She reflects gentle pearl colored light,
Illuminating my shadowy path through
A dark wilderness of isolation
I can see her; she is there
But way out of reach
The blood in my veins
Ebbs and Flows like a tide
Turned by the waxing
And waning of her smile
She is my moonchild
Beautiful, powerful
And very fragile
Luna, goddess of night,
Weaver of magic dreams,
And caster of enchanting spells
When her jack-o’-lantern light is full
I am restless; there is a tidal wave in my heart
And a battle raging in my brain
I can feel her heat
And she incites me to insanity
“I like crazy,” she whispers
My greedy neurotic eyes become psychotic
As I tear at my own flesh for wanting
Pull at my hair for needing
Run full speed into the dark maze of
Lost and forgotten souls
Until I drop…
Only to
Stop
The endless
Screams of banshees
Lurking in the recesses of my soul
When she is crescent
Her dark side is midnight blue
I am the court jester
I am her fool
Juggling, stumbling
Performing tricks
She is my sad queen
Trapped in the majesty
Of her own imagination
I wish I were her knight,
Come to offer her the key to my heart;
The key to freedom.
But alas, I am only a fool,
Tripping over his own words,
Fumbling for the right tone,
Hoping to see her smile again,
Showering me in mother of pearl raindrops
And bathing me in the light of her celestial beauty
I pray that it never be eclipsed
ambient-1 © 2010
Monday, July 26, 2010
The Adoration of Luna
Last night,
I opened the memoirs of Eros.
As I read through it,
Her name appeared on every page
In whispers, in screams,
In cries of exaltation.
My hands trembled
But I held it steady.
Words, like crazed animals, leapt off the page
And sniffed me, licked me, bit me.
Droplets of blood,
Mingling with perspiration,
Rolled down my face and arms.
I read the sacred rituals:
Luna on her hands and knees,
Luna the equestrian Goddess,
Luna the lascivious whore
Luna the submissive slave
And Luna the merciless master.
All these manifestations of her
Had me fumbling for the next page:
I was like a child peeking through a keyhole.
She was standing over her subject,
Leg over his shoulder, tufts of hair in one fist,
Riding crop in the other.
She pressed his face into her holy of holies,
And gave him another welt on his haunch.
When he brought her to the edge,
Each hit was fiercer than the last,
Her eyes were closed, head back
Each tug, plunged his face deeper into her sanctum
He was her appaloosa,
She rode him to the brink of death
And her pleasure was intensified by
The Strength of his devotion.
Would he die for her?
Could he please her If he did?
ambient-1 © 2010
I opened the memoirs of Eros.
As I read through it,
Her name appeared on every page
In whispers, in screams,
In cries of exaltation.
My hands trembled
But I held it steady.
Words, like crazed animals, leapt off the page
And sniffed me, licked me, bit me.
Droplets of blood,
Mingling with perspiration,
Rolled down my face and arms.
I read the sacred rituals:
Luna on her hands and knees,
Luna the equestrian Goddess,
Luna the lascivious whore
Luna the submissive slave
And Luna the merciless master.
All these manifestations of her
Had me fumbling for the next page:
I was like a child peeking through a keyhole.
She was standing over her subject,
Leg over his shoulder, tufts of hair in one fist,
Riding crop in the other.
She pressed his face into her holy of holies,
And gave him another welt on his haunch.
When he brought her to the edge,
Each hit was fiercer than the last,
Her eyes were closed, head back
Each tug, plunged his face deeper into her sanctum
He was her appaloosa,
She rode him to the brink of death
And her pleasure was intensified by
The Strength of his devotion.
Would he die for her?
Could he please her If he did?
ambient-1 © 2010
Nocturnal Submission
The long deep sleep
Of a weary mind
Brought you
Dancing into
My bedchamber
At midnight
Silhouetting
The blue
Moonlight
Streaming in
Through my
Open window
You were the
Gypsy snake charmer
Receiving gifts
Of flesh fruit
And nocturnal
Emissions
Drawing down the moon,
You performed
The sacred ritual
Of fertility
And Filled your chalice
With milkbone and cream
I was the axis mundi
And you were the
Sky and earth
Rotating around me with
Hypnotic incantations,
Whispered revelations
Spinning and spinning…
The scent of musk
And breath, wet
With sticky sex
And damiana,
Raised the kundalini and
Penetrated the thin veil of sleep
All busy in the moonlight;
I watched scarlet smoke
Dance in its beams;
As it emerged and converged
Spirit and flesh
Became one
ambient-1 © 2010
Of a weary mind
Brought you
Dancing into
My bedchamber
At midnight
Silhouetting
The blue
Moonlight
Streaming in
Through my
Open window
You were the
Gypsy snake charmer
Receiving gifts
Of flesh fruit
And nocturnal
Emissions
Drawing down the moon,
You performed
The sacred ritual
Of fertility
And Filled your chalice
With milkbone and cream
I was the axis mundi
And you were the
Sky and earth
Rotating around me with
Hypnotic incantations,
Whispered revelations
Spinning and spinning…
The scent of musk
And breath, wet
With sticky sex
And damiana,
Raised the kundalini and
Penetrated the thin veil of sleep
All busy in the moonlight;
I watched scarlet smoke
Dance in its beams;
As it emerged and converged
Spirit and flesh
Became one
ambient-1 © 2010
Friday, June 04, 2010
Garden of Angels
Come out of your cocoon little butterfly
It's time to be beautiful and free
To see the world with joyous eyes
Dance upon the flowers
Bathe in the sunlight
And float upon gentle whispers
I’ll entice you with poppies, daisies, and dandelions
You can rest upon my hand and flutter
While I blow-dry the morning dew from your gossamer
Kiss you with cloudless skies
And enfold you in Prussian blue hues
Of happiness and laughter
Live forever in this garden of angels
And skip upon the daffodils of my heart
I created this place for you to be carefree
And frolic in eternal beauty, knowing
That you will always be truly loved
ambient-1 © 2010
It's time to be beautiful and free
To see the world with joyous eyes
Dance upon the flowers
Bathe in the sunlight
And float upon gentle whispers
I’ll entice you with poppies, daisies, and dandelions
You can rest upon my hand and flutter
While I blow-dry the morning dew from your gossamer
Kiss you with cloudless skies
And enfold you in Prussian blue hues
Of happiness and laughter
Live forever in this garden of angels
And skip upon the daffodils of my heart
I created this place for you to be carefree
And frolic in eternal beauty, knowing
That you will always be truly loved
ambient-1 © 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Only In You
I have waited
So long for you
You are the fire
Of truth; my path
Back to the kingdom
Of love’s desire
I enter your temple
With reverence
And offerings
Of mind, body,
And soul
I surrender
My weapon
With love,
And devotion
Only in you
Do I see
Myself
Only in
Your heart
Do I long to be
Only in you
Do I see
The other
Part of
Me
You are
Starlight
Floating in
The dark night
I am a
Solitary ship
Searching
For you
Through
The black
Loneliness
Of time
I fly at
Light speed
To dock
In your harbor
And join
With you
Together
We are
One
So long for you
You are the fire
Of truth; my path
Back to the kingdom
Of love’s desire
I enter your temple
With reverence
And offerings
Of mind, body,
And soul
I surrender
My weapon
With love,
And devotion
Only in you
Do I see
Myself
Only in
Your heart
Do I long to be
Only in you
Do I see
The other
Part of
Me
You are
Starlight
Floating in
The dark night
I am a
Solitary ship
Searching
For you
Through
The black
Loneliness
Of time
I fly at
Light speed
To dock
In your harbor
And join
With you
Together
We are
One
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Landscape
The wind-blown
Sands scatter
Across the
Sun-cracked
Landscape
A cloudless,
Pastel sky
Hovers
Over a
Sleepy
Matron
A black crow
Pecks at the
Stony ground
And one lonely,
Decrepit tree
Cracks the
Silence
And falters,
As the waterless,
Rock-ridden
Earth
Reclaims
A timeworn
Cradle
ambient-1 © 2009
Sands scatter
Across the
Sun-cracked
Landscape
A cloudless,
Pastel sky
Hovers
Over a
Sleepy
Matron
A black crow
Pecks at the
Stony ground
And one lonely,
Decrepit tree
Cracks the
Silence
And falters,
As the waterless,
Rock-ridden
Earth
Reclaims
A timeworn
Cradle
ambient-1 © 2009
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Boulevard of Broken Dreams
l fell asleep on a bus stop bench and I immediately started dreaming…
I found myself standing on the median strip of a busy boulevard.
Naked; I tried to shield my shame.
People screamed, “Put some clothes on asshole!” at me.
Women scoffed, children laughed and pointed.
Cars motorcycles and buses rushed by, moving in two directions.
I tried to shield my shame but they ridiculed this even more.
Their laughter was psychotic and my humiliation complete.
I hid the book behind me lest someone see it.
Some drawings fell out.
A lizard man yelled, “Hey look! He fancies himself an artist!”
The crowd laughed psychotically.
The Hyena woman snatched the book from me and held it up
for the gathering-snarling-drooling crowd to view and make fun of.
I felt so angry that I couldn’t breathe.
I tried to scream FUCK YOU!
But nothing came out.
I felt like I was glowing florescent in a black and white world.
In the next moment, I awoke to the bus arriving and I staggered aboard as though nothing had happened.
I put my straight face back on and rode the bus to my stop.
It was just another day in the life of an ordinary man.
ambient-1 © 2009
I found myself standing on the median strip of a busy boulevard.
Naked; I tried to shield my shame.
People screamed, “Put some clothes on asshole!” at me.
Women scoffed, children laughed and pointed.
Cars motorcycles and buses rushed by, moving in two directions.
I tried to shield my shame but they ridiculed this even more.
Their laughter was psychotic and my humiliation complete.
I hid the book behind me lest someone see it.
Some drawings fell out.
A lizard man yelled, “Hey look! He fancies himself an artist!”
The crowd laughed psychotically.
The Hyena woman snatched the book from me and held it up
for the gathering-snarling-drooling crowd to view and make fun of.
I felt so angry that I couldn’t breathe.
I tried to scream FUCK YOU!
But nothing came out.
I felt like I was glowing florescent in a black and white world.
In the next moment, I awoke to the bus arriving and I staggered aboard as though nothing had happened.
I put my straight face back on and rode the bus to my stop.
It was just another day in the life of an ordinary man.
ambient-1 © 2009
Monday, January 04, 2010
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Sunday, December 06, 2009
In the Garden of Your Secrets
In your garden
Of secrets
I bathed
In the pond
Of sins
Where water’s murmur
Lulled me in
To the comfort
Of forgetting
All of passion’s
Promises
That lay
Buried beneath
Your
Fertile soil
Redwoods
Of regret
Sprung up
You climbed them
And sought
The shelter
Of their shade
From the light
Of knowing
That many tears
Had watered
Their roots
And forgotten
Lover’s
Wicked whispers
Had blown
Through their leaves
Like shimmering
Tambourines
Jingling
Fountains
Of gladness
Rained down upon
The scarlet
Canopy
And rivers
Of ecstasy
Flowed through
The mystery
ambient_1 © 2009
Of secrets
I bathed
In the pond
Of sins
Where water’s murmur
Lulled me in
To the comfort
Of forgetting
All of passion’s
Promises
That lay
Buried beneath
Your
Fertile soil
Redwoods
Of regret
Sprung up
You climbed them
And sought
The shelter
Of their shade
From the light
Of knowing
That many tears
Had watered
Their roots
And forgotten
Lover’s
Wicked whispers
Had blown
Through their leaves
Like shimmering
Tambourines
Jingling
Fountains
Of gladness
Rained down upon
The scarlet
Canopy
And rivers
Of ecstasy
Flowed through
The mystery
ambient_1 © 2009
Friday, December 04, 2009
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Buried Beneath the Mountain
On the open market place of language, all words have a price.
Speech is not free – the more money you spend, the more of it you can buy.
Money is a demagogue that shouts down truth
And swears like a drunken sailor.
While nuance is swept under the carpet,
And reason is ridiculed like a naïve schoolgirl.
Fictitious “facts” touted by fraudulent fools,
Fill our minds as a mountain of currency manufactures consent.
Lead us not through a rose-colored world of unquestioned acquiescence
But deliver us from those who find comfort in being told what to do.
For thou art the power and the poison of minds and souls.
Words, sentences, paragraphs, and pages; spilling from the mouths
Of well-paid puppets, hollering hyperbolic nonsense,
As they shoot straight at the viscera and penetrate the core of rational thought.
More, more, more, the crowd exclaims!
Inflame us, Intoxicate us; make us forget our suicidal mindlessness
For we are asleep but we dare not dream
For our visions are Trojan horses implanted by the servants of money
And thus, we laughingly hurl headlong toward the coming catastrophe.
I’ve been saving my money so that I could purchase some pretty prose.
I need to hear words that cast out fear and make things clear,
Because I fear that we are lost and our prophets have been bought and sold
And thus, they lead us further away from truth;
While hope is buried beneath the mountain,
And there is no faith left to move it.
Robert Allan © 2009
Speech is not free – the more money you spend, the more of it you can buy.
Money is a demagogue that shouts down truth
And swears like a drunken sailor.
While nuance is swept under the carpet,
And reason is ridiculed like a naïve schoolgirl.
Fictitious “facts” touted by fraudulent fools,
Fill our minds as a mountain of currency manufactures consent.
Lead us not through a rose-colored world of unquestioned acquiescence
But deliver us from those who find comfort in being told what to do.
For thou art the power and the poison of minds and souls.
Words, sentences, paragraphs, and pages; spilling from the mouths
Of well-paid puppets, hollering hyperbolic nonsense,
As they shoot straight at the viscera and penetrate the core of rational thought.
More, more, more, the crowd exclaims!
Inflame us, Intoxicate us; make us forget our suicidal mindlessness
For we are asleep but we dare not dream
For our visions are Trojan horses implanted by the servants of money
And thus, we laughingly hurl headlong toward the coming catastrophe.
I’ve been saving my money so that I could purchase some pretty prose.
I need to hear words that cast out fear and make things clear,
Because I fear that we are lost and our prophets have been bought and sold
And thus, they lead us further away from truth;
While hope is buried beneath the mountain,
And there is no faith left to move it.
Robert Allan © 2009
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