ontheheath: (Default)
my heart was open to a change of mind
but as things stood I just had to leave her behind

and since pleasure is the standard of choice
I had to enjoy mine, hard as it was to resist our electric chemistry…

and the sweet seduction of her voice
that upon auditory perception drew me to her
with the natural affinity of sexual chemotaxis

but even a fraction contains infinity
so although I felt incomplete without her
I still had to find my forever

I had to keep moving to my tune
trying to make sense of the universe…

this mysterious perpetuum mobile

© Heath Muchena, 2016
ontheheath: (Default)
Bright faced with the pomp of golden yellow like the subtle glow of the sun behind a rainbow. She was delicate and ripe, fertile and so strong. She could elevate herself above all the fellows – like a queen bee that flies higher than all the males, and to choose her king she bids them follow – only to watch them fall off, until one that endures the most and rises up closest is chosen. As such, all the macho pursued her – hoping to outdo their foes, but only he was focused – not on the other suitors but on her alone. And like a moth to the flame he drew her to him, since he could never lift himself to her height.

© Heath Muchena, 2016

half token

Feb. 13th, 2016 03:29 pm
ontheheath: (Default)
early Saturday morning

her scent still lingered but she’d disappeared

she liked to sleep in her own bed

and besides, she didn’t want to become attached,

neither did he

yet she’d left him longing

and hoping that the next time, she wouldn’t just leave a token

but instead would stay

but before brunch she was back

telling him how she’d hardly slept –

confused by the feelings he’d aroused in her

then they spent the day together

’til early Sunday morning

when again the night abducted her like Proserpina –

although he’d have sworn even Bernini

would not have been able to sculpt her – being so sophisticated

she told him that she’d wished him into existence

and he responded telling her she was the best he’d ever seen

© Heath Muchena
ontheheath: (Default)
glorious sky

luminous mass

here to wash

the night’s dye

many may wonder

why it’s you I reference

but if only they knew

of our conversations

and the verses

you’ve blessed me with

some fourteen thousand years before

our common era

when you birthed Stella

in the after hours of the great shower

when stars became the eyes

that would forever tower

© Heath Muchena
ontheheath: (Default)
The worst disease a poet can suffer

is failure to draw to the surface

the pure waters that sit at the bottom of the well of his soul;

the crippling sickness that makes him conceive in his mind from the wealth of his experience – which should never be separate from all that is —

but disables him from sharing it.

© Heath Muchena
ontheheath: (Default)
Been waiting so long my blood has turned cold and purple

and I feel like a lone chameleon in a fruitless passion.

You heard me calling for you, I’m sure you did…

I thought the sweet songs might pique your interest,

but it’s been years and now there’s a clot over the bleed —

the wilted four-leaf clover at the edge of this garden tells all…

the tale of not letting go.

All symptoms show a heart at desire’s end,

a passion watered down,

a spirit on its last glow

and a mind bent on letting go…

so I hope this time it’s not all vine and no taters.

© Heath Muchena
ontheheath: (Default)
When a man reminisces about old lovers,
His instincts are revived.
He considers his current prospects
And rejoices in old ‘conquests’.
There’s a beautiful nostalgia about it all
And he goes on loving even when he has ceased lusting.

Now assuming as I am…
That when a woman calls on her memory
And remembers old encounters,
She may initially delight in the triggers of that very remembrance –
Often some amusing idiosyncrasies or affectations;
But then she is forced to remember his essence –
How he had her, and how he destroyed her beautiful illusion…
So she ceases to love when her youth withers.

© Heath Muchena
ontheheath: (Default)
Distant like the stars
We watched through the panes
Of my bedroom.

Wide as your smile
When I touched you, my hands
On your womb.

Deep as my love
Sweet pain –
Thorny bloom.

Permanent like the scars
Marked on the hearts of man –
Our blood pumping balloons.

Love lost, lust gained;
Lust lost, love gained.

© Heath Muchena
ontheheath: (Default)
as I laid in bed, in darkness, with my eyes shut

I still saw a bright calcium-orange flame flickering in my mind’s eye

which created a natural sacredness in the room I always associated with candles

giving a special kind of warmth to the atmosphere – different to that provided by the blanket and sheets

but the sort one would imagine surrounded Christ’s manger

it reminded me of something akin to the ordering of thought before sleep that Krishnamurti once alluded to

implying that when one has gone over the events of the day and puts them all into perspective before going to bed,

that ensures comfortable sleep without the restless activity of dreams

all this leading me to realise in that very moment, that I had all along been lucid dreaming

© Heath Muchena
ontheheath: (Default)
a load of dread will weigh heavy on the mind like a lump of lead
and when there’s a negative focus – guilt infects – and spreads
thrusting the body into a state of torpidity

but if you apply thought with care – consciously directing – without confining
only then do you start to understand its limitations and truly appreciate its function

© Heath Muchena
ontheheath: (Default)
when you’re all alone

in your bed

at home

do memories form

in your head

do you remember the days

do you long for the feeling

my touch, my ways

our unparallelled love thang

’cause when I’m by myself

say at my desk, trying to work

all I do instead is reminisce

deep in thought as the ink permeates the page

I remember your pretty face

pear breasts and perfect a*s

and how I adored you

mind, body, spirit too

and all the rest…

© Heath Muchena
ontheheath: (Default)
there was once a man who was skillful with his sword

but in the comfortable absence of war he had developed a debilitating languor

then one day an enemy he had previously defeated came to exact revenge

bursting through the door, catching the man off guard

the enemy not allowing a minute for response and the man too slow to reach for his weapon

he was only afforded a split second to regret before watching his enemy shoot an arrow to his chest

before moving in close to decapitate

© Heath Muchena
ontheheath: (Default)
A bird entered a man’s home through a window opening, which the wind pushed shut behind it a moment thereafter. The bird was trapped, and seeing no other way out of the mess it tried to go through a hole in the wall, which was in this case a fireplace. It was an impulsive decision which proved fateful. Its desire to quickly get back out to the fresh air landed it in a situation beyond dire. What it hadn’t realised was that the coal on the hearth was still very hot; so it never made it up the chimney, and became dinner for the man instead.

© Heath Muchena, 2015


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September 2016

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