Crash

Our faces are inches apart,
The air between us erotic.
Beating loudly is my heart,
Your steady breathing hypnotic.

The seconds feel like years,
Time is all but frozen.
Forgotten are my fears,
As I live in this moment.

What will your lips feel like,
Crashing against mine?
What will your tongue taste like,
When ours intertwine?

The outside world fades away,
And there's no one but you and me.
Desperate for that sweet foreplay,
I forgo myself completely.

(b.m.)

Which?

Which is worse?

Never to have loved,

or

Never to have b

                              e

                                   e

                                                     n loved?

Which is worse?

A hollow heart,

or

A f

       o

         r

             s 

               a

                  k

                     e

                                      n heart?

(b.m.)

Rhythm

      She doesn't need someone else's music to dance.

She 

            sways

to  

              the 

rhythm 

         of

  her

              own
damn

              heart.

-b.m.

Brewing

Something is stirring from deep within;

My hands are shaking.

My body is quaking.

A storm is brewing beneath my skin.

Like a dormant volcano inactive for years;

The pressure is building.

The air is chilling.

Threatening to erupt are my deepest fears.

The explosion, by nature, is cruel and relentless;

The screams are shattering.

The tremors are battering.

The victim, my spirit, is weak and defenseless. 

The screaming hushes and the shaking stills;

My soul is hollowed.

Then darkness follows.

Hauntingly silent, my loneliness kills.

Back to dormancy, I quiet once more;

The smoke clears.

Dried are the tears.

How long it will last, I cannot be sure.

I cannot be sure.

-b.m.

Sparrow Song of Laughter

The sparrow sings his happy song, 

As clouds slowly roll along,

The summer night of mercy,

On the golden shores of Jersey.

His chirps of laughter bathe my 'tentive ear,

A sound familiar, and one I love to hear,

His joy abounds, to sing his cheery tune, 

In the midst of a dewy morn' in June.

His celebration lasts the whole day,

His life fulfilled, as if to say,

What joy must be to sing his song of laughter,

Without a fear of sorrow after. 

-father of the moth
(d.m.)

Fallen Star

What a heartbreaking thing,

For an asteroid or comet.

Once above as a mighty king,

Now a rock so common. 

I wish I was on the moon,

Dancing among the stars.

I'd fly up like a balloon, 

Take a scenic route past Mars.

Up there I'd be alive and free,

Away from this horrible place.

Think how wonderful it would be,

Floating peacefully in space.

Here my soul is constrained,

Weighed down by gravity.

To the earth it is chained,

Dreaming of the galaxy.

You see I'm simply not meant,

To flourish within this planet.

Patiently awaiting my ascent,

For now I am all but stranded.

-b.m. 

Deceived

i am here in the dark,
thinking of what you said.
oh the lies you bark,
as i lay tired in my bed.

it's 3 a.m., winds howling outside,
rain desperate to come in.
a storm from which i cannot hide;
heart aching for what might've been.

this tired feeling is deep within,
body, mind, and soul.
reparation i can't even begin;
slowly taking its toll.

it feels as though nature knows,
as she yells her thunderous roar.
her painful cry of tortured woes;
to a lost love she bitterly swore.

but fear not, the storm will pass,
as thoughts of you subside.
succumbing to some sleep at last;
with that, i am satisfied.

-b.m.

Solace

I seek solace within nature,

In moment of utter despair.

No presence is there greater;

For loneliness I cannot bare.

First, 

I hear the gossiping trees,

Whose whispers fill the air.

Curses travel with the breeze;

To the woodpeckers they swear.

Second,

The restless stream passing by,

We've little time to chat.

To each other we never lie;

A simple tit-for-tat.

Next,

Always one to voice an opinion,

The cardinal's never shy.

Loudly claiming his dominion;

Must he constantly pry?

Last,

The sound of a howling tune,

From where else but the wind.

As a wolf to the full moon;

Confessing of all his sin.

The sounds occupy my tired soul,

Quieting my destructive mind.

Slowly filling the hollowed hole;

Dissipated are thoughts unkind.

-b.m.

Blurred Lines

Andrew Salgado

National Poem Day: Favorite

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
And miles to go before I sleep.

-Robert Frost 

Constrained

Emilio Villalba

Bitter

at some point in your life,

somebody will come and

promise you such 

pretty things 

and whisper sweet words

in your ear,

so sweet you'll salivate at 

the sound of it.

you'll crave it. 

your hunger will drive you

towards it, and you'll be 

mesmerized beyond reason.

little do you know,

the aftertaste is

bitter. 

he was bitter. 

he promised me a love he never

had to give.

a future he never intended on

having

with me.

spoke empty words with selfish

intentions.

he wanted my body and not my

heart,

i was blinded by his compliments

and attention.

i soaked it in like sunlight to a flower

after a long, cold winter.

one day, though, i woke up from my

filtered reality.

i saw how he only texted me after

midnight.

how he never asked me how 

my day was.

how he called me sexy, but not

beautiful. 

the realization that he would never 

leave his girlfriend

for me.

how silly of me.

i was made the side piece.

the project he would revisit

time and again.

the toy he could play with 

without fear of 

causing damage.

how had i let it come to this.

how had i let this boy,

not a man,

play me like one of his 

video games.

take advantage of my eagerness

for love

or the softness of 

my heart.

i am a work of art. a masterpiece.

not something to be handled 

by someone with greasy fingers

and inexperience.

i am a fucking jewel,

among the rarest of stones

encased in dirt but my god

do i shine on the inside.

i am not a puzzle that can be

solved in a day.

i am full of clues that first need 

to be uncovered and then

pieced together 

in order to see the 

complete picture.

and he only cared for the surface.

-b.m.

Star-Crossed Lovers

A tale of love as old as time,

Of the moonlight and sunshine.

Every morning, as she wakes,

Dawn approaches the land.

Through the sky her light breaks;

A beautiful array, so grand.

But where is the moon,

To witness her splendor?

Gone much too soon;

His grace he cannot render.

A sacrifice he must bestow,

Each and every day.

So she can shine her radiant glow;

How he longs to stay.

They meet again as daylight ends,

Such little time they are given.

What a sight as their colors blend;

Toward each other they are driven. 

But together they cannot stay,

As she finally must set.

A given order they must obey;

An end to their duet. 

His love illuminates the night sky,

As his stars come out to shine.

Surely for her, you cannot deny;

A tale of love as old as time. 

-b.m.

Nostalgic

Happy Monday, moths!

What a crazy Super Bowl ending huh? I hope you were all as stuffed with good food as I was last night. I think I'm still in a food coma from it all...there's always the gym, of course. Whether I actually go to it or not....well, that's another story.

Anyway, I had a thought pop up earlier along the lines of, "there's most likely nobody that actually reads these posts, so what's the point of continuing with what is probably just me talking to myself.." What's my motivation for staying with this blog thing? But then I remembered the whole reason I began this was to stray away from the social constructs of today's social media, where everything you post is a battle for the most likes or the most retweets (I haven't actually used twitter in about four years, mind you). It's so tiring checking my phone every five minutes after I post a picture on Instagram to see if anyone new has liked it. This blog wasn't made to be popular, where everyone talks about it and shares my posts. It is an outlet for my creativity, and thoughts, and passions--an online journal, of sorts. And if someone happens to come across my blog, read some of my posts, and take an interest in them, then that's wonderful! I hope that what I talk about (as crazy as it sometimes seems) reaches someone that feels the same way, or helps someone to think about something from another perspective. I love my blog and the content of it, and I hope others do too, but whether they do or not will not change my feelings for it. That's what makes this unique compared to other social media outlets.

So, I quickly threw that thought away and here I am, writing a new post: onto my discussion of the day!

If you visit my blog, you may notice that you are greeted with music playing. The songs I have on this little playlist are a couple of my favorites, so if you want to know more about me just have a listen to a couple of them. I know I know, none of these songs are from this decade, but I am thoroughly convinced that I was born in the wrong year. 1996? I missed all of the good stuff by then! I listen to 70s and 80s music more than anything from today's hits. They just don't make honest-to-God music like they used to because today's world doesn't have the patience or the ears to sit down for a few minutes and actually listen to what the song is saying. "Stairway to Heaven," by Led Zeppelin is eight minutes long, and at least a third of it is just instrumental. Hell, I'm pretty sure there are some Bee Gees songs that don't have any words in them at all! The point is, people got together to listen to this music because of the power it had to make them feel. There are some songs today that I am convinced are made up of imaginary words. Literally, some of them are just mumbling with some added beats created in a computer app. I didn't want to have to do this, but listen to this if you don't believe me, and comment on this post if you honestly can understand A SINGLE WORD IN THAT ENTIRE SONG. You've been warned.

I am a twenty year old Grandma--that is what I am often told when I say these kinds of crazy thoughts. 

I am not ashamed.

Where am I going with this again...oh, I remember! The songs on my playlist are some amazing pieces of work. But they all had to be inspired by something--or someone. Listen to the first song, "She's Always a Woman to Me" by Billy Joel, and really listen to the words. I'll give you a minute.
.
.
.
.
.
Beautiful, isn't it? The point is that there had to be a woman of "She's Always a Woman to Me" that inspired Billy Joel to write a song after (or in Elton John's case, a man). Music back then was often inspired by real people, and to think they inspired songs that twenty year old grandmas, like me, are still stricken by forty years after it was released astonishes me. The same thing goes for poetry, or art, which is why I love it so much. Some poems/works of art are from hundreds of years ago and they are still discussed in college classes and romanticized in movies or high school plays--they stand the test of time. The idea that famous poems today were written centuries ago by someone who was so madly in love with someone else, moved to write down these beautiful, heart-aching words just to attempt to describe the hopeless passion they feel for them is beyond romantic (some may say I am a hopeless romantic, or something like that). It also pains my heart to think that these things only exist in the past, and that chivalry is truly dead. In a world full of hate and empty words and famous-hungry social media posts, it's hard to imagine that there are still people with pure souls, capable of living without the societal pressure of upholding popularity or the need to be liked by thousands of strangers behind computer screens they probably will never meet. I may have high expectations, but I'm firm in what I want, whether I find it or not. Maybe it's a stretch to try finding someone that writes poetry for me or wants to live out in the mountains with little phone reception, but I won't settle.

Wait, how did this become about my love life..?

*Sidetracked*

Anyway, I'm ending this with the notion that ordinary people have inspired famous poems/artwork/music for centuries, and you never know if you'll be the next source of inspiration for a song that fifty years from now is still being sung by a twenty year old grandma (again, like me)! We all have stories waiting to be told, the question is, are you going to keep waiting for someone to pick up a pen and write it for you, or will you tell it yourself?

Go on and inspire, moths. xoxo

Take a second to reflect on the day you've had
and use it as a learning experience for
the days ahead.
Love the person that is you. 

Jealousy is an ugly trait.
Love those around you, and above all,
love yourself.

Concrete Message

Even the earth beneath our feet has something to offer us.
We just have to open our eyes to it.