squeamish---
deserted by my voice to travel your confession.
Still, you seek the song in my smile.
Well, boy, it’s ravished inside!And so he kissed the girl,
with the passion of a spear.
And in the midst of longing---
caught on my lips,lingered perfection’s gentle breeze.
SUICIDE OF THE MADAME
Sour bellows do not weep in her corner,
nor do painted hands—swimming in an everglade of madness.
A pouch under her skirt reveals
the silver dollars of her worth---
Brimming with rays of vehemence,
Gleaming!
A surplus of soiled linens is left behind;
Damp from desire,
desire, not her own.
