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 dalliance.

Bound together by Destiny,

we were never afeared.

Why would we?

We thrived in cragged wilds,

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

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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Author’s Note

Happy Pride to all my faithful followers and subscribers!

Timeless and unwavering, love flows through a universal melody that echoes in every corner of the globe. Transcending borders and cultures, it sows the seeds of memories that sprout and blossom in Scents of Lavender, a collection of 25 illustrated poems that breathe life into evocative scenes where queer love proudly re-emerges from the depths of history, uncovering deep and everlasting bonds.

Each poem invites the reader to explore the narrator's deeply personal and intimate perspective through pantheistic eyes. Written in the first person, every verse unfolds as both a reflection and a manifestation of a single universal mind and soul, drawing the reader into a shared understanding that love -in all its forms- is boundless, eternal, and permeates the cosmos.

This collection is intended to be a celebration of love's universality, and a reminder that queer love is not a modern construct, but a force that has shaped human lives since the beginning of civilization.

“Scents of Lavender” is available on AMAZON at:

https://mybook.to/Fbo5QDA

ART WITH PURPOSE

A heartfelt thanks to Iconic LGBTQ The Art of Gay Style Culture, Aesthetics & Kink for promoting Scents of Lavender through beautifully crafted merchandise on Redbubble. The proceeds of all sales go toward supporting queer artists with disabilities worldwide, ensuring that creativity remains accessible to those most in need.

Please check out the Scents of Lavender merchandise & support our artists here:

https://www.redbubble.com/shop/ap/171031924

WORLDPRIDE 2025 + OUR PRIDE SHORTS & ARTS FEST

I’m thrilled to announce I have been invited to participate as a speaker in this extraordinary worldwide online event celebrating queer voices in art, music, history, storytelling and various other creative forms. Join me on Saturday, June 7th at 12 noon EST for an interactive video session in which I will be reading poems from Scents of Lavender and discussing the narratives.

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I am delighted to announce the launching of my new book of illustrated poetry, "Scents of Lavender -- Queer Love Through the Ages --In Verse", which will be available on Amazon on June 1st. This book consists of 25 poems dedicated to highlight romantic queer relationships in history around the globe. It is intended to be a celebration of love's universality, and a reminder that queer love is not a modern construct but a force that has shaped human lives since the beginning of civilization.

You can find “Scents of Lavender” here:

https://mybook.to/Fbo5QDA

TO MY FAITHFUL FOLLOWERS AND SUBSCRIBERS:

“Scents of Lavender” is the product of intense research over a 12-month period. Each poem was carefully crafted in a deliberate attempt to breathe life into evocative scenes where queer love proudly re-emerges from the depths of history, uncovering deep and everlasting bonds.

Through the voices of the lovers themselves, I aim to capture the essence of their relationships, the longing, the joy, and the resilience. While some of the settings and dialogue may be fictional, the narratives are rooted in the accounts of the protagonists’ contemporaries.

Each poem invites the reader to explore the narrator’s deeply personal and intimate perspective through pantheistic eyes. Written in the first person, every verse unfolds as both a reflection and a manifestation of a single universal mind and soul, drawing the reader into a shared understanding that love –in all its forms– is boundless, eternal, and permeates the cosmos.

https://mybook.to/Fbo5QDA

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Author’s Note

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

BACKGROUND

Athens, Greece, 514 BCE

Harmodius and Aristogeiton were an aristocratic male couple who assassinated Hipparchus, the younger brother of Hippias, an oppressive tyrant, at a festival on the Acropolis. The motive for the murder was Aristogeiton’s resentment of Hipparchus, who had attempted to seduce Harmodius but had been rebuffed.

Aristogeiton feared Hipparchus could use his power to take his lover from him, by force. Instead, Hipparchus, whose lust turned into anger, chose to avenge himself by shaming Harmodius’ sister in public, thereby humiliating her entire family. This enraged Harmodius and Aristogeiton who decided to take action.

At the festival, the pair cornered Hipparchus, drew their daggers and stabbed him to death. As soon as the commotion occurred, Hippias’ spearmen killed Harmodius on the spot and captured Aristogeiton, who died under torture shortly afterward.

Three years later, Hippias was deposed, democracy was established, and Harmodius and Aristogeiton became known as martyrs and heroes. Despite the personal motivation for their deeds, the lovers were celebrated as “liberators” in songs and public speeches, statues were erected in their honor, and their relationship was hailed as a model of “just love”, and beneficial to the city of Athens.

Aristogeiton’s Just Love

They said we died for freedom,
but when we struck Hipparchus—
drunk on his birthright—
we did, so we could guard our honor,
and keep our love from shame.
He mistook desire for entitlement,
and silence for a beckoning ghost.
With grasping hands
he chased the wind itself
and spun in circles,
emptiness surrounding him.
Harmodius would not betray me.
Spurned, Hipparchus turned bitter and cruel,
and, brandishing
the poison in his breath,
he slandered an innocent —Harmodius’ sister—
disgracing her before the eyes of the Agora,
on the day of the Great Panathenaea.
That sealed his fate.
We moved through the crowd,
garlands veiling our resolve.
The Acropolis rose around us
like a closing fist.
We found Hipparchus
beneath Athena’s gaze.
We drew our daggers,
the blades knew where to go.
Alas, 
to see that lustful prince, 
brother of the tyrant,
bleed like a man, then crumble,
brought no relief.
The guards came swiftly
and felled my sweet Harmodius,
a blossom torn before its hour,
my heart undone.
I was seized,
dragged like refuse,
and taught the many tongues of pain
before my shade set sail for Hades.
Such was our end, I thought.
But then, we heard the tales
of a pair who dared
stand against the despot.
It was not us.
We stood for love.
Just love.
The kind that blooms
even in the age of tyrants.

DCW

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Author’s Note

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

BACKGROUND

Jiankang, China, 559 CE

When Emperor Wen of Chen ascended the throne at the age of 37 he brought a poor youth to court with him. His name was Han Zigao and he was known for his beauty and grace. He served the emperor as his personal attendant, even helping him bathe. This intimacy gradually evolved into a romantic relationship.

While at court, Zigao learned riding and shooting skills, proving himself to be loyal and capable. Over time, this prompted the emperor to make him a commander. After several successful military campaigns, he promoted him to general of the Right Guard at his palace. From then on, the emperor and Zigao spent all of their time together, until the emperor’s death in 566 CE. Rivals of Zigao wasted no time in forcing him out of the imperial court and compelling him to commit suicide.

Han Zigao

I was Wen of Chen,

the emperor who gazed into your moonlit eyes

and saw reflections of your soul laid bare.

You bathed me once in waters warm
where gentle hands and burning thoughts

would one day yield a deeper bond.

I brought you into my court,

wrapped you in silken robes

and gave you rank,

trusting you in blood and sword—
that we might find each other

on the battlefield,

where glory crowned us

and dreams endured.

Until the day my strength began to fade,
and crows appeared

circling above my tired frame.
You came —with armor and with tears—
to shield me and defend me.

Alas, I was already riding the dragon

that would bear me

to the Celestial Realm.

At once,

our foes replaced me,

banished you,

and forced you to take the blade.
You bowed your head,

no plea, no outcry,
and walked alone to meet your fate.
Perhaps you knew,
our tale, our dream, our love,

would never die.

DCW

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If you enjoy my work, I invite you to join a growing constellation of kin souls in a journey into realms yet to be discovered by becoming a FREE subscriber to my Substack.

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The evolution of languages is a natural, organic process driven by human interaction. Languages adapt, transform, and transition, reflecting the dynamic nature of human communication. Despite attempts by language purists to freeze languages in time, the relentless march of change reshapes linguistic landscapes.

Social media has significantly influenced language evolution, fostering brevity, informality, and creativity. The rise of texting and online messaging has led to abbreviations like "u" replacing "you," mirroring the historical shift from "thou" to "you." This change exemplifies linguistic efficiency, where convenience and speed override traditional grammatical norms.

Purists often criticize such adaptations, perceiving them as corruptions of the language. However, this perspective neglects the fundamental nature of language as a tool for communication. Languages have always evolved to suit the needs of their users. Old English's complex inflectional system gave way to Middle English's simpler structure, illustrating language's adaptability.

Other examples of language evolution include:

- Internet slang (e.g., "lol," "btw")

- Neologisms (e.g., "selfie," "hashtag")

- Shifting pronunciations (e.g., "knight" from "kuh-nicht" to "nait")

These changes demonstrate language's fluidity and responsiveness to cultural and technological advancements.

A special DM 2 those who are critical of individuals choosing to identify themselves as "they" as a way to assert their right to describe themselves as whoever they choose: FU!

Language standardization efforts often lag behind organic developments. Dictionaries and style guides eventually acknowledge and legitimize new words and usage. This recognition underscores the futility of resisting linguistic evolution.

Rather than viewing language as static and sacrosanct, we should embrace its dynamic nature. Language's ability to adapt ensures its continued relevance and effectiveness in facilitating human connection.

By acknowledging language's organic evolution, we can appreciate the beauty of linguistic diversity and the creativity of human expression. Language purism's rigid stance misses the essential point: language lives, breathes, and changes, reflecting our shared humanity.

Nuf sed.

DCW

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A whirling dervish

caught my attention

at The Saint.

Odd...

No one else

in sight,

I thought,

as I observed his

flowing white robe

spinning

on the dance floor.

Was it the poppers

that turned that mirror ball

into a spacecraft?

Laser beams

shooting down

on the fog

rising from the ground

were no match 

for the bright

tiara-turned-halo

hovering

above his head.

He levitated toward me,

offered me

an impish smile,

pivoted,

and left me breathless.

I heard a sighing wind

and a translucent threshold

appeared

out of nowhere.

Heart pounding,

I saw him glow

and disappear

into the shimmering portal.

DCW

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Author’s Note

The poem that follows is part of a series dedicated to highlight queer love through the ages.

Wilde and The Zealots

Reviled

and pilloried

by the mob

I stood

at the Old Bailey

and took

the rage

of our tormentors

poised

to destroy us.

"What is

the love

that dare

not speak

its name?"

they thundered,

morphing

your prose

into cold,

murderous daggers.

Malevolence leaked

from the mouths

of the zealots

seeping through

the floorboards

groaning

underneath my feet.

My dear Bosie,

if not for you

my love,

how could I have

faced

such vitriol

and invective?

I raised

my head up high

and out

they came:

the words

that bore

our truth.

I would have

never denied us!

DCW

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Spears

of glittering diamonds

pierce

the velvet canopy

above.

Purple stardust

bursts

into

a million stars.

Red, white, and blue

bolts of lightning

appear

in the distance.

Thunder

heralds

the birth

of a new galaxy,

beautiful,

powerful and proud.

DCW

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