The Maltese Moon,
she draws my eyes
to shapely orb
in starlit sky
she smiles at me
with wanton grace
and spills desire
upon my face
I'm all awash
in milky glow
Mine to know...
the Maltese Breeze
he flirts with me
can't let me be
his fingers trace
my rounded face
my hair he twirls
my skirt's a whirl
he has no care
this Maltese Breeze
alone can dare
and set me free
The Maltese Sea
now beckons me
wets my desire
in moon glow fire
that rides the waves
as my heart craves
His liquid arms
and all his charms
This Maltese Sea
so vast so free
is calling me
is calling me....
I close my eyes
as Maltese Air
caresses my lips
in great fanfare
I breath him in
in sheer delight
by his might
I pause a while
my life on hold..
my heart, it beats
so brave, so bold
The others, they just
walk on by
and yet I wait
alone, I sigh
Awash in light
of Maltese Moon
the Maltese Breeze
just simply croons
and Maltese Sea
he, murmurs sweet
and I am lost
In Maltese treat
The magic starts to fade away
I start to walk, I cannot stay
They've called me from my reverie
I rush to catch up with the three
but turn for one more blessed glance
at Maltese Moonbeam's fond romance
There's more to me than what they know
more passion than what I can show
The Maltese Moon, she smiles at me
For we have shared sweet ecstasy
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2016
I will sit on the porch, with the August moon
The old swing sways, with a sleepy croon
... softly humming to make me smile *
In soothing rhythm, all the while
while shadowed moonlight knows our tune
A lonely owl, and then a lark,
calls out to me, within the dark
Starlight glistens, this peaceful night,
while the moon and I, together, listen *
How softly evening whispers twirl, and stir the branches in the breeze
The falling leaves around me curl,
to fall asleep beneath the trees
I'll make a wish, and close my eyes
and drink the splendid moonlit night
I will sit with the moon for awhile....
while keeping me company, with its gentle light....
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009
Oh dear moon sitting in your quiet orb,
My brother and companion. How can you
Stay silent amidst the night sky enclosed
By beauty and exquisiteness too far
Too reach? Are you not jealous of the stars
And their stories and fame? Do you sleep at
Day and dream of becoming a diamond
Instead of a rock surrounded by gems?
How can you even breath and simply
Say “I am fine” standing in the shadow—
Forever, of the radiant red sun?
But yet, you still glow each and every
Night, amongst the many Gods and legends
That man has accepted and admired.
Oh my dearest moon, we will leave our mark.
Submitted for Deborah Guzzi’s “Mission Impossible” contest
Copyright © Mike Butler | Year Posted 2010
We hold hands walking under the bright beam of God’s Moon Light,
And stop and kiss so intently in the soft cradle of the dark Moon Night.
The passion and rapture together we feel so on this cold black night,
Is reflected and majestically warmed by the touch of the Moon Light.
I look lovingly into your eyes on this quite special dark Moon Night,
Marveling at the love so reflected in your eyes by the Moon Light.
This is an enchanted sight to behold by All who love the Moon Light,
Reflecting the beauty and meaning while savoring all the Moon Night.
A deep Cosmic Blackness pervades the canvas of this great Moon Night,
While God’s grace and love pleasure us with a most bright Moon Light.
Almighty God in Heaven gently modulates the tone of this Moon Light,
Bringing constant wonder and glory to All on this most dark Moon Night.
My love and I now understand the mystical meaning of this Moon Light,
As we ponder and hold so special God’s emotion felt on this Moon Night.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany
(October 19, 2014) (Rhyme Couplet poetic format)
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014
16th & 28th may 2012.
By: SASHI PRABHU (ZEAUOXIS)
A fortnight back, an evening drove me to Sernabatim shores,
To calm my mind’s fury that was churning galore.
There, I listened silently to what the ocean waters were seeking to tell me,
Opened myself to the wisdom, which unfolds with each wave that melts, frothy but free.
Far away on the shores stood alone in soothing waters, I me and myself, alone,
Gawking and listening to the tepid simmering waters, melancholy strains unknown.
And then the churns in my mind began to gasp and soothingly ebb down,
Festooned happiness and joys began to ooze and erupt all around.
Ears now filled with sweet melodies of spent waves tirelessly repeat,
Each note calmed my mind and subtle positives vibes making my mood upbeat.
The warm saline breeze whispered as she blew around me,
A queer descant engulfed my bare body amidst mists of water sprays.
On the supple and soft shores made myself a pillow of wet sand,
And spread myself facing the black velvet sky that to me seems so grand.
The stars, planets and the moon up above,
Stood witness to my body and mind, of earthly pain freed now……
The sand was my warm bed at night,
The frothy spent wave came on to me like blankets of never ending delight.
Spirits look down on me from all round and up above,
Now, disappeared the abyss of remorse, as were abound the cataclysmic effects of joy and love.
I felt I was in paradise that night,
Under the moon shining bright,
And then opened, the flood gates of my mind,
Like magic, the sublime wisdom into me seeped in to be confined.
And then my mind’s canvas filled with tone tint and hues
With the wisdom that the waters to me impart without bemuse.
Stop leaving and you will arrive,
Or else joys of innocence you will deprive….
Stop searching and you will see,
Don’t hold on or withhold..let go and it will come back of its own will …free…
Stop running away and you will be found,
What goes around comes around..
I struggle no more,
I live my moments without hate and abhor.
I walk freely and can now attract,
That to me which was absolutely abstract.
For in me has now absolutely dissolved,
The fear of separation, failure and anxiety... To the next level evolved.
To the next level evolved
i wrote this one one a shack at sernabatim beach at south goa ,India... and left it in the menu card......4 days later i got it published in the newspaper using my pen name....the next week end i went to the shack and the owner had put it up for all to read
Copyright © sashi prabhu | Year Posted 2012
I had a horse named Suzie Haus when I was twenty-one.
I had wanted her since I was seven, the waiting was finally done.
She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, in the World up to that day.
And forever in my memory her beauty will continue to stay.
A painted mare with a black mane and tail, then brown over white.
She became the best friend I’d ever have, you might say we were tight.
I fed her every morning, as I talked to her as I cleaned out her stall.
Then every night I did the same, plus cleaned four hooves all.
I brushed her to a shine, I was so proud of her each day.
Then with a saddle, reins, and me…we were on our way.
The stable was near a river, on top a great big bluff.
A dirt road shadowed with trees allowed us to strut our stuff.
As we danced down the road, the lightening bugs rejoiced.
And gentle breezes touched us, giving the leaves their voice.
Then peace would settle round us, as off to trails we would sashay.
This was the stuff that dreams were made of, and I had it every day.
Birds could be heard throughout the woods, the serenade complete.
I saw the river far below, and the sky with clouds of fluff so sweet.
Sometimes we were with others, but most often we were alone.
But it didn’t really matter, for we always knew the way home.
As we turned to go down the bluff, the river urged us to come below.
Deer danced on the land beneath, in the fields a buck and does.
The gentle angle to the floor below, allowed us to mingle in.
They let us close within a few feet, they thought Suzie was a friend.
At the river the blue sky with a reddish sunset had lite everything aglow.
Soon river barges came floating by, and it was quite a show.
Fishermen sat there minding their peace, until the moon began to glow.
The moon twinkling on the river below, was always beautiful and clear.
We’d talk a while, and breathe so deep, the air had a different flavor here.
Once I met a young man looking for inspiration to write a song.
At that time it began to rain so I helped him quickly get where he belonged.
He thanked me profusely, as he made it to his car.
I had helped him save his love, a very beloved old guitar.
From inside his car he played a song he’d written, while he had been there.
I sat upon Suzie beneath a canopy of trees, that sheltered me, I swear.
Finally the rain and song were done, my serenade complete.
Then I rode off back to home, later achieving more memories and gentle treats.
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2011
Outside, the moon is alone in the sky
and floats bright white in the ocean
of the great black-blue on high.
It illuminates slightly my surroundings,
giving everything the soft pallid hue
that makes everything something familiar,
though some things I have never seen.
All things being equal,
under the bright white moon,
I see the waves of grass
in neighboring lawns that I’ve never trod,
and I see the soft waves of the moon
dancing off the rooftops of houses
that I’ve never been welcomed in,
that contain neighbors that I’ve never met.
It’s cold out…
if the sun gives off heat in the day,
does the moon radiate chills at night?
The moon sheds its cold, emotionally bankrupt light
on everything I see.
Is this how I should be?
If this is how all emotional attachment ends up,
should I even bother?
Or better yet, should I wait for the moon,
that reopens my wounds just by shining on me?
Every time it comes into sight,
I can’t help but think of all the times
it left me dark and cold.
Should I wait for it to change,
or should I move on?
I can’t see why I should waste my time,
when there are other things that
can radiate a brighter and warmer light than this.
If I see it shining its light on others;
what light does it have for me?
Copyright © Brenden Taylor | Year Posted 2010
Where dost thou lay thine head oh Prince
when half hidden shadows choose to disappear
beneath the witness of an all seeing moon?
Do thou beat thy bone breast in regret dear one
retrieving like a munuc (monk) in his monastery
rambling prayers by soul n' heart?
Such questions from wif (wife) of thy bosom need love
and do deserveth retribution of lip n' tongue
So find it in thine heart to whip your words
and froth them to thy pillow, the old adage,
Where dost thou place a firey heart oh Majesty
when half closed lids beg for sleep n' rest
beneath the turmoil of a soul in love?
Thou art a broken reed, half whittled wood
and when the noon day sun arrives, oh could it be
you fumble n' retrieve misunderstood
a slip of water overlay?
Now hither come my way,
Beneath the magic moon, I do await
a mirror of the great "I AM"
an ancient creaking gate...
Where dost thou lay thine head oh Prince
when fingers of a saintly morning rives, evince
and where do shadows disappear to
when love finally becomes clear...
October 12, 2015
Copyright © Mystic Rose | Year Posted 2015
Angry Shots At The Bright Howling New Moon
He saw in himself, door into the dark.
An empty house with wicked black windows.
Such dreaded truth, he thought a brilliant spark,
lightning caged there for use by brave heroes.
Death, that odd illusion he did deny,
why give it power and leeway too soon?
Dismiss it as Nature's dark scheming lie,
angry shots at the bright howling new moon.
Had he traveled on after others died?
Invincible to the pain of death's bite,
immune to sorrow and fate's cut applied.
Blind in misery, never wanting sight!
He saw himself, a man with no real home.
A shadow destined this bleak world to roam.
Robert J. Lindley, 3-09-2016
Syllables Per Line:
10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Lines: 17 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically:
Total # Words: 105
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016
Why Poets Write
Why do poets write?,
Why does the moon shine at night?.
Why does water fall with such grace?,
Why is a rainbow such a beautiful sight?
So, why do poets write?
Do they write because the moon shines so bright?
Do they write because water falls with such grace?
Or is it because of the majesty of a hawk, in flight?
Poets write because that’s what we do,
Whether it be a Sonnet, Etheree or Haiku,
We see things through our own prism,
And write about it in our creative point of view.
This is why I write,
I write because I see beauty in the moonlight,
I appreciate the splendor of a waterfall,
And the majesty of a hawk, in flight.
I write because it feeds my soul,
Writing the perfect poem is my ultimate goal,
I write, I do my best,
The rest is out of my control.
The perfect words, in the perfect order,
Follow the rules, no pressure,
Slowly see your creation come alive,
When it works, there’s nothing better.
Poets, generally, don’t write for the glory,
We heal people by proxy,
We are emotion peddlers,
And we do it all for free.
I can’t speak for everyone, nor would I try,
My urge to write is something I’d best not deny,
Or things go drastically wrong,
Like ice, in the middle of July.
So, regardless of why you write,
Keep your vision in sight,
Take criticism with a grain of salt,
Never get discouraged, never get uptight.
Copyright © Samual Ronthorpe | Year Posted 2012
where in night shadows
only moon and stars are seen
blind men feel no warmth
with the light of day
when a full sun fills the sky
all men will feel warmth
blind who survive night
basking in warmth of that day
felt not moon and stars
By John Trusty © 1/20/12 for Linda-Marie’s haiku trio contest with a little sun/moon, stars/sky thrown in.
Copyright © John Trusty | Year Posted 2012
We drift softly together- -
hands glazing a window filled with stars
where row of flowers bends its twirling hips
and curtains lift the fabric of breath,
until we become keepers in springtime hours
blaming the grandeur of moon,
and in the stillness of dusk
when all blossoms turn to virtues
deepening the fragrance of the sky,
we will find each other on a cradle
of roses in the shade--
a breeze disrobes our pores
stirring the glow of fireflies blazed,
till darkness swallows our fog
amidst a prism of framed moments
undefined by any name, while we,
in a bright pastel of a springtime,
together we drift- -
For Skat: Romantic Poem Contest
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2013
There's a light now trailing the crescent moon
right before dawn as it slowly pales.
This brings vast knowledge of what's coming soon.
Now has the time come to set forth our sails.
My cup runneth over,my hope does too.
How can we be silent when we know well
Cinderella's destiny fit like a shoe.
Just proving her fate was her personal hell.
And so we move forward into the day.
Sunlight tricks us as we search around.
Looking for kismet of our own , we pray.
Coming from our lips an unusual sound.
Come with me to the curious side
and we shall always anonymous be.
In retrospect we should have tried
to feel the moon while we were free.
Copyright © Deb Wilson | Year Posted 2014
Pity me not because the moon is on wane
Remember when was full lighting the night
Pity me not for thinnning of dark blonde mane
That has gone from beauty to cotton light
Pity me not for energy deplete
Now time to snuggle between warm soft sheets
What's lacking in energy gain in sleep
With love beside me snoring to same beat
With love he continues to look on me
Even though my moon is waning this eve
Brown eyes adore me_ his love only sees
Girl of seventeen with green eyes__ naive
Pity me for my slow learning of life
Where in places my gifts could have stopped strife
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2010
C antankerous and chimerical - comingle with my childlike charms.
A morous and antagonistic - angel wings melt within my arms.
N urturing and nostalgic - as I cradle one's frangible needs.
C aress my curvaceous chasms - when shared confusion slowly bleeds.
E ver evasive, always enticing - my heart may tease you; yet not tempt.
R eminiscent and roseate - dancing with dreams not yet dreamt.
Cancer - June 29th 19....
Sorry, my computer froze.
Copyright © John Heck | Year Posted 2009
I lay sleeping with eyes wide open,
I lay sleeping with dreams that have no meaning,
I lay sleeping with nothing to dream about.
I lay sleeping with no care and sleep with eyes blind,
I lay sleeping, there with my eyes wide open.
Seeing the dark change from dark to black.
There is no moon, there is no sky
just purple strokes of paint in the sky.
Take that morning dew smell and close your blind eyes.
Smell the morning, that smell that clicks in your mind.
The smell of childhood dreams,
that as an adult never came true.
Sleeping bare in the nude with your eyes wide open.
Thinking of her, as she is five thousand miles away from you.
Wanting to love and hold her, but no use in crying.
Sleeping their with blind eyes in the dark that dances in the light.
Your lamplight turned down low,
as life trickeles down in its nightgown and yawns for sweet slumber.
Tired from longs days, and sometimes long nights,
wanting to curel in bed and close its blind eyes.
Dusk will soon peek its head through the blinds
and awake life to a new dawn.
She sleeps in the morning, and walks at night.
When he sleeps at night, and walks with a bare nude heart in the morning.
Life climbs over yellow mountains,
and meets her fellow compainion
a handsome fellow with broud shoulders and blessed with an ego
as I sleep there with my eyes wide open.
As I sleep with my eyes blind to what life has intented for me,
and as I raise to walk the lone streets at the break of the dew covered lawn
at the first sweet smells of dawn,
I can see life go on with the handsome man
and I blind and wanting to go to bed.
I dream of dreams that have no meaning
Gardens of cluelessness and raging emotions
tare me down and I am confused on which way to go.
Do I stay here and dream away, blind and half awake
as life slaps me across my broad cheek?
Or shall I walk on with life hand and hand
and regain my vision of the world,
Start to sleep with dreams that make sense
and dreams that are made of gold and have no end?
Dream of fancy dreams that show love and happy endings
I would love that, and I would love to walk with life,
but she is out of my leauge.
And my bed is so cozy and I feel like sleeping.
So I shall sleep on more restless night chashing life down.
I lay sleeping with my eyes wide open.
I lay sleeping with dreams that have no meaning.
I lay sleeping waiting for life to come back from the mountains
and lay beside me.
I lay sleeping with hope of regaining hope and salvage
what is left of my spirit at hand.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
over black satin in
skies just beyond the midnight hour
strings play silent,
old, memories waking
a long forgotten orchestra
of heartbeats thump
as thunderous thoughts churn
crescendos of mixed emotions
of fallen stars
wag their cleft tongues and taunt
for dead wishes of love to be
golden eyes are
blind and yet still see all.
Each lie dashes the truth and kills
in lairs of midnight lies.
Serpents coil around tomorrow's
binds the spirit but it's
just a phase of the midnight moon;
will not fall from
the midnight sky because
it floats on confidence, not love;
Copyright © Jean Marble | Year Posted 2010
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘’’’’’’’’’’ ‘ ‘
Those tender wrinkling leaves pour dizzily down
auburn dressed palms of shaven- tree solemnity,
like drowsy tunes of autumn’s harp sound,
saintly foliage fluting, swooping in withered harmony.
Auburn dressed palms of shaven- tree solemnity
tangerine floats of stems fading by lamp light,
saintly foliage fluting, swooping in withered harmony
their torn skins crackle, mumble and fall from flight.
Tangerine floats of stems fading by lamp light,
brushing a wandering sky soaking in rainfall’s keep
their torn skins crackle, mumble and fall from flight
and whispers of stooped dance soothe the moon to sleep.
Brushing a wandering sky soaking in rainfall’s keep
spreading leaves’ goodbye glory for a final display,
and wafts of stooped dance soothe the moon to sleep
as full season of fall sheds life’s leaves to pray.
Spreading leaves’ goodbye glory for a final display,
like drowsy tunes of autumn’s harp sound,
as full season of fall seems to shed life’s leaves to pray
those tender wrinkling leaves pour dizzily down. ~
© rights reserved
By: nette onclaud
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2011
Tonight, the full moon blooms
And foils the looming gloom.
The remnant doom from noon
Has lost it's bullish tune.
And embraces dusk's eerie cool.
The village square it illuminates
Arena of moonlight tales of late
The little ones gather and wait
While the elderly engage in debates
And the goats noisily ruminates
The bright night, lights sparks
Of bliss and joy in trees' barks
The tall iroko whistle in parks
Where young lovers end their tracks
And skimpy skirts lose their tacks
The son of perdition frets unsure
The thief in the night fears exposure
The pirate sailor steers from ashore
The night fisherman denied action
For the kind light bathes the ocean
Tonight, the full moon beams proud
As the town crier makes his round
Belting forth a piercing sound.
While the town's chorus echoes loud
The stage is set for the yearning crowd
Copyright © Kolapo Olapoju | Year Posted 2012
After dark I feel
The need to be awake
In the forbidden world
The world that shows
Me my mirror
Of hope, despair, glory
A true story
After dark civilization goes to bed
Primitiveness reigns away
The ugly looks beautiful
And all are in unison
Riches and rags
Virgin to whore
We all go through
The same door
After dark the sun retires
The moon prevails
With a thousand blind eyes
One sees it all
One hears it all
After dark sounds sound
The dark darkness
After dark emptiness befriends
Bottled up emotions
The bottle helps …
Copyright © Goldie Uttamchandani | Year Posted 2013
across my soul
with the taunting touch of a lover
resting softly on places once dead
now unfolding, surprised
by color, texture, warmth
But then - gone
no, there, again, flitting
lighting yet another gray valley
where none had existed,
or maybe had once
but learn-ed dullness
caused it to
erratic, even playful
my mind tries to
anticipate or follow
only able to allow
the play to
where only a “now”
blossoms - shyly first,
by each random
Copyright © Susan Buchel | Year Posted 2011
The warped side of the Moon shall fall to
I will be watching at rapid speeds beyond
Most will be wearing garments of
Some of you’ll hear trumpets that are loud
More of you will be an embedded trap tied
You best remain in your God given Graced
It will be a life or death to hold on to that
And for God’s sake don’t partake in the
lost and found.
It is easy to lose your way through the
Nothing is ever what it seems unless you
So join within yourself become one big
And make sure you have a white candle
Never lose the light of a white candle as
the dark side of the Moon falls.
For the light of your white candle is right
behind darkness and enthralls.
© Copyright: Ann Rich 2007.
Copyright © Ann Rich | Year Posted 2010
I'm a Wood Cockerel
a Metal Tiger's my mate,
which meant for her birthday
five years I did wait.
Then twenty four years
had passed on their way
till joining of species
on that happy day.
Tiger and Cockerel
fur and feather and fun,
in crowing and growling
they can't be outdone.
But nesting together,
at home in their lair,
this cock and his pussy
combine as a pair.
They’re totally manic
mammal and bird,
the pictures absurd!
Now that forty five years
has passed this pair by,
their children surround them
and non can deny,
that Cockerels and Tigers
though a different breed
found that love found a way
to propagate seed.
under Chinese Moon,
there’s non now are saying
they’ll separate soon.
For a lifetime of living
they’ve shared with each other…
A Cockerel as Father
and Tigress as Mother.
Ivor G Davies
Copyright © Ivor Davies | Year Posted 2015
Why should i shoot for the moon
If all that ill be is a star
Why should i settle for less than my dream?
The moon is far
But i will reach it
And all of you who hold me back
Can get out of my way
'Cause im going far
Copyright © rebecca howard | Year Posted 2011
The romantic poets were too early to postulate total atheism,
And so freshened up the church by aligning god with nature,
And I believe they had a preference for nature over god or theism,
Because they never posit him as social with high, tall stature.
Keats says that the nightingale exemplifies nature as active,
As bestowing upon all human beings meaning, sense and worth,
Since the bird’s song objectifies how nature truly is effective,
Fulfilled by happiness, and aimed at contentment and rebirth.
Nature triggers in us thoughts and words to settle and allure,
Offers us our language to dispel pain and find the cure,
And Keats contends that poetry, the credibility of its form,
Epitomises what nature proffers, a receptacle rather warm.
When you feel awkwardly suicidal with nowhere else to turn,
Nature lullabies you into your own sense, one you can rip and burn;
No controlled access freeways, no road signs for your safety,
Only soft, quiet communication that's never guilty of brevity.
Just as nature is beautiful, so Keats claims people as beautiful too,
As he uses the word beauty right in the middle of his nature exposé;
He referred to flora, the moon, the stars, the forest and what seems true,
Tnat song of the nightingale that's for anyone, as this bird is not choosey.
He suggests that light or positivity in nature means movement,
That the soft breeze dispels the gloom and mossy pavement;
Quantum physics does reduce matter back down to interactive particles,
In which kinetic energy can be mistaken for minuscule, motionless articles.
His mentor is the nightingale as part of nature’s whole,
No minister or clergyman to advise him on his soul,
Stillness and bird song scent his poisoned air surrounding,
And it is all but for the silence of that beauteous music, astounding.
Nature does not irritate him when he surmises and introspects,
But upholds itself in majestic grandeur with unquestionable prospects;
It speaks about life, your life, your daily happenings and exotic dreams,
And forever exists for us when sense is just not within our means.
Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015
Like a devoted dog, ignorant of human schemes,
The Moon returns and seems to watch,
Towards worldly affairs she is ambivalent,
Instead she simply shines.
©david byrne oct ‘12
Copyright © David Byrne | Year Posted 2012
Turn to ash, then ride the tide ---
You runaway to find a place to hide ---
Then sadly you realize all too soon ---
The only place left is on the Moon.
Copyright © Sheol Moribund | Year Posted 2009
The amazing way we came to know
We each had some place else to go
where eternal sparks of passion’s fire
too hot to quench with earthly flesh
We understood our wants and needs
Taking eternity into account
never crossed our minds
when we evaluated our lives
We now step back and evaluate
and believe in our choices
We live a life our parents
could not even imagine
but the one thing they taught us
still holds true... the children are the most important thing.
Copyright © Robert Long Mellott | Year Posted 2011
I accidentally erased this sorry....
A tea cup moon hangs in the sky
Among diamonds glistening in the eye
A shooting star to wish upon
Falling to a world somewhere beyond
Gentle breezes dancing across water
Reflecting moonbeams one after the other
Crickets chirping, bullfrogs singing
In the distance people laughing
Alone on a sandy beach to reflect
Those important things I too often neglect
I'll fill that tea cup moon up with other wishes
And stay here till sunrise releases her golden kisses
Copyright © Donna Jones | Year Posted 2013
Gossamer thoughts, gossamer things weaved as
sliken nightgowns with quarter moon kisses,
lurking with left handed promises
with secret eyes and au pair wishes.
In morning memories, school girl, you and sun
rise, maybe mantraing,"Thy will be done."
Gossamer days, gossamer nights envision
dawn and dusk as tenacious myths begotten
by Genesis and Revelation.
Spider (Greek astronomers gave no constellation)
Mayan's Orion* for celestial landings
and only seen at a bird's eye viewing
or mountains or planes---you always succumb
to "Thy will be done" by your demure designs.
Gossamer thoughts, gossmer things, love,
you, too, shall pass, from a school boy's mind,
not thinking of you until dawns efface
old webs and dusks become Penelope's face
of quiet desperation, imploring,"Where? When? Why?"
I'm now spinning webs spelling,"Goodbye, goodbye."
While expiring, your nightgown creases...
You're sleeping Arachne's and Selene's schemes
with gossamer dreams and gossamer needs,
while stars weave around quarter moon promises.
Copyright © Paul Moon | Year Posted 2011