Friday, July 22, 2016


When I write I'm merely talking to myself, very often completely oblivious to the prospect of eavesdroppers. My words should probably best be ignored rather than absorbed. Private thoughts are not always easily interpreted or appreciated.

Tonight I'm under the influence of the full moon - which has a habit of disturbing the solace of a lonely night with the resurrection of slumbering memories. 

I toss and turn in a tangle of damp sheets and the stifling embrace of a humid room. Then I get up, sit by the open window and inhale a pallid breath of midnight air. The night is a gentle infusion of thickly clustered trees, silvery patches of moonglow, and the random neon-blink of fireflies.

In this deceptive hour of sacred solitude, long-closed chapters of my life unwittingly open and serve to haunt me with the tattered pages of distant things.

This rhapsodic night is not intended for those whose souls are devoid of poetry, nor those whose hearts are immuned to the poignant rapture of love. 

The ethereal moonlight of these midnight hours is reserved for the secret song of remembrance.

(for W.G.H.)

When I think of you now
five years dead
it is impossible to perceive
the long burden of time that has spilled
beyond the threshold of our love.
It is too fresh in my memory:
that first autumn night
when a crisp November wind
wiped the stars clean
along with the slate of our future.

Those sacred hours after midnight
held the ripe secrets of our youth,
soaring with the sweet discovery
of each other,
singing with the eager prospect
of endless possibilities.

I tried to believe that eternal love
doesn't come this easily,
but the depth of our first kisses
forever expelled the thought
from my shadowed doubts
and united the scattered pieces
of our separate lives.

Where are you tonight,
when old memories resurrect
the timeless multitude of windswept stars
and lonely hours are filled
with echoes of our depthless devotion?

 Jon V.
from Love Letters to Ghosts

if you don't like poetry, you might like the fake photos on my other blog, at this link:
Cabinet of Curious Treasures  


  1. (throws back her head and howls at the moon)

  2. Your thoughts and words are ALWAYS appreciated.

    That's one of my favorite poems from your book. It's haunting.

  3. A sweet tribute to love.
    Memories do tend to float in during those restless nights.

  4. "Deep down inside we always seek for our departed loved ones."

    Touching poem, Jon.

  5. The first time I read this (Love Letters to Ghosts) it spun me right back a better place and time. I'm especially taken with your phrase, "(hours) reserved for the secret song of remembrance."
    You've a real gift for awakening emotions I'd quite forgotten!

  6. What a lovely post Jon. I do enjoy full moon nights, and this one at least found people surrounding me not so crazy this time. Like you, I'm a night owl. But during the week must go to bed early , like 11pm. Last night, not to be to divulge much, but I had the windows open, a breeze was blowing in, and I enjoyed seeing m naked body in the full moon heaven for me...perfect summer night. Now if you want to see a full moon.......sorry...I've had a few......

  7. Read your poem 5 or 6 times and each reading brought faces, sunlight on shoulders, distinctive looks and senses of humor --good minds, beloved ones I can never see again outside the mix of memory and moonlight you describe so well.

  8. OT. I thought you would be interested in the fact that the family of Pavarotti is furious that "The Donald" is using Nessum Dorma in his campaign appearances. Expected to follow in complaint is the estate of Puccini. Perhaps The Queen of The Night aria (first act) by Mozart would be better.

  9. Jon,
    A full moon over a dark landscape as pictured in your blog always reminds me of that old Lon Chaney, Jr. movie brings back the images of Maria Ouspenskaya as the old gypsy woman waring about the wolf man. Thanks for evoking that memory Jon with your always interesting blog post.

  10. Full moon is the time to remember anniversaries....

  11. Your poem brought up images of my wife, Cary, gone now 20 years. Sometimes it seems like she's still here, and the hardest times are in the middle of the night, full moon or not.
    Cheers, Jon.

  12. Sometimes 'slumbering memories' are best left undisturbed. But your poem changed my mind. Haunting. Beautiful. Sad.


I love comments. Go ahead and leave one - I won't bite. But make sure you have a rabies shot just in case.