If time stops when a tear drops
then I am two years behind.

If the breeze can bring about an ease
then I should know peace.

And if laughter is life’s cure
your love will forever endure.

(c) LaRonda Moore

Two Halves

Do you remember the night
we fell in love, and the silly way
that time held suspended
on the edge of our breaths?
I remember feeling weightless,
as if my spirit was singing.
I was awakened.
You welcomed my wall.
This love rights all the other wrongs.

(c) LaRonda Moore

Broken Compass

I needed you to be him.

Whose fingers condition my strands at dawn,
whose toes tickle my dreams in the dark.

The one who writes me poetry with his eyes
to read my intimacy in thought.
The night in day that clouds my heart like timid air,
the one who kisses my forehead and I feel it elsewhere.

Who calculates my heartbeats by long division
then translates imagery to release my tension.

Who holds my hurt and hugs my disappointment.

Who will shed a tear and make my wall disappear,
by brick
by brick
without using his dick.

He will smile at my strength and sighs at my sense of sensibility,
understanding that I have a father but have never had a best friend,
he will be the one to create the whisper in my wind.

He is the river that carries my breeze through,
oh how I needed you
to be

© LaRonda Moore


You follow my every step,

and even when I want to be alone,

you won’t let me.

Until she falls asleep,

then you disappear like all the others.

Leaving me in agony.

Where do you go,

and why do you come back?

© LaRonda Moore

In Her Room

I wish ceilings were painted grass green,

and that spiders were tiny and hot pink.

But mostly,

I wish that time was purple.

In her room, clear walls are tinted like glass.

This room is petite, obsolete.

The placement of the window bothers me,

it reflects nature as cold.

The antique jewelry box atop the maple dresser holds

a pair of pearl earrings, a beaded necklace, and a white gold class ring.

The beaded necklace is turquoise and silver.

To glance out the window, is to wonder why

the distance between light and myself is measurable.

Beyond these walls,

there are angels that smile at the fragile

but time is always blue.

-r.i.p.  Aunt Ilene

© LaRonda Moore