Author’s Note

A warm welcome to my new followers and subscribers and greetings to all. The poem that follows is part of a series dedicated to highlight queer love through the ages.

BACKGROUND

Sir Thomas Walsingham was a wealthy landowner and courtier during the reign of Queen Elizabeth I. He was likely introduced to Christopher Marlowe, an emerging playwright and poet who is widely thought to have experienced same-sex attraction, through a mutual acquaintance. Both men were in their twenties.

Walsingham and Marlowe developed a close personal relationship that deepened over the years. By 1590 Walsingham had become Marlowe’s principal patron, with Marlowe frequently staying as a guest at Scadbury, one of Walsingham’s country estates. Between 1591 and 1593, during the plague, Marlowe appears to have made Scadbury his principal residence.

In Elizabethan England, aristocratic households often included scholars, artists, and clients who lived with their patrons. Such arrangements were not, by themselves, unusual. However, unlike many patrons who merely dispensed gifts and money, Walsingham continued to provide Marlowe with patronage, lodging, and protection, even after he faced serious charges of alleged heresy before the Privy Council in the year 1593. Some accusations centered on his alleged statements about same-sex love, which were cited as proof that he was a sodomite and actively engaged in blasphemy.

No private correspondence between Marlowe and Walsingham survives, so the exact nature of their relationship remains unknown. However, historians have been able to reconstruct it from legal records, dedications, government documents, and contemporary accounts. Collectively, these sources suggest a close and enduring association that lasted until Marlowe’s death in May of 1593 at the age of twenty-nine.

Although Marlowe’s writings cannot reveal the nature of his relationship with Walsingham, they do show a recurring fascination with male beauty and male-male affection. In the play Edward II, which centers on a tragic love between the king and one his favorite companions, Piers Gaveston, Marlowe boldly portrays the characters in sympathetic terms, rather than as culprits in a crime of vice. In Hero and Leander, Marlowe writes of the male youth Leander’s looks as “all that men desire...” And in the play Dido, Queen of Carthage he begins with a homoerotic scene between Jupiter and Ganymede.

Independently of Marlowe’s writings, some scholars have noted that the unusual closeness of his relationship with Walsingham invites questions that the surviving evidence cannot definitively answer. Arguments for a romantic interpretation rest largely on their prolonged shared domestic life, Walsingham’s unwavering support during Marlowe’s legal troubles, and his continued stewardship of Marlowe’s literary legacy after his death.

Walsingham spent much of the remainder of his life at Scadbury Manor, where he died in the autumn of 1630 at the age of sixty-nine. Whatever the true nature of his relationship with Marlowe, the surviving evidence has never settled the question of whether their bond was anything other than purely platonic, leaving room for differing interpretations.

My Sanctuary
after Sir Thomas Walsingham & Christopher Marlowe

Could mine eyes look back
upon times we once shared,
then kind Sir, suffer me this liberty of speech
as I catch the past in a net
and distill veritable sentiments 
from scattered dreams.

When fear made every path uncertain
and whispers whetted idle tongues,
thou wert my sanctuary.
When wicked men set out
to weigh my soul,
thy door stood fast against them.

Thy presence comforted me
more than the warmest hearth in winter.
Thy voice brought ease
deeper than a summer breeze.
Thy hand lay but an instant upon mine
yet remained a promise in my heart.

In truth, I loved thee.
This was no flight of fancy.
Whether the world would name such sentiments
the faithful kindness of one man toward another,
or something even more tender still,
I leave that unto the living.

Yet history shall never find the words
that passed between us
when no witness kept the hour.
The Lord alone beheld the whole account
and He alone could name
the devotion we bore unto each other.

We now dwell in a place
where charges of heresy and blasphemy
have no dominion.
Should thy spirit ever marvel
whether thy kindness was forgotten,
I do proclaim my gratitude to thee eternal.

And so, my good Lord Walsingham,
pray keep this one assurance:
I count thy graces and companionship
my haven,
and the most blessed of mercies
the Lord ever bestowed upon me.

DCW

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Author’s Note

A warm welcome to my new followers and subscribers and greetings to all. Following is a short essay about current events.

Creatures on the Move

Beyond Fences and Enclosures

Something intriguing has been happening lately. The world has decided to get up and move.

In Texas, a giraffe named Gracie looked at her fence, decided it was a mere suggestion, and left. For two weeks she trotted around freely, like a 12-foot-tall rumor on the loose. People saw her in Ring cameras, in pastures, on highways, and wondered why nobody could catch her.

On the other side of the globe, in Papua New Guinea, a shark decided it was tired of swimming. It grew little muscular fins and started walking between tide pools at low tide. The scientists who discovered it marveled at it and called it “a new species.” Unimpressed, the shark ignored them and kept walking.

Then came the younger bipeds.

From Madagascar to Serbia to Albania, Gen Z Homo sapiens stood up and started nudging and prodding the powers that be. In Albania they called their movement the Flamingo Revolution to oppose building luxury resorts in areas where wild flamingos make their home. In Serbia they blocked bridges with books to protest corruption in politics. In Madagascar they blocked roads with pots and pans to show frustration over everyday living conditions. And in Japan, they demonstrated against plans to revise Japan’s pacifist constitution with concert-style light sticks, a most enlightened way to say, “we disagree.”

Gracie the giraffe is safe now. The walking shark is still walking. The kids are still out there with their flamingo signs and light sticks, refusing to be shaped by social molds they find objectionable.

If they could talk, I suspect even pigeons would probably object to being pigeonholed. Who wouldn’t? Most living things see fences and enclosures as merely suggestions. After all, we’re all a little like Gracie the giraffe, walking sharks, and light sticks glowing in the dark. Right?

DCW

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Author’s Note

A warm welcome to my new followers and subscribers and greetings to all. Following is a short essay about current events.

The Sweet Side of the Cosmos

Turns out the Milky Way has been keeping a secret. Yep, astronomers just announced the discovery of something that sounds like a fantastical tale from the mouth of Willy Wonka: there’s sugar floating around in a cosmic cloud 26,000 light-years away. This cloud also contains a chemical that gives raspberries their flavor, along with traces of alcohol. So, it’s sweet and it smells like a raspberry rum distillery? What could be the next revelation? That it pairs well with cheese?

As amusing as that sounds, this sugary cloud is scientifically significant. Its sweetness comes in the form of a compound containing ribose, the molecule that forms the backbone of RNA, which is the stuff that ultimately made the emergence of dinosaurs, taxes, and TikTok possible. This points to the notion that “the building blocks of life” aren’t Earth-only artisanal products but may be ready-made and scattered across the universe.

Now, for the philosophical aftertaste of all this flavorful stuff, let us briefly recall that scientists spent centuries thinking space was a cold and barren place. Oh, if only they had known that one day the cosmos would start to resemble a French patisserie, stocked with a vast pantry full of life’s ingredients rich with flavor!

Yet, a question remains: if sugar and booze are everywhere, where is everybody? Are ETs all on twelve-step programs and interstellar keto diets? Or maybe the universe is full of gas clouds that contain all the required ingredients for life, but planets with stable ovens are rare. Who knows, Earth might be the one bakery that didn’t burn the cookies.

Even so, the sweetest discovery may not be that sugar exists among the stars. Instead, it may be that, despite everything —good, bad and in between— that is happening here in our own speck of dust, we can still find the time to look up, notice, and wonder, while nature continues undeterred, writing the cookbook it has been working on for billions of years.

DCW

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Author’s Note

A warm welcome to my new followers and subscribers and greetings to all. The poem that follows is part of a series dedicated to highlight queer love through the ages.

BACKGROUND

Sultan Mahmud of Ghazni and Malik Ayaz shared one of history’s most famous master-servant relationships. Their legendary bond was celebrated in medieval Persian poetry and Sufi literature and was often used to explore themes of divine love, loyalty, and how true love transcends rigid societal boundaries.

Mahmud ascended the throne of the Ghaznavid Empire (present-day Afghanistan) in the year 997 at the age of 27 and reigned until 1030 CE. He was known as a devout ruler and a lover of art and poetry. He occasionally found himself in the company of talented artists in the royal gardens and the halls of his palace. It was there that he was acquainted with Malik Ayaz, a Georgian of Russian descent who had been captured as a youth in a military campaign and taken to Ghazni as a slave.

Chronicles report that Ayaz had been sold to an agent of the Sultan for his strong physique, his archery skills, and exceptional demeanor. He was then taken to the palace where he captivated the Court and the Sultan with his striking good looks and his ability to recite Persian and Turkish poetry. As a result, the Sultan freed him and he became his trusted personal attendant and closest confidant.

As time passed, with the support of the Sultan, Ayaz became a military officer, quickly rising in the ranks to become a key general. In the 11^th Century the Sultan appointed him Governor of the conquered city of Lahore. Despite being away from each other, Ayaz is believed to have been summoned to Court frequently, and to have travelled with the Sultan extensively.

After three decades of campaigning, Mahmud returned to Ghazni where he spent his final days attending to affairs of state and preparing his succession. Some reports have Ayaz nursing and comforting Mahmud during a prolonged illness, and giving him his last burial bath on the 30th of April 1030 AD.

Following Mahmud’s death, his heirs fought for the throne and many senior officials were removed. That was not the case with Ayaz who continued to govern Lahore until his death in 1041 CE.

While the exact nature of Mahmud and Ayaz’ relationship remains private, history was a witness to their profound bond which evolved into a powerful symbol of love and devotion in Eastern literature.

Malik and The Magic Realm
after Sultan Mahmud of Ghazni
and Malik Ayaz

They said you were my servant
and measured our days with titles and rank.
Yet when you sat beside me in the garden,
while poets wove verses through the air,
my crown vanished,
your chains dissolved.

You were all I could see.
Your voice was all I heard.
As if somehow,
we had crossed an invisible threshold
into some enchanted realm
only you and I could behold.

And in those nights when sleep refused me,
I dreamed of you, my dear Malik.
Not as the youthful captive first brought before me,
nor as the warrior who earned the trust of armies,
but as the one and only soul
with whom I shared that magic realm of ours.

There, we cherished the moments
when our gazes lingered
long after duty had released us.
There, we knew the reason
why I summoned you
for journeys that required no witness.

Even when the throne claimed your presence
away from the palace
and I awoke haunted by your absence,
the distance between us was erased
by dispatches that arrived bearing your words
penned in a tongue no one but us would know.

As I approached my final season,
you remained steady beside me
poised against the gathering dark.
When my strength faded
your hands wiped my forehead
and lifted a cup to my lips.

What name could I have given
such devotion?

Now we repose beyond the edge of time
where silence reigns supreme.
Should the Merciful grace us with a moment together,
pray do not seek me by the crown I once wore.
For I am merely the one you came to know
in that magic realm we made our own.

DCW

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Author’s Note

A warm welcome to my new followers and subscribers and Happy Pride to all. The poem that follows is part of a series dedicated to highlight queer love through the ages.

BACKGROUND

Marina Tsvetaeva and Sophia Parnok met at a Moscow literary salon in 1914. At the time, Parnok was twenty-nine and an established poet and literary critic, later referred to as “Russia’s Sappho” for her pioneering portrayal of love between women in Russian literature. Tsvetaeva was twenty-two, was also a poet, and had been married since 1912. Within weeks of meeting, the two women were spending substantial time together despite Tsvetaeva’s marriage. Their relationship appears to have been openly acknowledged within their literary circle, though discretion remained necessary given the social conventions of the time.

Under tsarist law, male homosexual acts were criminalized, while romantic liaisons between women existed in a more ambiguous legal and social space. Female same-sex relationships were often overlooked by authorities, who tended to regard them as private matters confined to elite artistic and social circles. The 1917 Revolution did not immediately alter these attitudes. In later decades, however, the Soviet state increasingly promoted rigid norms of sexuality and family life. Although female homosexuality was never explicitly criminalized in Soviet law, it was frequently stigmatized and, at various times, treated as a pathology or mental disorder.

The surviving record shows that Tsvetaeva and Parnok’s relationship developed rapidly into a bond that was at once romantic, erotic, intellectual, and emotionally turbulent. One of the strongest pieces of evidence is Tsvetaeva’s poetry cycle The Girlfriend, dedicated to Parnok, which intertwines tenderness, love, bitterness, and forebodings of separation and doom. Parnok’s poems from the same period likewise portray their connection as a love affair rather than a platonic friendship.

Yet, even as their relationship deepened, many people around Tsvetaeva did not regard it as “real.” Contemporary accounts often described the affair as a temporary fascination or a kind of “spell” from which she would eventually awaken. The implication was that Tsvetaeva had been somehow “bewitched,” and was therefore not fully responsible for her feelings. Parnok, as the older woman, was frequently cast as the “real” lesbian and presumed seducer who had initiated the relationship. Ironically, researchers suggest that it was Tsvetaeva who actively pursued Parnok before they became a couple.

The relationship ended in early 1916. The separation appears to have unfolded gradually rather than as a result of one dramatic event. The poems both women wrote afterward reveal that the parting was painful and due to differences in temperament and Tsvetaeva’s marriage and family obligations. Tsvetaeva, in particular, continued to remember the affair for years, and later referred to Parnok as one of the great loves of her life.

Although their paths diverged, the two poets remained linked through literary history. Parnok continued writing and living independently, dividing her time between Moscow and Crimea. She died of heart disease in 1933 at the age of forty-seven, at a time when her literary reputation had already begun to fade under the changing cultural climate of the Soviet Union. Tsvetaeva went on to become one of the towering figures of 20th-century Russian literature though her life was marked by extraordinary hardship. During the Moscow famine, she was forced to place her daughters in a state orphanage, where one of them died of hunger in 1919. In 1922 she emigrated with her family and spent years in poverty across Europe before returning to the Soviet Union 1939. Soon afterward, her husband was executed and her surviving daughter was sent to a labor camp. Isolated, impoverished, and facing wartime upheaval, Tsvetaeva died by suicide on August 31, 1941. She was forty-eight years old.

Despite the efforts of both pre- and post-revolutionary institutions to impose narrow definitions of identity, the lives and work of these remarkable poets endured. Their queer identities could not be erased by those who sought to deny the truth of their experiences and suppress or diminish their place in literary history.

Marina’s Dream
after Marina Tsvetaeva and Sophia Parnok

Sophia, my love:
When word reached me
that you were gone from the world
I sat by the hearth
and closed my eyes.

A dream opened a window
and memories of us
flowed in.

I saw our truth,
fierce and defiant,
without apology,
without disguise.

Even when they called it
a spell, a passing trance,
I was still your Marina,
and you, my Sophia.

And though we were confined,
they never succeeded
at making us less real.

What I would have given
to have another chance
to stay together a few heartbeats
beneath time’s slower wing.

Instead, we were brief—
our love interrupted
by history’s blunt hand.

Yet long after we
settled into stillness,
here I am in what remains,
still dreaming,
still weeping in silence.

DCW

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Author’s Note

A warm welcome to my new followers and subscribers and greetings to all. Following is a short essay about current events.

The Bards of Hormuz: Singing War into Progress

Every age has a few bards. Sometimes they’re minstrels with their lutes. Sometimes they’re gurus or priests at their pulpits, influencers with their livestreams, or world leaders at press conferences. They are all attempting to frame the moment, shaping feelings and expectations, naming heroes and villains, and occasionally weaving moral lessons into their stories.

Recently, we’ve all heard many bards sing their stories from the Strait of Hormuz. As war rages in the region, the eyes and ears of the world have turned toward them, especially after traffic through the Strait was disrupted and 20% of the world’s oil flow stuttered. Except for China, Asia felt the shock immediately. Japan’s crude imports fell dramatically. Jet fuel in Singapore doubled in price. Sri Lanka experienced “demand destruction.”

Suddenly, fossil fuels are hostage to geography and guns, and global energy security is in serious jeopardy. What to do? Some bards found an answer: renewables. It makes sense. Solar panels don’t get blockaded. Wind doesn’t need a navy escort. The moral has arrived on cue: this war could potentially accelerate the transition to renewables, saving the climate and our planet.

Singing in unison, these bards claim that the adoption of policies aimed at mitigating climate change is just too slow. And there’s a body count too. Pollution from fossil fuels is estimated to kill many thousands every year. So, every delay in transitioning to renewables is a toll of lives paid to an increasingly toxic planet. If this war and the Hormuz panic cut five years off of Asia’s transition to renewables, that would be a plus. Wouldn’t it?

That logic is seductive. Could this be a “good” war after all?

No. There is nothing “good” about massive destruction, death and human suffering. Granted, the adoption and enforcement of climate-friendly policies is painfully slow, but is it true that we can only move forward through crises and wars? If we believe that narrative, it might become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Why? Because it lets us off the hook until the next missile is fired, or the next embargo or blockade is in place. Seeing war as a quick fix for climate change inaction is like seeing a heart attack as a wellness plan.

Hormuz did not create the case for renewables. It just stripped away the illusion that fossil fuels can provide sustained global energy security. The wind and sun were there before the war. War didn’t make renewables necessary. It made the alternative unbearable.

No war can ever be “good” even when certain desirable outcomes might occur by default. So, perhaps, these bards should be singing about how the world’s transition to renewables can only come with a measure of patience and serious commitment from everyone. How quickly or slowly we choose to do this is up to us. Only one thing is certain: when all is said and done, we will have either learned the moral lessons of our time and saved ourselves and our planet or surrendered to irreversible loss.

DCW

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Author’s Note

A warm welcome to my new followers and subscribers and greetings to all. The poem that follows is part of a series dedicated to highlight queer love through the ages.

BACKGROUND

The renowned Baroque painter Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio led an unbridled and riotous life. He was notorious for his volatile temperament and impulsive behavior, which he exhibited at taverns where he indulged in heavy drinking and brawling. Often sharing his living quarters with courtesans, laborers, and street boys, he used them as models, rejecting the polished ideal of beauty of earlier Renaissance painters.

Francesco Buoneri was one of the boys thought to have entered Caravaggio’s social circle as one of several models and assistants at his workshop in Rome. Some scholars suggest that Francesco, known as Cecco, posed for several of the artist’s works, gradually becoming his apprentice while engaging with him in an intimate relationship.

Even though there is no definitive proof that Buoneri and Caravaggio were romantic partners, one significant piece of evidence pointing to the existence of a special bond between them, is the fact that Buoneri came to be known by the possessive: Cecco del Caravaggio, literally “Caravaggio’s Cecco,” while other associates of the artist did not receive such public acknowledgment.

Buoneri and Caravaggio lived in a time and place where male love was both socially present and legally punishable. Yet, Caravaggio’s canvases conveyed defiant sensuality and staged intimacy that his contemporaries would have likely recognized. Two examples of this are Amor Vincit Omnia (Love Conquers All), Bacchus, and Boy with a Basket of Fruit. These paintings feature young male figures in provocative poses, rendered with unusually raw, unfiltered realism. This approach aligns with Caravaggio’s tendency to draw models from his immediate environment.

As further suggested evidence of a close and perhaps passionate relationship between Caravaggio and Buoneri, in David with the Head of Goliath, one of Caravaggio’s most dramatic paintings, modern scholars propose that Buoneri may have been the model for David, while the giant’s face is widely interpreted as being a self-portrait of the artist.

Like Caravaggio himself, Buoneri’s life appears to have been marked by controversy. Police records reveal his involvement in violent altercations, hinting at a rebellious spirit and a willingness to challenge societal norms, which paralleled Caravaggio’s lifestyle.

In 1606, after a period working in Rome, Caravaggio fled to Naples after being accused of murdering a gangster from a wealthy family over a gambling debt. Although there is no solid evidence that Buoneri followed him during exile, it is a possibility. What is certain is that his patrons, who had until then been able to shield him from the consequences of his misadventures, were no longer able to protect him. He was declared a fugitive, sentenced to death by the Papal judicial system, and an open bounty was decreed, allowing anyone who captured him to carry out the sentence wherever he was found.

Vatican documents released in 2002 support the theory that Caravaggio was hunted down and killed in the year 1610, as a vendetta for the murder of the wealthy gangster in a botched attempt at castration. He was aged 38.

As for Buoneri, a much younger man than Caravaggio, there are no archival records tracing his movements after 1610. However, some art historians believe he may have become a painter in his own right, forging his own artistic identity.

Cecco

A wrinkle in time opened a window
in this, mine realm,
cold, and well beyond
the weight of mortal breath.
I looked forth and beheld visions
of an Age long gone.

For an instant,
I caught sight of our lives
from the moment my gaze
rested upon you, my sweet Cecco,
still tender and green,
comely and alluring.
You reeked of innocence!

I saw you come of age,
your impish smile
blossoming across your face,
eyes glistering, slick with eros.
I yearned for your embrace,
so, I beseeched you
to slake your thirst in me.
And that, you did.
For six winters, and no less.

Ours was no passing liaison.
Bound together by Destiny,
we were never afeared.
Why would we?
We thrived in perilous terrain,
surrounded by vagrants,
far away from torpid creatures
who drank from steaming goblets
full of wine and gilded tales
of splendor and magnificence.

Not us!
We were not born to be princes,
though we were richly endowed.
We were prodigious spirits
worthy of God’s gifts
bestowed upon us a thousandfold,
when our ebullient minds
turned brushstrokes into marvels.

’Tis true,
we raced through life,
jostling, clawing,
ravenous and relentless
in our quest for deliverance.

I do concede,
We were drunk on carnal spirits.
We craved to hear men’s laughter,
and taste their malt-soaked words.
Was this a mere indulgence or a sin?

Even when we raised our fists
and drew our blades,
did our souls know
our lives were canvases
wrought by Providence Divine?

And then I tempted Fate.
and fell from grace.
O delirious pride!
’Twas foolhardy!

The wiles of the Devil assailed me.
Abominable vultures
came sounding the death knell.
I heard the thud of thwacking blade-on-bone,
a final wheezing gasp,
and I, the great Caravaggio of Lombardy,
had been cast from this earth
unto my eternal abode.

The window closes now.
I see your face fading in the distance.
I cry: “My sweet Cecco, be of good cheer,
for we always stood with the angels!

DCW

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Author’s Note

A warm welcome to my new followers and subscribers and greetings to all. The poem that follows is part of a series dedicated to highlight queer love through the ages.

BACKGROUND

Piers Gaveston was the son of one of the knights in the court of King Edward I of England at Eltham Palace. In the year 1300, he became acquainted with the king’s son, Prince Edward, who was 15, and not much younger than him. The two teenagers were described by their contemporaries as strong, handsome, and sharing an interest for outdoor activities as well as music. The pair developed a close relationship which did not go unnoticed. One chronicler recorded that, upon looking at Gaveston, the son of the king immediately felt such fervor for him that “a bond of indissoluble love” was formed between them, “firmly drawn up and fastened with a knot.”

This special bond between Prince Edward and Gaveston did not please the king, who decided to banish Gaveston to France in 1307. Devastated, the Prince lavished Gaveston with fine gifts and even rode with him to the port of Dover with two minstrels to see him off.

Soon afterward, the king died and Edward ascended the throne as King Edward II. He immediately proceeded to invite Gaveston back to England and granted him the Earldom of Cornwall, one of the wealthiest and most prestigious in England, a privilege traditionally reserved for a member of the royal family. Since Gaveston was the son of a knight (a soldier, rather than a landed lord), the earls felt this debased the dignity of the peerage. The established English earldoms were held by men with ancient bloodlines whose families had controlled massive swaths of land for generations.

The following year, to secure succession, Edward decided to travel to France and marry Isabella, aged 13, daughter of King Philip IV. At that time, he appointed Gaveston to act as regent in his absence, a role typically assigned to a close royal relative. At their coronation feast, Edward notably ignored Isabella in favor of Gaveston, whose unconventional closeness to the king and the special favors he received from him, further offended some of the barons, who demanded he should be exiled, and have his earldom removed. To appease them, Edward appointed Gaveston Lieutenant of Ireland.

By 1309 the opposition of the barons had been somewhat relaxed, and Edward was able to recall Gaveston to England. Their close relationship was quickly reestablished and intensified to such degree that Edward began to refuse to see the barons unless Gaveston was present, often delegating the appointment and removal of ministers to Gaveston. Over time, many came to believe that Gaveston had usurped royal power and labeled him a traitor.

Eventually, the opposition to Gaveston solidified into formal demands for his permanent exile, but the king refused to part ways with him. The barons raised an army against the king and proceeded to capture, try, and condemn Gaveston as a traitor. He was beheaded on June 19, 1312. Edward II was grief-stricken and swore revenge. After 15 years of political turmoil, he was eventually deposed in January of 1327 dying under mysterious circumstances in September of the same year.

Piers

Unfurling visions of Eltham,
when fields were wide,
the air keen with hawk and horse
stir memories of thee,
my noble Piers, my sworn companion,
and the day we first beheld each other,
and knew at once,
our hearts had chosen.

Young and strong we grew
beneath my father’s gaze
until the crown was mine.
‘Twas I, Edward II, King of England,
who placed Cornwall in thy hands,
Alas, the barons bristled,
their wounded ancient pride,
blinding them with wrath.

Poisoned whispers, sharp as daggers
named thee traitor and usurper
and cast thee from my court,
time and again,
still our bond grew stronger.

June wind moved through the grass,
when the wicked seized thee,
merciless steel glinting in their hands
before they struck thee from this earth.

The realm stood silent,
my soul in ruins.
Fifteen winters passed in silence.
Vengeance I vowed,
thy absence echoing
in halls bereft.

My crown grew heavy.
My foes, the hounds of doom,
circled as wolves about a wounded stag,
then pounced
until my shell was of this world no more.

Now we lie beyond their reach.
No baron may come between us,
no council decree thy exile.
The strife of old kingdoms
has faded like thunder in the distance.

And even death,
this cold dominion,
cannot undo the ties that bind
our hearts together
in everlasting union.

DCW

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Author’s Note

A warm welcome to my new followers and subscribers and greetings to all. The poem that follows is part of a series dedicated to highlight queer love through the ages.

BACKGROUND

A strong mutual attraction and shared love for music, philosophy and poetry, evolved into an intimate relationship between young Crown Prince Friedrich of Prussia and Hans Hermann von Katte, a nobleman, an army officer, and six years Frederick’s senior. Frederick’s father, King Frederick William I, often referred to as “the soldier king” and known for his violent proclivities, was enraged by his son’s romantic liaison with von Katte. He believed his son and heir to the throne was an “effeminate fool,” and often humiliated him and beat him publicly.

Overwhelmed by his father’s abuse, the prince plotted to flee to Britain with his lover. Katte supported the prince’s plan to escape his despotic father. The plot was uncovered and the couple was arrested and imprisoned. Charged with treason, Katte was sentenced to death. A petition of mercy from Frederick was ignored. The king made his son watch Katte’s beheading on November 6, 1730. When Katte was brought up to be executed, Frederick shouted: “Please forgive, my dear Katte, in God’s name, forgive me.” Katte responded: “There is nothing to forgive, I die for you with joy in my heart!” Frederick then fainted.

The king exiled his son to a small village for two years, after which he forced him into a loveless marriage. Although Frederick never spoke openly again about von Katte, several biographers believe his father’s cruelty and the loss of his lover scarred him deeply. After ascending the throne in 1740, he appointed Katte’s father field marshal and raised him to the hereditary rank of count. In addition, his actions revealed that his sexuality was central to his life and character. Frederick the Great, as he came to be known, surrounded himself with a circle of friends who were exclusively male and filled the palace with homoerotic artwork. He repealed the death penalty for sodomy, allowed freedom of the press, and supported the arts.

As for Hans Hermann von Katte, he is remembered as a symbol of loyalty and sacrifice.

Hans’ Sacrifice

I was the Prince of Prussia
who bared his soul
in tender verses
cradled between us
like shared breath.

Dust motes scintillated
adrift in the sunlight
seeping through the draperies,
as we nestled in my chamber
at Sanssouci.

You remained close and steadied me,
even when rumors flaying us
had reached the tyrant,
and the walls narrowed
around us.

We planned to flee—
youthful hope outpacing prudence.
They seized us
and named our offence treason.
Our transgression was love.

They took you to the fortress
where death awaited.
Your face lifted toward me.
In vain,
I pled for mercy.

I did not hear the blade
yet shuddered
as wakes of vultures
hung above
your headless coil.

Feverish with grief
I dissolved.
Lids closed,
eyes open,
staring at the edge of the future.

Cruelty had begotten a sacrifice.
Yours, my dear Hans.
My exile followed
and with it,
a measure of tranquility.

In the end,
when thunder tore the stillness,
it was because you died
that I rose to become
Frederick the Great,
as the shadow of the brute faded.

DCW

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Author’s Note

A warm welcome to my new followers and subscribers, and holiday greetings to all. The poem that follows is part of a series about dreams and visions.

you
are

an urge
a fixation
an addiction

irresistible
essential

a beginning
an end
all at once

bitter
sweet

a vision
a dream
a lover

and

a sword
at my heart

DCW

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Author’s Note

A warm welcome to my new followers and subscribers and greetings to all. The poem that follows is part of a series dedicated to highlight queer love through the ages.

BACKGROUND

Prince Gian Gastone de’ Medici was the last Grand Duke of Tuscany. His family had dominated Florence, the state capital, since the 15^th Century. He inherited the throne in 1723 at the age of 53. Until then, he had been known for his intellectual pursuits, love of languages and dislike of the court.

Gian Gastone’s reign was characterized by his retreat from public life. He often confined himself to his bedchamber for months at a time, where he received ministers and ambassadors with the help of his personal attendants. One of them was his trusted valet, Giuliano Dami.

Dami, a man of humble origins and exceptional physical beauty, was introduced to Gian Gastone long before he ascended the throne. Taken by his charms, he had hired him as his personal servant. Gradually, Dami became part of the prince’s inner circle, his closest companion and lover.

Although there are no surviving records that explicitly document a deep bond between Gian Gastone and Giuliano, there is something to be said about a relationship that lasted for over 30 years. However, public acknowledgment of such a relationship between a ruling Grand Duke and his “low-born” servant would have been socially unacceptable and politically disastrous at that time.

Homosexual relationships were severely stigmatized, both by the Catholic Church and society at large. The more intimate aspects of the relationship would have been closely guarded secrets, especially since the Medici were acutely aware of their image and the potential for scandal. Any written evidence of a committed same-sex relationship would have been destroyed or hidden to protect the family’s reputation.

The records that do survive are mainly exaggerated tales and hostile gossip from people who had a vested interest in portraying Gian Gastone’s private lifestyle as a moral failure. These rumors often focused on his alleged personal habits, drunkenness, lack of hygiene, homosexual promiscuity and incompetence. Most damaging was his portrayal as a weak leader who was easily manipulated by Giuliano Dami, his favorite companion.

Due to Gian Gastone’s reclusive nature, Giuliano Dami’s power within the court had grown significantly over the years and he had become the duke’s deputy and spokesperson, which caused resentment among members of the court and the Florentine aristocracy. As a result, both Gian Gastone and Giuliano were targets of a toxic narrative that evolved into a legend of perverse debauchery which cloaked the duke’s reign.

While there were likely kernels of truth to some of the descriptions of the duke’s unconventional lifestyle, some historians claim that the Medici’s political opponents played a critical role in spreading this legend, primarily to justify their goal to end the dynasty and install a new ruling family.

The most prominent figures to benefit from the rumors were the House of Lorraine, who took over the Grand Duchy after Gian Gastone’s death. They needed to legitimize their rule in the eyes of the Tuscan populace and other European powers. By portraying the last Medici ruler as a debauched, ineffectual, and immoral tyrant they were able to frame the Medici’s loss of power as a form of divine or historical justice.

Giuliano

From this quiet realm,
I speak to you at last,

my sweet Giuliano,

without the shadow
of those who once surrounded us:

the ghosts of my ancestors

and they who watched

our every move and gesture,
yet never spared a glance

to see two men of flesh and bone

beneath our titles and regalia.

You came to me

when you were still a youth,

beautiful and full of light,
and you remained

the single steady presence

that lifted me with tenderness
from my long hours of retreat
in the half-light
of my bedchamber.

They called you low-born,
and spewed filth about us,
mocking us mercilessly

through endless tales

meant to make our lives a spectacle
and our companionship a crime.

What could we have done

but let them cradle their delusions?
My gaze drifted past them

as I slipped into the cave

of my own mind

where memories came unbidden

of desires they called sinful

assailing me

with bouts of mortal terror

and boundless joy.

There I learned

that the heavens that dreamed

all of my lifetimes

also dreamed yours

in a single invocation.

And that I, Gian Gastone,
the last of the Medici,
knew you,

Giuliano Dami.

And you, knew me.
Not as the lampoons

my family’s enemies created

to serve their own designs,
but as consorts and lovers
who stayed together for three decades
without shame

and faced a hostile world

that failed to destroy us.

DCW

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Author’s Note

A warm welcome to my new followers and subscribers and greetings to all. Following is a short essay about one of my favorite themes: Inexplicable phenomena and experiences that stir our imagination and inspire our creative spirit.

Cosmic Whispers

In the grand tapestry of celestial curiosities few have stirred human imagination as profoundly as 3I/ATLAS, the enigmatic visitor that recently drifted into our solar system. While most observers dismiss it as a mere stray comet, its peculiar trajectory has led some to speculate that it could be a deliberate dispatch from a distant intelligence.

But what if our caller were connected to something even stranger? Consider this: recent experiments in quantum entanglement suggest that time may not be a straight path, but a looping, resonant web. In such a framework, cause and effect blur, and events in the future can influence the past, and perhaps vice versa.

Now imagine highly technologically advanced beings—whether from another star or from Earth’s own forgotten epochs who have learned to twist and fold the fabric of spacetime. Their experiments could ripple across eras, creating echoes we might experience as baffling events such as those we call déjà vu, lucid dreams or visions.

What are these mystifying experiences, anyway? Neural glitches? Perhaps. Yet, neuro scientists have not been able to explain them. Those who have experienced déjà vu, for instance, often describe an uncanny flicker of familiarity or a vivid memory of a moment they cannot recall. Similarly, lucid dreams and visions are said to be moments of heightened awareness and increased clarity.

But what if these intensely vivid moments were glimpses of parallel timelines brushing against our own? What if they were fleeting reflections of our entanglement with a broader reality. Whispers from another age, reminders that we are not isolated in time or space.

Ever heard of the Silurian Hypothesis? It proposes that advanced civilizations could have arisen on Earth long before humans, leaving little or no trace behind. If such civilizations ever existed, who is to say their technologies did not allow them to manipulate time, crossing the boundaries between past, present, and future?

What if 3I/ATLAS, drifting silently through our solar system, is part of a larger cosmic narrative—an artifact from a civilization that understands time far more deeply than we do, and whose knowledge resonates across the ages?

As we continue exploring our place in the cosmos, we may just find that the mysteries of déjà vu, lucid dreams, visions and objects such as 3I/ATLAS share a common source: the quiet hum of a universe far more interconnected, intelligent, and ancient than we ever imagined.

DCW

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Author’s Note

A warm welcome to my new followers and subscribers and greetings to all. The poem that follows is part of a series dedicated to highlight queer love through the ages.

BACKGROUND

Juana Inés de la Cruz was born in 1648 near Mexico City. As a child she displayed astonishing intelligence. By the age of 8 she had taught herself Latin and as a teenager she began composing poetry, which earned her a reputation as a child prodigy.

At 16, she asked her parents’ permission to disguise herself as a male in order to attend university, which did not accept women. They refused and instead she entered a convent. At the time convents were the only places where a woman could pursue an education.

The convent became Sor Juana’s intellectual haven where she maintained a private library, musical instruments and scientific tools. This drew curiosity and admiration from the city’s colonial elite, some of whom started visiting her. Among these visitors was Countess Maria Luisa de las Paredes, vicereine of Mexico who became Sor Juana’s most powerful patron, confidante, and dear friend.

The two women became very close, and while there is no evidence of an intimate physical relationship between them, the ambiguous and intense nature of their bond is well-documented. Sor Juana addressed numerous tender and passionate poems to the Countess whom she referred to as “Lísida” or “Lisi.” These works often reveal profound love, intense emotion, and even eroticism, and have fascinated scholars for centuries.

Although in the Baroque era it was common for women to write deeply emotional letters and poetry to other women, Nobel Prize Laureate and biographer Octavio Paz believed that Sor Juana’s poems pushed this convention to its “most daring and delirious extremes” directing her “unused libido” toward the Countess. Others view their intense bond as platonic.

Following is a verse from one of Sor Juana’s poems dedicated to Lísida, translated from Spanish.

“Beautiful Lísida, though my soul
cannot resist such beauty,
is it so strange that it surrenders,
since reason itself would yield to the divine?”

When the Countess and her husband returned to Spain in 1688, Sor Juana was deeply affected by the separation. Her later poetry reflected this loss as her tone became more introspective and melancholic.

In addition to her poems, Sor Juana wrote scholarly essays that were published in various parts of the Hispanic world during her lifetime. In these essays she voiced opposition to the male-dominated clergy and defied the restrictive norms of colonial and ecclesiastical society. This challenged the boundaries of what women were permitted to study or express and triggered church officials to force her to cease writing, dispose of her extensive library and renew her vows in repentance. By 1694, a year before she died, she had effectively been silenced. Today, however, Sor Juana’s works are studied and celebrated globally, and modern scholars often regard her as one of the earliest advocates of women’s rights.

Lísida

From my eternal convent,

I hear the ghosts of yesteryear

whispering your name.

They bear memories of you,

my dearest Lisi—

how my pulse quickened at your smile,
how my quill trembled in my hand,

as I composed the words

that even silent prayers

dared not say.

Our devotion was true!

I would not be a marionette

for those who deemed it

a transgression.

Yet, I forgave them.
They knew not

that love

wears many garments.

My faith was never

in the Church that silenced me,
but in the deeper bond

that sanctified us both.

Did you know

we were mirrors

where the divine took form?
Had virtuous thresholds allowed us

to travel across time,
we might have lived

as equals and companions,
in a world where

no hand would have trembled

to pen verses

born of the heart.

DCW

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Author’s Note

A warm welcome to my new followers and subscribers and greetings to all. The poem that follows is part of a series dedicated to highlight queer love through the ages.

BACKGROUND

Anselm was born in Aosta, Kingdom of Burgundy in 1033. At the age of 23 he joined the Benedictine monastery of Bec in Normandy, became its prior in 1063 and then its abbot in 1078. In 1093 he was consecrated Archbishop of Canterbury, where he died and was buried in 1109. In 1494 he was canonized by Pope Alexander VI.

During his early residence at Bec he wrote several letters to Gilbert Crispin, his disciple and brother in the faith, and someone he referred to as his “sweetest friend” and “lover”. These letters were written before fanatical prejudice against same-sex liaisons swept across Europe in the twelfth century.

The Council of London in 1102 wanted to enact ecclesiastical legislation which declared – for the first time in English history – that homosexual behavior was a sin and recommended various punishments for the offenders. But Anselm, as Archbishop of Canterbury, prohibited the publication of their decree, advising counselling rather than punishment.

There is little reason to doubt the purity of Anselm's theological concept of friendship, or even his celibacy, but the erotic force behind his yearning and frustrated desire, his heartbreak and even jealousy, so eloquently expressed in his letters, can hardly be denied.

At a time when Gilbert had become Abbot of Westminster, the separation weighed heavily on Anselm, who wrote: “...the gifts of your sweetness cannot begin to console my desolate heart for its want of your love. Even if you sent every scent of perfume, every glitter of metal, every precious gem, every texture of cloth, still it could not make up to my soul for this separation... The anguish of my heart just thinking about this bears witness, as do the tears dimming my eyes and wetting my face and the fingers writing this.”

In the same letter, Anselm voiced feelings of jealousy “But you have gained from our very separation the company of someone else, whom you love no less – or even more – than me. While I have lost you, and there is no one to take your place, you are enjoying your consolation, while nothing is left to me but heartbreak.”

Brother Gilbert

Beyond the walls of flesh,
and in the sight of God,

memories of my heartbeat

pounding my ears

mark the silence.

What was sealed in the cloister

endures in eternity.

Brother Gilbert,
you were my closest companion,
the marrow of my visions,

the substance of my dreams,
and the arms I sought

when seeking solace.

This is my confession

without veil or restraint,

for in the Lord’s Kingdom,
love stands naked and unashamed:

I, Anselm of Aosta,

loved you
and love you still.

Death did not weaken our bond.
Indeed, we cleave to each other

as souls cling to light,

steadfast as ever.

One flame

burning before the Almighty,

in everlasting bliss.

DCW

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Author’s Note

A warm welcome to my new followers and subscribers and greetings to all. The poem that follows is part of a series dedicated to highlight queer love through the ages.

BACKGROUND

Luís Fernando de Orleans y Borbón was a Spanish Infante and a French prince, born in Madrid on November 5, 1888. His father was uncle to the King of Spain. He was educated in England and raised in Paris where he resided during the Belle Époque and the “Années folles” (Crazy Years) of the 1920s. He was a flamboyant, provocative figure, and a fixture in the free-spirited gay nightlife and theatrical circles where he was known as "the king of the fags”. It was there that he met Antonio de Vasconcellos, a Portuguese noble with whom he established an intense romantic relationship, deeply entangled in drama, scandal, and tragedy.

For much of Luis Fernando’s lifetime (1888–1945), the press in both Spain and France consistently painted him in a negative light, portraying him as addicted to luxury and endless extravagant parties, where the excessive use of alcohol and drugs was the norm.

In Spain, where homosexuality was taboo and often condemned as a perversion, a monarchist and Catholic-leaning press found him an easy target, treating him with mockery and disdain for being a person who dared to live outside the social conventions and mores of the time. Likewise, in France, the tabloids and satirical papers depicted him as a fallen royal, effeminate dandy, and a cautionary tale. Even during the Second Spanish Republic (1931-1939) the more secular media viewed him through moralizing lens, as a disgraceful embarrassment, and ridiculed him for his eccentric lifestyle.

As a result, the press was quick to condemn Luis Fernando and his partner Antonio after a tragic incident in Cannes revealed that they had engaged in a ménage à trois with a young sailor who ended up dead. The couple allegedly reported the death as an accident and tried to use diplomatic immunity at the Portuguese and Spanish embassies. There is no record of the couple ever being charged in connection with this event. However, a scandal ensued and Luis Fernando was stripped of all his privileges and banned from Spain by his cousin, King Alfonso XIII.

After this episode, Luis Fernando and Antonio de Vasconcellos continued to live together for several years even when Antonio became seriously ill. During this period, Luis Fernando nursed him with the help of his mother until Antonio died.

Despite general condemnation and scorn, some sources suggest that Luis Fernando’s conduct, especially toward his partner and fellow outcasts, left a quiet mark that official histories ignored or erased. In an era when being a homosexual carried a serious stigma, especially within royal bloodlines, he lived openly and unapologetically outside gender and sexual norms. Some view this as an act of courage. His defiance of rigid social customs --even if not motivated by political conviction-- can be seen as a kind of de facto stance against the stifling reigning patriarchy.

Even during the Nazi occupation of Europe, Luis Fernando reportedly sheltered persecuted homosexuals. Some accounts mention him wearing a pink star as a badge of defiance in Berlin in 1938, showing solidarity with queer victims of fascist homophobia at great personal risk.

In many ways, a homosexual living as his authentic self, was as inconceivable as it was subversive for society at this time. That said, Luis Fernando’s existence in the press helped challenge the boundaries of public discourse, even if only by ridicule.

The King of Sodom

The Belle Époque watched us gavotte

into mirrored chambers,

undaunted by our own reflection.

Some would gasp and grimace

when our lips met before their eyes.

We were creatures of the demi-monde,

haunting the City of Lights,

and easy targets for Le Figaro and their cronies,

hurling fusillades of gossip

that turned our love

into a cabaret of the grotesque.

Amidst the vitriol,

we learned to cherish what we had,

and to endure.
Until that fateful night at Cannes

when an innocuous tryst curdled into horror

and the sky collapsed upon our shoulders.

We claimed our innocence to no avail.

In their eyes, we had always been heathens

on a path to perdition.
This time, they took my title,
my country, my name.

No longer Infante Luis Fernando of Spain,

no longer Prince of France,

but the fallen King of Sodom,

the King of Fags,

devoured by a maelstrom of lies.

Still, I carried on.

You were my solace,

my guardian angel.

You said their words were hollow

and evanescent.

How right you were, my darling!

I never wanted a crown,

only you, only love.

Then when you left this world

I asked myself

how long I should despise and curse my fate,

while endlessly beweeping my outcast state.

And then I understood—

I journeyed to Berlin

and sheltered those like us,

bearing the pink star,
marked for the death camps of the Reich.
Oh, my dear Antonio…

if we had only known then

that we were always sovereigns unto ourselves!

Like so many who came after us,

who fought to walk proudly

into the mirrored chambers of their day.

DCW

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Author’s Note

A warm welcome to my new followers and subscribers and greetings to all. The poem that follows is part of a series dedicated to highlight queer love through the ages.

BACKGROUND

Constantinople, Byzantine Empire – circa 856 CE

Basil was born in 811 CE in the Byzantine province of Thrace-Macedonia to a family of peasants. In his youth, he went from being a stable hand and skilled horseman in the imperial stables at Constantinople to becoming a celebrated wrestler who was noticed by Emperor Michael III when he beat a Bulgarian champion in a wrestling match. Captivated by Basil’s physical strength, the 17-year-old emperor decided to appoint him to the important position of Guardian of the Bedchamber. As a result, Basil, who was in his mid-40s, became a close and trusted confidant of Michael and his personal companion and bodyguard.

Over time, Basil began wielding considerable influence over Michael, which led to Basil’s crowning as co-emperor in 866 CE. However, their relationship soured and tension arose when Michael began shifting his attention to another courtier, named Basiliskianos.

When Basil heard rumors that Michael intended to elevate Basiliskianos as another co-emperor, jealousy and fear drove him to orchestrate Michael’s murder. He led a group of his supporters and stabbed Michael to death in his bedchamber, following a drinking bout on the 24^th of September of 867 CE. He then seized the throne and installed himself as sole ruler of the empire, becoming the first ruler of the Macedonian dynasty.

Basil

I was Michael III, just seventeen,

Emperor of an Empire

that watched you step into the ring,
wrestle the Bulgarian hero into silence,

and draw the crowds to a thundering roar.

You sparked a flame in me

that made me see you as a god,

and pluck you from the Hippodrome at once,

and bring you to my Court

as Guardian of the Bedchamber.
You barely spoke Greek,

nor could you read or write,

and yet, I felt your silence like a tether
binding us tighter than any oath of Rome.
We learned our rhythms
guided by our laughter and our tears,
the pathways to our souls.

Some say I crowned you out of folly,
though they had never laid beside you,
and trusted you with their own lives.

Then came him—Basiliskianos—
young, careless, and fresh with charm.
You sensed a hesitation in me,

though I did not betray you,
and let a shadow in

where your gaze once warmed.

Did it wound you
to see me smile at another?
Or was it fear
that the emperor's hand might unmake
what it had raised?

That night, the wine dulled my senses
but even as I lay half-spoken,
I believed you'd return,
and embrace me

with your familiar touch.

Instead,
came the cold blades
and your face among them.
You did not look away.

Tell me, Basil:
when you beheld the throne,
did our bedstead feel empty?

Did it still carry the shape
of the boy who once saw

a god and a guardian in you?

DCW

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Author’s Note

A warm welcome to my new followers and subscribers and greetings to all. The poem that follows is part of a series dedicated to highlight queer love through the ages.

BACKGROUND

Gibeah, Kingdom of Israel, circa 1036 BCE.

Jonathan met David, a young shepherd, at the court of his father, King Saul, after David had just slayed Goliath, a giant Philistine warrior who had challenged the armies of Israel. At the time, David was likely presenting Goliath’s severed head to Saul.

Awestricken by David’s bravery, Jonathan, the crown prince, willingly stripped and gave David his robe, armor, sword, bow, and belt, —symbols of his royal status— indicating that he recognized David as God's chosen future king. In return, David promised to show kindness to Jonathan’s descendants. This was the nature of the covenant between them, which was sealed with tears and a kiss.

Fearing the public praise received by David for killing Goliath would threaten his power and legacy, King Saul turned against David and sought to kill him. As a result, David spent years fleeing Saul. During this time, Jonathan died in battle against the Philistines at Mount Gilboa. David was grief-stricken proclaiming that Jonathan's love for him was “more wonderful than the love of women”.

Our Covenant

At Tell el-Ful Palace

I stood before your father’s throne

and bowed in reverence.

You sat beside him

and watched me raise my bloodied hand—

Goliath’s head gripped tight.

I raised my eyes and said,

“I am David, my Lord, your faithful servant.

Behold the foe who is no more.”

He stared at me as he replied.

“Not by your sword but by the hand of God.”

He then pointed to you,

“Jonathan, my son.”

Our gazes fell upon each other,

kindred spirits,

reunited after a thousand lifetimes.

You shed your robe and armor
and draped me in your trust.
We shared a kiss,

rekindling ageless flames.
Our people praised me,

and Saul grew dark with envy,

vowing to take my life.

You swore to shield me,
your father’s oath defied.
For years I fled beneath the hunting sun,
yet in my heart,

I never left you.

Before the Lord,

our spirits soared

above all earthly ties

to reaffirm our covenant,

our sacred bond.

And when an army of ghosts

gathered around me with tidings

of your demise

at the foot of Mount Gilboa,

I rushed to you
consumed by grief.

Oh, Jonathan, my prince,
our love was more than any bride could give—
A love eternal,

sealed in our hallowed covenant

no king could ever vanquish

nor any grave deny.

DCW

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