Beauty on a crowded street

Beauty on a crowded street

Axons swoon
to hues of amethyst redolence
in eyes that drink passion
from the fusion of her essence
with the air.
Demure Aphrodite?
Wielding the vine of Pothos to a deluge of lust?
Or just some other Lady of Cythera
inciting carnal passions
with the guile of Venus.


Drinking-bacchus by Guido Reni Image:

Drinking-bacchus by Guido Reni


The bottle, to the wine, is of small matter;
Can pewter not conserve as well as glass?
The wine will either disappoint or flatter,
Fine crystal makes cheap fare taste no less crass;
But when I pressed the rarest of my vinery
In your exquisite vessel to ferment,
My cup (befitting, gem-encrusted finery)
Brimmed acrimonious quaff to my lament!
For bitter is the cup served with deceit
When poured from cherished vessels of affection,
To penalize the heart’s naive conceit
And taint love’s sweet bouquet with rank deception.
By this, dear Catador, you are forewarned:
Keep fine reserves well-corked and unadorned!



Gala-Evening by Carlos S. Tejada Image:

Gala-Evening by Carlos S. Tejada


My passion I had tethered in disdain,
Denied for higher virtues to fulfill,
Denied I say, but to no greater gain,
Pressed to compel with such a blunted quill.
What folly I endorsed to my lament
Possessing such a rapier never drawn,
How worthless was that coin I never spent,
If not to virtue’s then my profit’s scorn!
But beauty did in you my blunder heal
And cause my stoic heart to brim with verse,
That sword—my quill—now keen with ardent zeal
To vanquish all things trite and dull and terse!
Neither for love nor vanity, but passion,
Your beauty, while it lasts, will be my fashion.

The Hunter


Orion--The Hunter

Orion–The Hunter

The Hunter

Take aim, o’ hunter, stretch your bow
Drawn tight on arrows flight,
And loose that star-tipped astral bolt
This hardened heart to smite;

To rend these wretched tower walls
For passion’s tortured cries,
To find release and be consumed
In your eternal skies;

Behold the sparkling sequined belt
That girths your hunter’s waist,
Those tiny sparks of glittering light
That transcend time and space;

From such a nebulae am I
Conceived in newborn suns,
My DNA is stardust-laced
My blood with sunlight runs;

Yet though my heart with passion swells
Your majesty to see,
Dark-matter rules this feeble soul
Blind mortal that I be;

So shoot your arrow true and swift
That virtue’s light may flow,
Transform the dark crypt of my mind
With passion’s starlit glow;

Then I will fill my quill to brim
Galactic mists I’ll fly,
To write about Orion’s Bow
Upon the parchment sky.