I HIDE IN THE STARS

Nefertiti, smooth as amber has it all,

honeyed lips, midnight silk for hair

reflecting the shimmering moon.

Each evening she stands, empty hands

longing for the diamonds of the Gods.

She reaches through the diaphanous dark

into the vault of sparkling fire,

fingers piercing dusk.

Desire is the blight of sated eyes

and empty nights. Dispirited by fortune,

the Queen turns up her palm, fingers

beckoning the unclaimed charms

that dangle over an endless Nile.

Beyond her reach, knitted together

on indigo, the stars are called.

Heavenly dunes stacked like glitter,

radiant before her stately hex...

yet each speck remains immobile, unclaimed.

Buxom brown sovereign stirs the wind,

casts another spell; they always work

on the wills of simple adoring men,

but not on the twinkling stellar gems.

That is why I hide with the stars.

end/Michael Bogar

Come

Come Pleasure, vital seducer
to the bed, to the quarry vulnerable,
lean in, look, there linking you and
uncertainty, she awaits...

Peel back the clatter of sleep,
bare the quiet neck flush with need,
kiss the nipple under a patient pulse.

A kiss?
Two, passionately fixed,
mouth to mouth, irrational gesture this –
yet consume we must, infantile urge
to suckle, ravenous lips, crackling fire
as tongues poke about like starving chicks
inquisitive for edibles –

It is an act of greed, of taking,
or perhaps exchanging lives
for just a few minutes...
questing some curative extract,
some soul supplement to relieve the
boredom of having just one skin,
or some attempt to solve the
exhaustion of living in between.

Such delirium uninvited, until
an Angel inwardly whispers
“Come”

And you know you must come…
come in
come again
come to
until you become
a single living thing,
from two...

end/Michael

Growing Down to Grow Up

"One may not reach the Dawn, save by the path of Night"

Kahlil Gibran

 Growing Down To Grow Up

(Written for my children: Carise, Micael and Jason)

Each is a seed of boundless probabilities,

Skin encircling soul, holding all necessities,

Gifts and possibilities, nascent budding rose,

A tint of patterned petals, anxious to unfold.

Unique and wondrous flower, embryonic pod,

Drawn out by Gaia's power, fertile womb of God.

Beneath the crushing clay we wait then break apart,

Alone in seamless silence, enigmatic start.

Each seed must burst asunder, shed its fragile skin,

Lose its perfect circle, then begin again.

A skein of tangled roots exploding into birth,

 Fantasies expanding on a tapestry of earth.

Sown and sewed by Daemons within and out of sight,

Likeness cloaked in darkness, emerging into light,

Pushing through the soil as the Plantsman works above,

Dispensing rain and weeding, each an act of love.

Delicate newborn sprout pierces the emerald lawn,

Finally rising upward after months of growing down.

A shoot, a stalk, a blossom…then the sated bloom,

Symphony of brilliance, supple budding plume.

end/Michael Bogar