“My name is Miles Thompson. I live with my parents in Orange, California. I have an insatiable drive to create art and write many poems and create many paintings. I also play a multitude of instruments which I use to make all sorts of music. Art and psychology are my two biggest fascinations and I hope to one day be a therapist.” 

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​Clair de lune

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Clair de lune
Wanders through midnight black
Swamp town New Orleans

The pointed hat
Upon her head she dons
Ever so proudly

She walks and walks
Through lonely fields of dead trees
And murky grey waters her boots
Splash through

The townspeople tremble
When she blazes her path through and speaks
Of backwater voodoo

Clair de lune clad in black
Such a delight for ancient eyes
An angel she be for nature she plea

She sits Indian style on lush green
Lays down on her bare back and
Makes love to the birds and the trees

Back to her cozy old shack
She befriends the swamp dwellers
Alligators, cats and bats her kin

In her home she lights a candle
Calls upon her spirit guides and
Sets her soul free to wander the great beyond

When Clair calls upon magic
The people get frightened
They think her a daughter of Satan

But sweet girl of the moon she knows best
She works with her guides and
Follows the way of the earth mother

The moon rises and bathes the swamp in light
she slithers outside and dances naked exposed
Her milky body illuminated by the moon

There is no sexuality in her midnight dance
Nature, alive and loving, praises her knowledge
The way she embraces her God given vehicle

Gnarled branches tremble as night gets colder
Sleep now beckons her bones they tired
Her body lays under blankets and dim light

Now the soul draws forth from fragile body
Set free to roam the vast other world
Kind adventures await her there