drukowana A5
Asking The Moonlight

Bezpłatny fragment - Asking The Moonlight

130 str.
za 13.65
drukowana A5
za 33.75

„As She Falleth — The Prelude”

ruby red

tawny orange

and ochreous yellow

leaves like petals

keep on falling


swan song

has been sung

some of them

come from yester-era;

hither they are

reposing on the ground

and she beholds herself

falling as well

descending at a slow pace

with them — for them

as there truly isn’t

a solitary scenery

more bewitching to surround

yet will she ascend again?

„Birds Of The Forest”

'October Rust' and the redolent scent of November

prepend to her nostalgia

the wind’s indiscernible diaphanous margins

still seem to play your common tunes

gothic rock is the genre

I still do remember and my mind does recognize

the fetching liaison declaration

to have been said by her cherished man

in the very same of the fragrant woods

she is taking dull steps through now

grieving that once mutual sensation

— her lament over the lack of that shared enchantment

they are ancient just like those tree crowns

and all the ravens and all the crows

sitting on the almost bared branch

laughing less or more mutely at her

notwithstandingly cerebrating of you

with this her heart like a dove

whiter than white

and so is even the neversleeping elderly owl

sharing the longlasting insomnia with the female

yet looking down at her once pathetic trust

foreordained to fail from the start

„The Wooden Arbor”

her wooden arbor and the book being written

with a cup of tea and all those overflowing leaves

they make her feel

like you are still here

and she is sitting by herself

claimed to have been assured

thought to have been secured


the memories so powerful

are scratching the wood

it’s a shame those memories

aren’t only those hearts

you used to carve

in those high trees

and who would have thought

that just a simple arbor

made of the identical planks

could become the throwbacks’ harbor

and still be full of splints?

the girl isn’t certain

whether it’s brill

but her mind keeps on

being stubborn as a mule

nothing new — nothing new at all

„The Jewel Of The Silvering Sky”

the hood reached its darkest

and the only light remained

are stars at their brightest

they seem to bring back their gardens

of once made love and mysteries

the earthly cupola of two shades

the pitch black and the milk white

one — the eventide

the second — those little celestial bodies shine

though she sees just one that is sparkling

twinkling and winking only at her

once it shines and once it’s done

those both states last only a little while

and now she’d only dream in those two colors

and all her senses so close to heaven

no cloud banks and no thunders

seem to ever have the orb threatened

‘I guess I’m going crazy to see us and our life

written in them now — the starburst shores'

a prophetess or artless is she

due to the heavenly gem's presence?

„The Futuristic Insomniac”

her bed and its sheets

have been her refuge

endeared for many years

whether she felt alone or her anxiety got huge

it seems to be such night again today

but she will wait for a while postponing the slumber

it really seems to be

the same again

though the poison ivy

that once had brought her down

was already cut

so your insomnia — how come?

her mother would plainly lecture

'time to sleep my baby girl'

but she will gift her another stare

the next and the further and a separate one as well

to the phone’s lockscreen

glistening even without having it touched

what a f****** whim

of the twenty first century’s girl

it is man — right?!

„The Anticipated Melody”

and staring like a fool

at the latest smartphone now of my own

with that weird yet such hopeful thought

it all wasn’t in vain nor wrong‘

it’s unbelievable how the sounds

of the current technology

astonish and galvanize her


the seemingly ancient ghosts


will they carry something refreshing?

will they bring the power of true love to light?

or will they have her bleed down at their feet

cursing and begging for none of them had come?

the anticipated melody rings and it rings

though the tune is brand new itself

her heart already knows it and it sounds senile

still electrifies

nonetheless what it escorts this time

and where it is going to guide

she has no clue about yet for sure

„The Synopsis Of The Brief Storytime”

you were the one to say that

in the place you had been standing in

waves immediately crashed

one by one

just like your heart

with its pieces

as you claimed

when you wanted to give up

on dialing her number

but then doing it got it saved

‘wish you were here with me

or me with you out there’

you balmily said

with your persuasion

and with your manipulation

having it outrun

I guess you wanted her

to be amazed


like with the touch of a magical wand

standing ovation — well done

„Young Lady Ambivalent”

she will repeat herself

again of course

the resounding catchphrases

about how she wasn’t wrong

about how she knew about this

then oncoming call

from her constantly valued love

for so long unheard

but she has to grow up

and wonder

if those words have


just any worth

think twice this time my baby girl

„The Breakfast Hour’s Presumptions”

no food’s pieces

tasted the same

since the sidereal day before

she shall ask you to bring back

her perfect start of the day

but instead she does to make

the potential benefits

of your last night’s call

to outweigh

the possible sorrow

„The Third Coffee”

there are two

already drunk without you

one mind says

'there shouldn’t even have been one'

the second wants

that score

to be outdone

„Lunar Doubts”

another night came by

the blue sky covered by the black veil

preceded by the nacarat eventide

and she looked at the yellow moon

that had hung large on the dome

she sighed with her divided soul

and asked the lunar silhouette

‘where did my love go? where is my home?’

because here comes

another saying again

— it goes this way less or more;

'your place is where your heart stays'

so another questions are being carved in her mind

and they are being applied onto her raspberry lips

unleashed are doubts and resound loudly

shall she take the risk? shall she flow?

what has really been written in the stars?

what does the moon say?

because so many things it did behold bygone

and that’s why in it

she does put her trust



it is still quite rare

travelling to the seaside

during the heart of fall

and it being so desperate

although it doesn’t matter

as even if there was a summer season

and crowds reaching there

there would be no problem

for her to find you

as her heart does

in every person

she meets

wherever she goes

the girl so vigilant


still likes having you


just like the remaining summerbreeze

and oh, good Lord

your mastery

over her soul

implausible — unimaginable

„Itchy Velvet”

everytime she closes her eyes

and takes a deep breath

computes to five

she does realize cheesily

your voice is like velvet

grazes her softly

and infuses her with love

incentivizes to combat for her dreams

those which are common

and she unearths leisurely

that in the midst of all those things

she is unco dreaming of

on her bucket list

there is

being back to you


them all

although the material

was once itching her

with no mercy

and couldn’t elope that easily

„Reflections From The Ticket Office”

squeezing the ticket

in her hand

still with confusion

yet she has decided;

for this again

she will go through

no matter where

you will have

your common life guided

hopefully that voyage

won’t be

just a regrettable seance

disillusional — disheartening

„The Witching Hour’s Trek”

covering the duskiness of the distance

in her mind less or more disarming

bonny landscapes passing by

with only one package

she’s travelling through night

pipe dreaming imaginative

rising upon your gothic castles in Spain

divers of them in the air — tonight

though the occurrence of interregnum

whilst casting the hiatus-spell for this hallucination

she practises contemplating about

the denouements of rainbows

contending like in trance

with her flights of fancies

tilting at windmills meantime

her battles — all the lost causes themselves

pinned are all her hopes

to the choice to give you two

an ensuing chance

to have it all repaired and mended to the best

for it will be worth trying — the behoof

for it won’t dismay

that it wasn’t too meteoric

too naive

and within the bond

of so many penumbrae

one hemisphere

— the specters of ephialtes

and the other

— romanticized verities

underneath the halved

moonlit illumination

in the course

of the witching hour

for to the precarious excursion

the bona fide course leads

„The Train’s Window — I”

staring through this pane

her fingerprints reflected on it

further field and another forest — crossed miles

and she is thanking her God

with persistently cool hands kissed and folded

every single station light

every Earth rotation’s run

brings her closer and closer

to you

because she’d rather

fondle your facial shape

than this gelid glazed space

noticing only her light-weight breath

as she gets closer occasionally

to look out in case the train would stop its tantivy

she would love the fenestra to be

your warm chest instead

to have her head laid upon

and the homeliest

snuggly heat already known

for her subtle skin to be exposed

„The Moonstruck Haven”

within the area of one

she was caught

on buying

her favourite flowers

you used

to gift her with

she thought

they would

erase her fears

bringing back

only those

good memories

and how wrong

she was

she still wouldn't believe

„Longing’s Quiddity”

'one I know for sure;

whatever is biding for us post our gathering anew

won’t transpire to be immediately facile

for neither me nor you

just like during the very first time

bygones and adjacencies

I’ve been taught to cede the past

now neither of those out of this heavy set

will leave me be lone

and maybe it’s a supervenient time to grow

to stand up even taller

but tonight I feel as small as a minuscule

the midnight of my satiating fortitude will come

yet this one I’m not psyched up to unbridle the sorrow

to let it go as another thing so certain

emerges in my subconsciousness

'morrow I will wake up and arise lonesome

with all of these compelling thoughts

and in general as well

I will survive and endure — I know I can

but what is the exact way — the right path to follow

to what is coming next?

in peace I just want to drowse — at the minimum'

„Her Father’s Tale”

all of a sudden

the retrospect of her papa

and his significant stare

deadly serious

and his pointing finger raised high

when his speech solemnly announced

so meaningful she had never even imagined

never taken it to her own heart

he had told her she had needed a man

who would have always taken care of her

and their house built by him for his only baby

from foundations to the roof

not the one who would have made her be in any doubts

transcending himself into ruthlessness overload

and being contagious about such a feature, too

as that her ticker had always been so frangible

especially when it came to her ardent endearment

of which it had always been the river’s overflow

and when the first fight for her love

had to be ended by giving in from her side

to keep herself sane

though she strived to keep the battle on

claiming it had been otherwise

the girl tried her best so many times

but turned all too much

and her heart was leaden heavy

when the ancestor’s pride

of them oh so well

was quivered

as she had to announce

how it exactly had been in real


into scaretale

no solace then

— and none now

„The Crescented Remembrance”

though the times

and seasons change

it is obvious that the moon with its mastery

lives in the different places in the skies

yet always passes there

every single twilight

dusk to dawn

it does delight and frighten — it does hunt and haunt

all the time has contradictory teardrops diffused

the nightfalls and their different sprouted aromas

to remind her of the ones

spent with you

when the eminent bleached orb of the night’s glare

was helping undress

your bodies bare

and those when

she was tearing herself apart

the maiden so sheepish

and no more unspoilt

reminded of the improper reveal

of her heart she hath

the glowing moon as either

the glowing gloom or the glowing bloom

once shedding radiance

on her tantalizing bosom and her womb

once glinting her tears

entwined in cascades of pools

the linn of the lambency

she was its inamorata devotee

she was its tragedienne

„Affairs Of The Seeress'   Heart”

and there’s again its company

the heavenly body like croissant

just one its half — only one part

and she can relate

as her wistful hanker for the other one

for her own one in there is to be found

enlightened affairs of the heart

once she portrays herself

as the auspicious ardour-paradisal sëer

reputedly pouring out

the sweetest honeyed tears of her life

allegedly they will dance all the nights away

the ones when they two were dimming the light

together in the same time

and post factum their hands

in a common embrace

the ones when the moon dimmed her mind

the frayed ones with hindsight

she makes them fools of damnation

for nothing but to obliviate

bringing such scenarios

and getting them back on track

yet they are bound

to be re-written

by those two no more benighted hearts

shedding fresh golden sparkles

from the blackest of bygone tides

„Semi-Reached Destination”

the longevous machine’s door cracks open

releases her to touch the dissimilar soil

underneath her feet

yet to look above and discern

the very same empyrean

'destinies are bound like constellations'

she repeats with her hands folded

now that she is getting out of the train

she hopes this journey

by the end of her stay

won’t have been claimed

to be covered all in vain

yet she claims to be ready for everything

assures all the astra

about her plan so godlike and extraordinary

'you — my Orion

and I — the Eos of yours

I will take away all the blindfolds

I will have you rescued

from all the fluorescence

threatened to be unseen by thee'

nothing done — everything elfin

„The Daylight Haiku”

‘the whitening horizon and the old coast

with a morning summerbreeze

this is what I need — what I need the most’

„The Blue-Skied Eagerness”

missing your Stygian-colored leather jacket

around her wispy clavicles and arms

and maybe one of two of your own

as from the seaside’s gelid wind whistling

the safeguard

step by step taken on the sabulous beach

she is lovelessly catechizing herself about thee

whether you were standing here

where she is beholding lapis lazuli waters now

if you felt what she spellbindingly senses

if you verily still believe like she doth trow

that your worlds gleefully reconcile

despite what you’ve experienced

— even for an ephemeral while

she has been to many magnetic places

in her still epigrammatic life by the most recent span

but finding herself in your grip so tight

beats them all at their own game

the prepossessing love utopia on her mind

you and her as the love bottomless ocean’s aeons

limitless and ne'er to divide


combing for seashells

she finds all the time

so many glorious of them

these are glowing

and look so distinctive

these are perfect

special in their own way

with their beauty overflowing

but there are also ones

shredded into pieces

'oh how I wish

you would want to dwell

in such one’s light

forever and ever’

„Birds Of The Seaside”

even seagulls are reminding her to ween of him

as they are drifting in the air

heading to the picturesque surface of horizon

such freeness possible doesn’t happen every day

and she gets back to daydream

of them in collaboration reaching one someday

and flying towards the fulgurating Sun

once diamond-white and then juicy lemony

fulfilling every uninhabited space in their lives

the death-or-glory seabirds globetrotting

seafaring underneath the celestial sphere

against all of the odds — against all the sea smokes

'strolling in the glow of everlasting sunsets

the portage to our portion

in sooth our destiny — 'morrow always exists

— our sun-torched enfoldment within’

though they would have called them

nothing but trophy hunters

inane noctambulists — the sleepwalkers unsober

purblind and lurdans with a dismay hereat

natheless they ne’er

prisoned nor enmeshed

for liberty — the loss is agonizing

„One Wish To The Shooting Star”

‘I earnestly wish

I wouldn’t imagine

those billowing waves

crashing at one another

such vérité their sound

once I recall

you verbalizing them

enouncing through the cell phone

making me fret and worry

yet along with

devouring my soul

solely using this one story

I just would like to know


to be one hundred percent certain

whether it happened

for real

or has been made up

to score

my appreciation and my imperishable love

my everything — my all’

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za 13.65
drukowana A5
za 33.75