August MacGregor

Celebrating Sensuality. Intended for mature audiences, 18 and over


In This Garden


In this garden at mid-day,
your beauty is bright,
your smile and eyes of joy.
Laughing and dancing, you are
opened petals absorbing the sun,
sharing your sweet scent with the world.
The flowers sway with you,
grateful to be appreciated,
for their hard work to become
color and nectar
is now seen and loved.

In this garden at dusk,
your beauty has softened,
a dark translucent curtain covers you.
You linger here and there,
loving the sky’s colors of the tail end
of the sunset, a dying light
glorious in its death for the
reminder of mortality and the
wish for remembrance in another day.

In this garden at evening,
your beauty has deepened
into mysteries where I must
search the dark depths
mostly finding just glimpses of you.
Elusive as you are,
I continue my pursuit,
shrubs rubbing my cheeks,
thorns tearing my clothes–
as if to protect you from me.
But these flowers are merely jealous,
eventually they turn away and sleep
as I find you, embrace you
ensure that you will not rush off–
but you whisper,
I’ll stay, of course I’ll stay with you
as we lay on the grass of a garden path
trying to be as quiet as possible
to not wake up any of the flowers.


Photo by RHiNO NEAL




I’m trying to not let many months pass between my posts. While working on stories, I miss hanging around WordPress — and sometimes, I miss writing shorter work, which gives the satisfaction of finishing well before months of effort. I won’t try to keep a regular schedule, as I doubt that would last. So I’ll drop in when I can, and I’ll post some poetry. Here’s today’s…


Handmade paper
as he wrote
her a poem
trying to
express his love.

Every word
felt clumsy
stumbling over
the next word.

The ink spreading
on his fingers
like blood
as if his heart
seeped through them.

Finally finished,
he gave her the paper,
and her eyes
told him the poem
was just right.


Singing Pebbles

pebbles on beach by Ballacorkish (Flickr, Creative Commons)

Ballacorkish (Flickr, Creative Commons)

At first, we were disappointed the beach
didn’t have sand, instead having pebbles
which we worried would hurt our bare feet.
And truly, walking on the pebbles was not as
comfortable as sand.

But our feet grew accustomed to the pebbles
and we discovered how the pebbles sung
at high tide, after a wave was finished crashing,
impatient water slid back to the ocean
taking a moment to course over the small stones
and play a little melody in its race returning sea-ward.

She put a few pebbles on the balcony railing
perhaps to give them a grander view of the ocean
and perhaps to see if the wind — like the waves —
would make them sing. It didn’t, but the
little stones looked bright in the sun, warmed
and no longer made wet over and over again
by the continuous washing of the sea.

We lay in bed at night, waiting for high tide to arrive,
then listening to that beat of the ocean
and the pebbles singing along with it.
A wondrous soothing lullaby —
repeated then at dawn, as if
the waves and stones could not
wait to greet us with the new day.


The photo above is used under the non-commercial Creative Commons license. Click on image to jump to photographer’s Flickr page.


A Beginning

“Let love into your heart,”
she whispered.
“Life is much better with it. Trust me. Trust me on this one.”

His face rose,
from looking at his feet, to seeing her.

“Let yourself be vulnerable,”
she said softly.
“Let yourself be loved. And let yourself love someone else.”

She smiled at him. A smile of warmth,
light in the dark room.
“You’ve been alone for too long.”

He nodded. A gentle nod.
It wasn’t a lot, but she didn’t expect a lot.
It was a beginning.


“I Want to Die While You Love Me” by Georgia Douglas Johnson

sun shining through trees, by Tony Armstrong (Flickr, Creative Commons)

Tony Armstrong (Flickr, Creative Commons)

I Want to Die While You Love Me

Georgia Douglas Johnson

I want to die while you love me,
While yet you hold me fair,
While laughter lies upon my lips
And lights are in my hair.

I want to die while you love me,
And bear to that still bed,
Your kisses turbulent, unspent
To warm me when I’m dead.

I want to die while you love me
Oh, who would care to live
Till love has nothing more to ask
And nothing more to give?

I want to die while you love me
And never, never see
The glory of this perfect day
Grow dim or cease to be!


From The Book of American Negro Poetry (1922), edited by James Weldon Johnson. Source of poem: The photo above is used under the non-commercial Creative Commons license. Click on image to jump to photographer’s Flickr page.


Piece by Piece

Piece by piece
of clothing
dropped to the floor.
Night by night
the clothing was shed,
to be picked up
the next morning
in less rushed times.

This shedding
was much more comfortable
than the shedding
of some of
the fortifications around his heart
as he shared
some of the
multitude of his emotions with her.

she told him,
is easier than love.
But love is much deeper.
You are right to be careful with your heart.
And I will also be careful with it.


Forever and Ever Diamonds

diamond ring, by Tim S (Flickr, Creative Commons)

Tim S (Flickr, Creative Commons)

the company wants us to know,
are forever.

And that’s true even when
the relationship has ended.

The jewel a sparkling reminder
of what once was.

And happily ever after
was not accomplished,
not this time.

But not all relationships
work out like fairy tales,
diamond marketing, and
romantic comedies.

Moments will sparkle
like that diamond
Moments will cut
like that diamond
Moments will fade away
Moments will last forever,
perhaps polished and multi-faceted,
like that diamond.


The photo above is used under the non-commercial Creative Commons license. Click on image to jump to photographer’s Flickr page.