Moonlight is a dangerous thing when you’re with a girl.
It does what your heart cannot always do.
It shows you what your eyes cannot always see.

It enhances beauty
concealing blemishes
playing upon cheek bones so every facial curve is silver porcelain
dancing across eyes with liquid grace
a splash of mystery


Moonlight converses in playful banter
even in silence

persuading every word
implying every word
inferring every word


is flirtatious

is meaningful

is eternal.

Moonlight is a beautiful thing.

Will She

Will she ever see You instead of me
as eyes engage
will she know it’s my face but You’re eyes
will the glory be Yours instead of mine
When I dip her low
in the steady beat of song
will she know it’s You
confessing Your love
even as I haphazardly try my subtle magic upon her heart
Forgive me
In that brief pause
between the beat
the ordained steps that guide our feet
before I sweep her off her toes
will she know it’s You
not I
supporting her with sturdy arms
in that moment of questioning suspense

On Creative Work

May I never be such a perfectionist that I don’t share my creative work. May I never be so concerned with the opinions of mortals, or so comparative, that I refuse to share that immortal, creative part of me. It is mine, and yet it is yours. It may not be DaVinci or Steinbeck or Houston or Coltrane, but it is unique and beautiful and to not share it would be to deny a fundamental part of myself, to doubt a shining thread of my vibrant tapestry.

That Sense of Eternity

There is a sense within me that I’m special. That sounds cheesy and arrogant, I realize. It’s beyond feeling special though: it’s a belief that I’m destined for some great purpose. I think everyone believes this about themselves to varying extents, and this “soul-knowledge”–that’s what I’m calling it–is more than a product of nature or nurture, although they clearly play a role. If you don’t think you’re special, I wonder what happened in your life (or what didn’t happen?) that squelched your hope, and I hope you keep reading.

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We forget so easily…

If only I could remember forever the inspiration, the love, the joy, the sacrifice, and even the hurt, that I felt after a movie, a book, a kiss, a fun night with friends, a  midnight conversation, a profound prayer…If only I could remember what it was like, holding my niece in my arms, gazing into her eternal eyes, realizing that she is suddenly part of my lucky life. If only. Continue reading

It’s Not a Question, Just Something I’m Curious About

Is all our time forgotten
are the memories now dust

on the cover of a story
titled Just the Two of Us

pushed in the darkest corner
in the attic, in the hutch

does the journey now mean nothing
since it ended so abrupt

has the hurt choked out the joy
that we shared together once

can we part with wistful smiles
though the heart is nearly crushed

perhaps one day we’ll cherish
the excitement and the rush

of a once forgotten story
about you and me and us.

© 2014 Mike Tannian

The Unlikely Hymn

Jake knocked back a shot of Jameson whiskey. It burned and ignited a bed of coals in his gut that radiated wave after wave of heat, spreading through his limbs, up his spine and surrounding his mind like a soothing balm over the wounded memories.

“You here to forget?”

Jake glanced casually at the girl who had spoken to him. She sat two chairs over, leaning against the bar, holding a margarita like an English cup of tea. She was petite with slight Asian features and an intricate braid cascaded down her back. Continue reading