Christopher Michael, gay, gay poetry, homosexual, lgbt, queer

Falling in Love with Love

Falling in Love with Love

is falling for make believe

I fall in love foolishly, as older gay men tend to do
falling in love with love is playing the fool
taunted and tempted by young beauty, reviled
caring too much is such a juvenile fancy
and rejected by the same
oh! not that they won’t befriend me, but
beyond that, they run!
in truth, I ask myself, why would they not?

youth is for the young, I know, to find their place
in the sun; in the starlight; to find young love
and grow old with that in peace
when I, at 70, seek the same, the gods of
love and beauty laugh, chastising my desire
chastise me, foolish queen; for young men can
only leave age in their wake

youth seek their youthful dreams, while I too
seek to find my way, not embittered nor the
brunt of life’s jest!
what I could not find in my youth I seek now
in my dotage, old age’s giddy joke!

old age, the last stage in the life processes
made more poignant for those growing old
where gay and old age are not compatible
I’ve fought my battles, I’ve won a few, though
depression comes and goes with life’s ensuing
aches and pains

I am no different in my history than any other
aging fool who still looks to youth for love
silly, when you come to think of it, old and gay
therein lies the joke and therein lies the pain
oh yes! he’s had many names, this latest but 23
I will dwell in that love for only a brief moment
long enough to wallow in its futility

then wish him well on his way, I will be part of
his story, and wish him well on his way, sadly not
part of his future as God has other plans for me
uncertain of them that I may be; however writing this
poetry as I must, and it must be; perhaps the
greatest gift God’s given me

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Christopher Michael, gay, gay poetry, homosexual, lgbt, queer

Death Takes a Holiday

Death Takes a Holiday

Death, a handsome lad in evening dressed, suave
and elegant as any fine gentleman, lithe as a dance
a fascination to curious women, men of a certain nature

Death, in contemplation, why people fear him so?
takes on his human persona and visits us for
three long days, wherein misery finds no surcease
pain wracks the world at large, those agonizing
for his call, find their pleas unheeded

Death on his quest mingles amongst we mortals
seeks to find his answer, disregarding any consequences
his host, Duke Lambert, revealed of Death’s intentions
makes him a welcome guest at his fine villa, Death
without compunction falls in love with Grazia, daughter of
Duke Lambert, a fair beauty, sadly mesmerized by
fair Death

while other women fear him, Grazia sensing who in
reality he might be, she fears him not, at the end, as it
must, Death must decide to seek his own happiness
or sacrifice that so Grazia may live, as this movie ended
as they ascend the stairs, he wraps his cloak about her
and they vanish in the air

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Christopher Michael, gay, gay poetry, homosexual, lgbt, queer

Eternal Night

Eternal Night

Death be a woman, dressed in finest lace
and damask, a gown of sultry blue; jeweled
with sapphires at her throat and emeralds on
her fingers; coiffed in wondrous beauty

Death be a most beautiful woman, yet kind
as newborn’s mother, seeking to love and
nurture, seeking to tend and care, she drifts
amongst us, neither lingering nor waiting, but…

thus in eternal night, Death be a lovely woman
perhaps Marzanna, feared for her icy grasp
thought a witch, her effigy of straw wrapped in linen
beautified with ribbons and beads, then burned at the stake

Death bears herself in haughty grandeur
she slips into Gaudy Night, her hands cold as ice
her heart empty as a bird’s nest in December
Death, the lovely maiden, comes to call

Death’s calling card a chilling breeze, she bends to kiss
a fevered brow, her promise of eternal sleep, lingers but
a moment, plants her kiss and is gone, as last breath is
drawn, pain released, sadness freed from life’s ceaseless vigil

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Christopher Michael, gay, gay poetry, homosexual, lgbt, queer

Aphrodite

Aphrodite

I aspire to death as one waits for a lover
when waiting becomes no more than an
empty passage of time and place, an empty
theme written on ancient parchment with invisible ink

I aspire to death, as one waits for love, which
does not attend at this late station, I wait relentlessly
for the gift of death bestowed, and petition the
goddess, Aphrodite, born from the foam of the sea
her beauty, the gods feared, would lead men to war
when they desired peace, as I instead desire
release

Aphrodite laughs in her passing, granting
not her graces as she crosses the gilded heavens
in her swan-drawn chariot, gliding easily through the air
laughing at we mortals below, but I wait for Hades
to take me to his kingdom, that he might set me free

love comes foolishly to youth and death comes
painfully to the aged, while dreaming silly thoughts
at the end of the spectrum, dreaming death could be
as it was in that first bloom of the rose

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Christopher Michael, gay, gay poetry, homosexual, lgbt, queer

Passing Time

Passing Time

To Peter Kostos:
thank you for the darkness
thank you for the light

at eventide, we walk arm and arm, you and I
across the strand, as twilight descends, the
stars oversprinkle the sky, fireflies blinking
in the deepening canopy of night
the incoming tide swirls round our feet
white bubbling foam rushing round our toes
the ebb of sea erasing our footsteps, vanquishing our
presence, we were never there, outgoing tide
wipes away our having been as the hourglass counts
the hours of our lives, relentless grains of sand dropping
through the funnel counts our days and hours
relentlessly counting

I wished that I were young again, that we might
travel this road through time, you in your world and
I in mine: you are the moon, rising now in beauty, I
the setting sun, fulfilling now my journey
I wished that I were young again, full of lover’s
passion, filled with simple grace, yet Death
surrounds me, my boon and constant companion
fair-weather friend

Death, sups with us, he breaks our bread
we drink dry his proffered chalice, the pungent
potion rife with toxic magic
Death’s attenuated body dressed in somber black
his bony hands with fingers waxen tapers
his cold cold hands leave burning traces upon
the faces gently he touches
his luminous face is beautiful, his huge black
and staring eyes saucers rimming with tears in
that exquisite pale face
icy lips proffer his name, Death’s kiss, lingering
on those he beckons upon their sweet lips

he wraps us in his mantle, dazed as we are
his narcotic potion sipped from his silver chalice
bids us, as with his hand raises us up, above the ground
we pass through valleys verdant and lush, hushed
in the dimming twilight spreading, o’re mountain peaks
with crystalized jeweled caps shimmering from Diana’s
enchanted silvery light
soaring we rise above the oceans’ might roars
quickly plunging deep beneath silvery lakes
breaking their surface without a ripple

at last weary and complete, he drops us to our beds
you in yours and I in mine, we sleep, til morning’s
light comes a’calling, we wake from Morpheus’s
slumber deep rested well, body’s aches rejuvenated
the mind’s cares erased
we return to the living, you to your world, I to mine
you in the bloom of youth, your future spread before
I to mine where Death’s presence goes before
you go unto your world, with sadness I to mine
yours a happy future, a well-trod path laid at your
feet, mine an encroaching reminder my descent
to hell is sweet

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