Nightly Rising
October 10, 2018 § Leave a comment
“Nightly Rising”
In satin pools of blood, reflection drowned.
She saw her face within the shining eye
of he who stank of cemetery ground,
who drained her to her death but not to die.
The looking glass is blank when she slides by,
never again her image to be found.
To darkness and to endless desire bound,
she creeps beneath the haunt of the cold sky.
Mirroring a mirror, unknowingly,
The pale glide of that celestial body,
Nightly rising with sickle dripping white,
the pulse of day changed to a pallid flow
of stolen life for a dead satellite,
that immortal older than she below.
6/12/2006
.Sleep Together.
August 30, 2018 § Leave a comment
This warm presence nearby
trusts me enough to
sleep
at my side.
Placid, even breaths
measure the stretches of our time
together.
On the crest of slumber, I hear
his heart,
a soothing sound, as steady as waves.
When I, too, sink into the deep
our dreams will mingle like
sand and tide,
the tangled track of our waking days
Washed blank when spirits
meet and part
and bodies rest, touching.
August 27, 2005
Aya
August 23, 2018 § Leave a comment
All the doors and windows open,
you left the place where you had lived,
and the home we had together
will be so, so empty of you now.
Today I will celebrate you,
Every day I will celebrate you,
who loved me
In a way I understood.
I Take My Coffee and Tea Black
August 10, 2018 § Leave a comment
This bitter is sweet
when taste understands the flavor
unclouded;
familiar liquid comfort
as I wake.
I am not denying myself honey,
sugar, or candy;
there is no denial on my lips.
This bitter is sweet
sweet enough for me
taken for what it is,
not what it could become,
As complex as its color
tinting shadow and reflection.
Acceptance warms me as
it cools.
12/08/2005
Book Review: “a gay, Victorian vampire tale”
August 3, 2018 § Leave a comment
Bitemarks and Bloodlines: Dying (Book I) by Mikhael Klaus
These days, when you think “vampire novel,” a story like Bitemarks and Bloodlines: Dying is not the novel you’re expecting. It’s a wild ride for any vampire fiction fan, starting with the characters. Quinn, a grave robber who murders when he can’t find a body to dig up, seems — until you know more about his life — like someone you want to get his comeuppance. Silas is a vampire without any of the suave sex appeal of Dracula, Lestat, or Angelus. If you remember the ’80s movie The Lost Boys, the closest vamp would not be leader of the pack David or newly turned Michael, but Max. If Max had been a gross lush. (The crazy thing is, I grew to love him.)
Written in tongue-in-cheek purple prose, with (possibly) anachronistically modern dialog, this story is sweet where you don’t expect it, shocking when you think you can handle horror, and a really fun ride that will make you examine the darkness of your own soul. It would make a terrific anime. The large cast creates a sense of the big world the author is creating with this series. It’s a world that unfolds with Quinn’s harrowing journey of discovery, but the story doesn’t lose the close focus that examines interpersonal relationships. With a satisfying conclusion, it manages to slam the table with philosophical truth.
This book is self-published and has aspects that could have been strengthened with editorial support. The romance plot line between Quinn and Cay is confusing, in that it’s hard to tell if they have been banging the whole time or flitting around the physical as well as romantic aspects of their relationship. The world building in the background is substantial, and has a history and cast of characters to support that, which means that much is alluded to that can’t be addressed in Book 1. (I *need* to know what happened between Silas and Adam. I need that, pronto.) Strongly in its favor, the characters are diverse and distinctive, at least, but I did wonder who I was going to be introduced to next.
Not for the faint of heart. The author lets you know early that you are getting into a story with abuse, blood, and torture. There’s plenty of humor and heart to be a release valve, though — just like a good roller coaster.
Still need a nudge to read this book? Take a look at the author’s Tumblr: BnB for original art (it’s gorgeous), comic panels, and mood.
Nothing Sweet
July 10, 2018 § Leave a comment
It is nothing; ignore the hints
the way my laugh follows yours,
how I watch your mouth as you speak,
and when you have caught me
reaching toward you, attempting to sneak
a trailing touch on your hair
so near to your neck, ear, and cheek.
Nothing comes of a hidden thought
of a secret whispered to no one else,
the boundary lines kept seemingly neat
a certain thing of clear intent
and if I’m sitting at your feet
when close to you, with hopes kept close
it is nothing; it is sweet.
1/18/2011
More Than I Would Want Now
June 15, 2018 § Leave a comment
That’s more than I want now
but it surely looks nice
A lake to swim in, when I’m only
a little thirsty
Beer, when a little bread will do
I don’t need that suite at the Four Seasons
when all I want is your shoulder to lean on
and the scent of you
6/04/2007
Untitled
May 15, 2018 § Leave a comment
Inside a keepsake box, in ribbon wrapped
Oh memory! In words forgotten, caught.
A glittering within bright papers trapped
Delight, as shining as if newly wrought
A gift surprise where so much once had been
The dreams poured out, but hope still there within
April 2013
Those roses with thick, thorny stems
November 1, 2017 § Leave a comment
Those roses with thick, thorny stems
lasted three years and more
growing on tall, tenaciously
after the business closed
Rooted firmly on the western corner
of that forgotten property
a building that once housed a grocery mart
the kind of place well-off people might shop
Before the uncaring landlord fenced in
the roses and the walls pasted with bills
homeless men used the roof
they slept in the safety of daylight
guarded by beautiful sentinels with
large green leaves and rich red blooms
Those roses with thick, thorny stems
that for three years or more survived neglect
That bloomed richly red amid dark green leaves
today lay piled in a heap
cut down to the raked dirt
I mourn the loss no one sees
the waste unheeded
Where can a man sleep?
Where can beauty grow?
6/4/2010
Autumn Crows
October 25, 2017 § Leave a comment
So quickly comes the autumn chill
With rain-fat clouds in a changeling sky
With shortened days, and harvest’s thrill
The sultry sun is suddenly shy.
Wool and warmth are sought in clothes;
Noisy crowds of bold black crows.
9/15/2005
Cris de Borja 