To M.H.
Come live with me and be my
love
and we shall all the pleasures prove.
we'll linger all the afternoons
in silent scented further rooms.
We'll read of sages and of kings
and know the joy that wisdom brings.
From varied books both short and long
we'll learn to sing the muses songs.
T'wen night throws out her moth worn veil
we'll stride along the moonlit trails
while speaking of the things we've read
among the millstones of the dead.
For we have seen the marbled tombs
bedecked with script like ancient runes
of rich and honorable men
(no coins to shield their vacant eyes -
they await a resurrection
while in tandem introspection
they bubble down to formless gray).
So kind heart, let us laugh and play
we who live for love not moneys.
There is solace in the shade of trees
whose roots go deep and branches high.
We'll live while others dream of life.
Each man's book only goes so far
so frolic now beneath the stars.
Your kisses are my sacrament,
my caresses your nourishment.
Come dear poet-philosopher,
let us greet the dawn as lovers.
We kindred spirits of the night
see open sky and rise in flight.
-Victoria Vaughn-Perling
The Lesson of the Wafer
(or The Journey of the Wayfarer)
Sacrament melting on his tongue, he said,
"I do not believe that this will change me."
The Owl and the Pussycat went to see
and strolled into the city of the dead,
with it's rows of boxes on the hillside
bound by inscriptions of final exit.
The chapel of memories holds secrets
for those who aren't afraid to go inside
silence there becomes sad momento mori
Not one said, "His lips were sweet and tender"
or "Death n'er will cause my love surrender".
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, time flies.
Remember then to enlighten your friends,
change comes no matter what you believe in.
Sonnet to the most fair,
would he have chosen Athena over Aphrodite
Pulling back the skin to examine the bones
we shared mutual evisceration
Displaying the parts of our creation,
we'd lived the same childhood in separate homes.
His skin was smooth and fragrant, his lips red.
Beautiful prince, disguised as pauper,
I cannot remember a kiss more tender
than the one received in the poet's bed.
Beside his doorway a clear fountain flows.
I will always wear my heart on my sleeve.
He knew I bear my real name openly.
Wisdom is his true love and it shows so,
children, be still a moment and listen,
the philosopher's kingdom is within.
All work here is by
Victoria Vaughn-Perling and I retain all copyrights.
So, please do not copy but feel free to link to my pages.
Copyright 1991