I looked up at a silver moon
Peering through a cloud of misty gloom
As we sailed across the Atlantic Sea
That fateful night in June
And as I stood upon the bow
A furrow crossed my troubled brow
When I saw a dying star fall from the sky
As the wind out of the north
Began to cry
'Twas then with fearful heart
I came at last to realize
That we were sailing
On a wave of ill-tidings
Known as 'The Devil's Tide'
For no omen of the sea
Brought more fear than thee
A fallen star - a silver moon
Together in the month of June
If legend true would surely bring us doom
So with no trace of land in sight
We sailed onward through the night
I - the Captain 'Louie Lou'
With my faithful crew
Aboard the 3 mast schooner 'Angel - of the Blue'
On canvas wings we flew
Upon the wailing wind that blew
Then suddenly a hush of malaise
Crushed the summer night
Filling all the crew with dreadful fright
As all the stars in heaven lost their light
And the silver moon dipped completely out of sight
Leaving us to drift without guidance
To our unknown plight
An eerie sound began to roll out of the west
Growing louder and louder as we held our breath
Until it was upon us and the ship began rise
As we looked in horror into the Devil's eye
As the Angel of the Blue began to fly
Up the Devil's breast she climbed 20 fathoms high
One by one the Angel's wings were torn away
As she fought to save us from the Devil's rage
Screams of horror falling from her timber sides
As the crew fell into the Devil's tide
And I - tethered to the helm - watched them die
As we climbed even higher into the Devil's eye
And as the Angel's body creaked and cracked
We finally scaled the crest and rode upon the Devil's back
Just before I fainted and my world went black
I woke up in the morning high on a mountain side
Never knowing just how I had survived
knowing only that my Angel and my crew had died
Many years have come and gone since then
And I am forever haunted by each and every one of them
My faithful crew and my mighty 'Angel of the Blue'
I see their faces in my dreams
As I awaken to their screams
Wishing, too - that I had died
But someone had to live
To tell the tale of the 'Devil's Tide'.
Author: Elaine George
Entry for contest: Legends
Awarded: First Place
Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2007
She climbed the liquid staircase
Just to gaze at gleaming stars;
All she wanted was a wee one
To light up her fair boudoir.
A thousand times she spied them
Flash across the midnight sky;
She strained so high to catch one,
But the mermaid could not fly.
Exhausted with hard striving,
She lay back against the sea,
Rocking on the waves, gently,
As she rested peacefully.
The moon, climbing his set arc,
Saw her glist'ning on the foam;
At first sight so madly loved
Her, longing to take her home.
To lightly comb her flowing
Hair, he sent a small moonbeam,
Who tangled in her tresses
And woke her from her dream.
With a flash, her glitt'ring tail
Slapped the water and she fled,
Sliding down in the ocean,
Hiding in her pearl lined bed.
The moon, absent one moonbeam,
Wanders heaven, round and round,
Surveying seas and oceans,
Praying his mermaid is found.
Sometimes in the deep, dark pool
He sees a shining light start
Beneath the frothing billows,
And he clutches for his heart.
Forever in his orbit...
She, forever in the waves,
Her hair with his beam glowing,
All of love he ever gave.
May 31, 2014
Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014
I dream about a day that may never come,
I watch my life unravel, simply come undone.
My feet begin to drag as I walk across the floor,
Still I cannot wait for what the future has in store.
I go out for a walk as the sun is getting low,
The sky explodes in colors as I watch it go.
It kisses the horizon and then it goes away,
It seems to mark the end of just another day.
I stand upon a hill as the light begins to fade,
I think about the day, decisions that I made.
Light begins to falter as it all goes dark,
I feel this spark growing inside my heart.
I look into the valley as the darkness grows,
I see the sparks of fireflies they seem to glow.
I hear the birds sing they soon will retire,
I look up at the moon it appears to be on fire.
The stars up above look like diamonds in the sky,
I watch the lights on planes as they streak by.
I think of the darkness filled with all these lights,
They seem to be like beacons to guide me through the night.
I lay upon the grass and gaze upon the stars,
They sparkle so bright in a sky dark as tar.
I close my eyes and imagine I can fly,
Travel to the moon as it rises high.
The day has give way to the wonders of the night,
Everywhere I look, I catch another sight.
As time flies by, I wonder where it went,
A breeze blows, carrying a floral scent.
I climb from the hill it’s time to go to bed,
Visions of the night still dancing in my head.
Soon tomorrow shall become today.
The sun will rise and the stars will go away.
Copyright © Mark Russell | Year Posted 2012
He is caught between one life and another
while my pain lengthens like a shadow of the moon
We are like leaves, played with by the wind
O lengthening dark vision
reaching across our lives
It came, at last, without a sound...
his leave taking came without a word,
but we both heard it in the silence....
His world is in the palm of his hand
and my world is this moment that does not move
O furtuna, sternit fortem
O furtuna, rota tu volubillis
Never was he mine, never was he not mine
The child, no longer, child that bends and sways
My eyes reflect the clouds upon the sky
for he reaches out a hand upon my crown
and I feel the gentle warmth upon my head
A knowing hand of man, not boy, that once I vowed to keep
must leave and know that I will weep
as if I am the child, ....not he,...instead
O fortuna, velut luna
Statu variabillis, semper crescis, aut decrescis;
I force a smile, and watch him fly away
Quod per sortem .... Sternit fortem,
never was he mine, never was he not mine
For Deb's Contest: Bi-Lingual
O Fortuna (O Fortune)
Velut luna (like the moon)
Statu variabilis (you are changeable)
Semper crescis (ever waxing)
Aut decrescis; (and waning;)
Quod per sortem (since Fate)
Sternit fortem, (strikes down the string)
Rota tu volubilis, (you whirling wheel)
Corde pulsum tangite; (pluck the vibrating strings;)
Quod per sortem (since Fate)
Sternit fortem, (strikes down the string)
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2012
There's mischief in the air, and in the sky
Rises fair, sublime, and rare - Blue Moon.
Son of Venus, hidden, now lets fly
An arrow to a chaste fair maid who soon
Shall spy a youthful eager boy and sigh
As through the dance hall wafts a wistful tune.
For she, with goddess body silken-clad,
And rosebud cheeks and locks the color wheat,
Turns - the first she sees - a simple lad.
She's drawn to him - this boy that she must meet.
He sees her too; his countenance turns glad,
For she approaches with a smile so sweet!
Her face feels flushed; her blood now courses fire
beneath the spot where Cupid's dart was thrust.
With lingered gaze she speaks her soul's desire.
A feathered touch. To have him now she must.
Her honeyed voice and breath. He can't respire.
Her scent; the darkened room! He feels the lust.
He takes her by the waist of her soft dress.
They slowly move along the corner floor.
His fingers wrap around her back and press.
She leans into his body, wanting more.
Her fingers tread his neck; then they caress.
And next he leads her to the exit door.
She follows, not protesting, to his place,
Where, on the floor, their clothing soon is flung.
They fall onto his bed in an embrace.
With pleasured aching, soon they're lost among
the tangled sheets as bodies interlace.
He touches where her silken gown once clung. . .
Winged scamp with cherub's face and ready bow,
You laugh at each new fool that you waylay.
For love of reckless passion born, you know,
can't last. She wakes, and you've since traipsed away.
She gasps and shakes. The lad is dealt a blow,
His face once loved - now loathed by light of day.
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2009
What colour are the oceans?
On warm summer days the oceans are crystalline blue, with bright streaks
Of ivory flouting on the crest of each wave just before it crashes down
Into total oblivion!
And what colour are the mountains that enkindle a dying sun?
The mountains are bright red, like a burning ember in the flame
Of fire off our multimillion mile star, as it slowly dips to rest
Till the morning!
Oh what colour is a new born child?
A child holds the beauty of youth in colours that span the years of its parents
Age, until the greying colour of passing seasons takes away the child in us all.
And what colour is the moon above us?
In late fall the moon flickers in shades like lucent charcoal as it slowly cools,
Then turns to black!
What colour are our hopes, what colour are our dreams?
Nevermore are our hopes mixed in the colour of our dreams, for in wake our
Soul equates the mind for a second then is gone.
And what colour stands for the worth of our lives?
The motionless quiet waits silent, bound between colors more radiant than our past
But still more mysterious than our future
By M. Norton
The motionless quiet waits silent, bound between colours more radiant then our past
But still more mysterious then our future
By M. Norton
Copyright © Mark Norton | Year Posted 2010
A powder puff moon
hangs in a languid sky
gathers stardust from the milky way
and airbrushes the faces of passing angels
Copyright © valerie bellefleur | Year Posted 2008
Once night Gretta Foster sat in the backyard,
building a rocket ship that ought to take her a-far,
she had been working day and night - tirelessly,
hammering, programming, all so dexterously.
Then when the sun arose and sparkled in the sky,
Gretta was still working, that too without a sigh,
the ship was finally built, Gretta was on cloud nine,
but going a bit farther up than that seemed rather fine.
She sat inside the cockpit, tightened her seat belt,
pushed a few buttons, with such admirable stealth,
algorithms aplenty - all perfectly aligned,
as the engine started roaring, boisterously alight.
The rocket ascended at last, it set sail yonder,
to the farthest frontier that this universe could conjure,
and after it finally left the vivid atmosphere,
Gretta was so happy, she let out a smiling tear.
Days passed and she was put in catatonic sleep,
immobile and still, immersed in lovely dreams,
suddenly with a thud, the ship had landed still,
She woke up instantly, with a newfound thrill.
She wore the lunar suit, which she had stitched herself,
opened up the bolted door and descended the metal steps,
the moment she touched ground, she turned around,
and got pleasantly surprised by what she found!
A red-hatted impish elf, sat crossed leg,
a large nosed fairy stood, munching on nutmeg,
two rabbits bowed down to the rabbit goddess,
and two more pressed her feet, in a soft caress.
Gretta walked a step and heard the elf shout,
"oh silly person, take that suit out!,
we've got oxygen, plenty of em to breathe,
that suits a waste o' time and energy!"
Gretta obeyed, and unzipped the heavy suit,
underneath she wore a dress - flowery and cute,
"good going, young child, now lemme show you,
this lovely wonderland which you dub the moon!"
And the elf was right, they met unicorns,
box-laden garden paths and joyous little fauns,
walking and talking scarecrows, nursing little crows,
small blue doll houses with chuckling gnomes.
within a crater lived a colony of werewolves,
but they were nice and fair - specially one named Ulf,
he'd give her milk and tea with chocolate biscuits,
and in order to keep her warm, red spotted mitts.
The goddess too was nice, a wise and lovely soul,
"be imaginative and create, but don't forget your goal",
she'd also give her nutmeg of such abundant variety,
her best friend was a Faun, so strong and mighty.
and the Minotaurs build Gretta a lovely home,
with a mushroom roof and walls build of foam,
"stay here with us, Gretta, you'd have a great time",
said the red-hatted elf while singing a rhyme.
Gretta thought and thought, she came to a decision,
she decided to stay for sure, she looked forward for her admission,
and from thereon, life for her was perfected,
all her dying wishes had suddenly been resurrected.
Copyright © manek kohli | Year Posted 2013
written 20th Aug 2001
As I woke up this morning
instantly, I began mourning
For "I should be holding you, this special day
but, I know that there "is no possible way
Wondering, if you'd think that I would forget
is just "one more thing, I am left to regret
I pray, that we will be re-united together again, real soon
till then, I've blown you a birthday kiss, I sent via the moon
Overwhelmed, I feel as if I love you even more "today
"yes, today is special, after all it is your birthday
But, I couldn't forget you, no if's, but's or maybe
for you were blessed, forever to be my baby
You are now my "six year old lovable, Hannabelle
and no one on Earth, could "ever love you as well
Known now for eternity, making this a very special day
t'was only this day, you became my daughter in every way
written for my daughter Hannabelle
*For a mothers love is never bound by distance*
Copyright © Denise Hopkins | Year Posted 2013
It was a still October night when I was cold and all alone
as through the forest of my mind in thought I wandered on my own
The moon lay hidden by the clouds that rested heavy on my eyes
and as I stumbled through the dark I felt the wind begin to rise
I heard my name upon the wind as he was flying through the night
he called to me to come to him so he could take me on his flight
In soothing tones he spoke to me, his voice sang gentle through my mind
and in a flowing melody he spoke of wonders I would find
The wind sang out to me that night and with his song I was entranced
and it was windward my thoughts turned as in my heart his tempest danced
But still my feet stayed on the ground for I was too afraid to fly
and as the wind washed over me in mournful howls I heard him cry
As indecision split my mind my eyes were stinging with my tears
and tenderly with his caress he tried to ease me from my fears
Across my face his gentle breath had blown the clouds out of my eyes
and then he summoned to the moon who came to light my darkened skies
And when the moon had risen high his servants came into my sight
these waiting visions that I saw were whispers in the silver light
They came to carry me to him who now is waiting there for me
they said they'd help me find my way into his arms where I'd fly free
They said they wouldn't let me fall, they told me that they understand
and so I let them lead the way as I had given them my hand
Then I was lifted off the ground and we were soaring through the sky
and as I came into his arms he took away my fear to fly
Above the earth he carried me and as I watched it spin around
from in the heavens I could see all of the wonders to be found
I'll fly forever in his arms, among the stars where I will play
across the never ending sky, the spinning world so far away
Upon the wind you'll hear my song as we are sailing through the sky
and joyous is the song I sing as we are scaling ever high
I am alive upon the wind, I'm flying in his arms tonight
and like an echo I will fade as we are blowing out of sight......
Inspired by Elaine Georges' Tell Me A Story contest
Copyright © Robin L. Gass | Year Posted 2009
Military and civilian linguists and intelligence analysts, my colleagues and I were monitoring the Balkans troubles, supporting our troops in theater 'down range'. We were working the 'Mids' shift from 11 pm till 7 am at Bad Aibling Station--formerly a military intelligence site. I had read that we were in the western European zone that would experience a total eclipse of the sun that morning. One of the other Serbo-Croatian linguists had a car on post. I voiced the thought "wouldn't it be cool if we drove out to Mount Wendelstein and saw the eclipse from up there?!". He and another agreed. After shift we drove to the base of the mountain, and decided to hike the trail to the top rather than pay to ride the cable car up. Many Bavarians had the same idea, and it was somewhat crowded on the summit. When the eclipse was finally full, it was like standing on shadowy clouds surrounded by a large ring of light--eery, bizarre, and colder than anticipated both due to the elevation and darkness. Two minutes and twenty-six seconds of totality. I had goose bumps for several reasons, and could understand why primitive man would have been so terrified of the experience. Returning back to base, we learned that it had been overcast down there; so local people only saw it get dark, but missed the actual eclipse. However, three Sergeants had been in the right place at the right time, to see the first total eclipse in Europe in forty years, and last one of the twentieth century....August 11th, 1999.
Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2015
We canoed lazily downriver.
"This was a good idea," she said.
"What a great way to watch
the moon turn black."
Silently, we drifted, eyes to the sky.
As the moonscape disappeared,
we found ourselves shivered
by a spectacle.
Snakes uncoiled, slithered
along the banks, sliced the water,
slid onto logs,
menaced the side of the canoe.
Through a startled intake of breath,
she whispered, "What can we do?"
"Stay still, don't rock the boat."
"They're everywhere," her voice cracked.
Two asps sluiced above the prow.
I paddle-flung the intruders
backwards with a whack.
The moon popped into view,
scattered diffused light.
Instantly the snakes were gone.
Not a single one in sight.
"Screw this," she said.
"Get me Home."
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
Lone Wolf” Written by John Moses Freeman
A lone wolf far from the pack of his concern, entertains by flute in hopes of an appearance from Great White Father. Many moon have passed and no sacred white buffalo have been seen or heard of by himself or any of the other members of the tribe. It is always a bad omen to go for so many moons without a sacred appearance of a single white buffalo. Separating himself from the rest of the tribe eliminates the possibility of any bad medicine of unsacred mistakes that might have possibly been made by any of the other braves. Fasting for days Lone Wolf rescinds the weaker part of his soul, giving over to the spirit world. That he might be worthy of the divine appearing presence of the Great White Father. Should the Great White Father decided to divinely grant this mortal His holy appearance from inside the spirit world. Lone Wolf's proof of worthiness is his abstaining from food until his unworthy fleshly senses have rescinded; into the lower depths of darkness of the soul and obliged Lone Wolf’s sacred sense, giving over to the authority of the spirit of his stronger essence.
The nature of the trees of the woods, the air, the water, the sun of day and the moon of night are the image of the lesser senses that must be respected, for they are given to the lesser man’s needs in the lesser world as shelter and food. But today Lone Wolf plays his flute for the purpose of entertaining a presence of the Great White Father of mother earth. He will fast and play until his inner essence becomes one with the essence of creation! By this divinely granted appearance he will receive spiritual council and rectify his tribe with good medicine and receive new direction correcting the bad omen. The white buffalo will appear in the herd again!
For and in Honor of Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet
And Contest: Tell HIS Story
Copyright © john freeman | Year Posted 2011
(Walking Seven Steps)
Catching the last shot of the sunset sky
Even more rustier than before
Delayed my departure.
I asked my friends to go ahead
And I would catch up with them, but
The perfect shot took longer than I thought.
Packing my bags I hurried downhill knowing
I was lagging far behind the others.
The thickness of the night engulfed me
And I knew I had lost my trail.
Stumbling over a stone I had also
Lost my torch, and started walking blindly
In the darkness of the woods.
The pitch black trees seemed statued
To the ones that breathed life
When I had often trampled
Through the varied wooded parks.
The autumn leaves were crackling
Under my light footsteps as
The tiniest crescent moon smiled
Through the bare leaved branches
Welcoming my partnership on our lone journey.
How long I walked, my feet knew not
How long I would walk, my heart knew not
My map was dark and my eyes could read it not.
But my ears were sharp to hear another crackling
Under footsteps many times heavier than mine.
From the dark slope above I saw a shadow enlarged
Hurrying down to my path as if to lead me out.
My breath was calm, my eyes happy, and quietly
My adventurous spirit followed him wherever he lead.
The woods became denser and our pace quicker
With a click of his finger the air became fresher.
So intoxicated was I with the heavenly air that
It perfumed my soul, my very breath and
Every transient thought that fleeted in,
Till I stood before a very flowery welcoming cottage.
I extended my hand to my shrouded partner and said:
'It takes seven steps together to make a friend.
We have walked more than seven steps together to......'.
My hooded companion most divinely intervened:
'It takes seven steps together to make a friend
It takes seven hours together
To make any journey most heavenly'.
Without raising his chin,without accepting my extended hand
He turned his back to retreat into the woods
As mysteriously as he had entered it.
Copyright © Balveen Cheema | Year Posted 2015
The dew hadn't had the chance to come,
and the nightingale had just sung its tune,
as the fire’s flame licked the timber,
and the wolf howled at the moon.
She hoped for the prospect of leaving,
for Her and Her infant to leave soon,
as the fires flame licked the timber,
and through the window, shone
the bright moon.
As night progressed rather slowly,
and her man fell into a swoon,
she chirped; "I'll light another fire dear,
it'll be the last I'll light for you."
Within the first dozen snores he had sung,
She was down by the edge of the flume,
as the fireside slowly grew larger,
and the black creek, reflected the moon.
She didn't propose an objective location,
and She hadn't the total time too,
so she endlessly strayed into vast timberland
illuminated by only, the moon.
Beads of sweat rushed down his cheek,
as he slumbered and dreamt it was June,
as the fire crept up the frame of the bed,
and in the cluster of stars, lay the moon.
By the time it was morning She and Her child
we're wrapped in a swathe cocoon,
as the fire had went into eternal rest,
and newly set down the horizon lay
the ghost of last night’s moon.
Inky ash took to the sky
and in the air His remains strewn,
as the fire had went into eternal rest,
and newly set down the horizon lay
the ghost of last night’s moon.
Copyright © Kurtis Collins | Year Posted 2016
The charm of a soft summers night
Is only a dream right now
But soon the mellow light of the moon
Will softly cross my brow
I dream of romantic far away places
Beckoning me to come by
Places I've only read about in books
Accompanied by a lullaby
How can I possibly imagine the thrill
Seeing these historic places
Exotic peoples in exotic costumes
Other origins, other races
A broadening outlook on many lands
Where peace and love do reign
The different cultures and ways of life
Feelings of oneness is attained
Peoples of earth need take a deep breath
Give thanks for the air we breathe
For life and the wonderful world around us
The sun, the rivers, the trees
© Jack Ellison 2015
Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2015
By DON MUNRO
Moon River …
you once held my Huckleberry friend,
the two of us ... after the same rainbow’s end
in your timeless rhythm
as I pushed him in his swing,
chipped on the edges,
showing rusty metal underneath
because we were so poor.
My heart was filled with joy
even as he cried from the pain of
being in the cold world. So new.
He would come to me and I would sing:
“Wider than a mile … I’m crossing you in style
And then when he left, his eyes would search the
blurry, dark images
for me … just me.
Sometimes when he came back, he would be
smiling, blindly searching.
“Two drifters off to see the world…there’s such a
lot of world
And when I told him he was my Huckleberry friend
and I looked
into the pool of emptiness ... his brown eyes,
I could swear he knew me, all of me,
right from the very beginning.
Copyright © don munro | Year Posted 2012
Just before the sun sets
On the ocean blue
The sun meets with his counter part
Her name is Mrs. Moon
She comes with all her children
The stars up in the sky
Every night when it's time for bed
They all sing sweet nighttime lullabies
Now Mrs. Moon and Mr. Sun
They hang around and chat awhile
Catching up on the gossip of the day
Than just like that, they part as friends
Shaking hands than scurrying on their ways
Now Mr. Sun he has a job, he now must go and do
To wake up the human beings who have been in bed
Tucked away by the stars and Mrs. Moon
It's an everyday occurrence
Just look up to the skies
You'll see the pleasantries
Being exchanged in front of Heavens eyes
Copyright © Lisa Brannon | Year Posted 2016
A full moon is rising
And there is no avoiding it
I can not escape this evil face
There`s nowhere to hide
From this sinister, white smile
From this victorious gaze
For the moon knows everything
It sees through me
It reads my thoughts
I suffer from being exposed
Looking at its translucent light
Finally, I submit to it and confide in it:
``Nobody loves me.
My life is unfulfilled.``
It smiles gaily and gives me
Its silver light
The feeling of sorrow is gone
Being unhappy was just
A silly, silly dream
Copyright © Vesna Kovrlija | Year Posted 2012
Sick of the monsters
that track my steps,
given the chance I'd
lay them to rest.
they trail my every
Gotta lose 'em
before the moon
Grab my carving set
and begin to think
attention- I get the
their frail skin,
I find the image of
blood in and on my
Cross-eyed and close
to the cliffs edge.
The moonlight sheds
time on the
and i drop my knife.
For they are me, I
was them, and soon
we will be together
Looking back it was
a full moon's end.
Copyright © Kris Lund | Year Posted 2014
Right from before birth,
All men has got the talent of being
There we where,
Should we go?
Should we not come?
Without our permission
Pushed us out.
Some said we cried tears of joy,
But was it?
As a child,
We always wondered
So many things
That even father and mother
Stopped to bother.
Is the bird a plane?
Is the plane a bird?
We never thought wrong
Of walking about with pants,
But we always wondered
Why does she bends to pee?
Any why do I stand to wee-wee?
Into a teenager,
We kept the questions on
Is the moon round and beautiful?
Is the moon C shaped like we see?
Where is the sun at night?
Does the star sleeps by day?
And though we've been told not to,
We still will ask,
Should I love?
Why should I not have sex?
One rather 'wise' question
We shall never cease to ask,
Some ask themselves,
Others, ask others;
Does love really exists?
Its quite funny,
How the questions never cease
And how they hardly repeats,
With different questions,
At different times
On manytimes different things.
Even when the God-given
Beautiful black hair turns grey.
We still inquire,
When will death come?
How will she come?
Even now as you read, you ask;
What do we learn from this?
As some will also ponder;
Did he really do this?
Despite I am here, still asking
Should we stop pondering?
Same me, still thinking,
Should I have written this?
Copyright © Toheeb Tiamiyu | Year Posted 2013
sore in soaring flight
clouds streaming beyond fog
three barrel rolls
swirling through silver light
simulcast storm shakes black topsoil
seep through porous skin
providing synthesized eruptions
cataclysmic spasms drop knowledge undetected by erudition
Thick walls wobble, crack, then begin to close in on the thin skull
a metaphysical transformation manifests
Earth, moon, stars
proton, neutron, electron,
mother, father, child
Fertile land dissolves for the horizon
turquoise soaks toes
an enigmatic awakening
idle imagination swiftly shifts gears here
from stationary stone
to being thrown through the moon
effervescent agitation bubbling oceans strewn
sleet sheets pelt clipper ships
Parochial, no longer the vision
mood scoots through sinister to happy-go-lucky
three grim blankets lift from melodramatic souls
This mighty universe revolves
aflame with AGAPE...
(*sappy to sophisticated)
The final oscillation
©2014 ~JSL PoetTreez Publishing
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2014
It started with a smile,
Running after this beautiful butterfly
And ended with a group of pile,
Burning its ashes in the sky.
The gravitational force of the forest,
Was like the utter submission of the soul
Giving your whole days racing after the harpist,
And forgetting all about the black hole.
The stroll was full of glee:
Harpists, butterflies and no plea.
Unexpectedly, being blinded caused disorientation
Finding yourself lost among the trees,
And your heart just full of hesitation
You came to a dead end where you flee.
Days passed like lingering years,
And you didn't have a single weapon not even spears.
It is time when you implored the Sun;
To show its light even if beneath the glum
It is time when you pleaded the moon;
To never let the dark cause any doom.
A flaw realized after the agony..
But it was said that it wasn't a tragedy.
They were just some injuries;
To teach you that life is full of miseries.
Never reproach yourself
Some trees appeared in your way
To show you that you are more than an elf.
Copyright © Sandy Tadros | Year Posted 2015
Tonight, the full moon is out. I can hear the howls echoing throughout the forest. Go ahead,
don't believe me, but don't say I didn't warn you. Every night like tonight, he returns.
About ten years ago, in this very town, there was a gentle man named Eric Masterson. The
town looked to him as a kind, gentle, and passionate man. He was the towns doctor and vet.
People could come to him for anything, even just to talk about something on their mind. He
was there to listen to everyone. One night, three children were on their way to a friends
house. It was late at night, and the children wandered off into the forest. Around midnight,
with a full moon in the sky, the children decided to sleep against a tree that had been
chopped down a while ago. One of the children woke up from their sleep, and decided to go
down to the stream to get a drink. While the other two children were sleeping, the child
walked down a small path to the stream. While walking, he heard strange noises coming
from the trees, and the shaking of bushes. He started to get worried, and decided to head
back to the others. When he turned around, he noticed that the path was gone. He shouted
out, "HELP!", and listen for a reply. About thirty seconds later, the howl of a wolf was heard,
and it was not far at all. He ran and ran. not knowing where he was going. While running, he
heard giant footsteps following him, along with the howling noises surrounding. Finally, he
made it back to their campsite. He thought it would be best to wake the other, and rush
home immediately, even though they did not know where they were. He went to wake the
others, but when he came to a good glimpse of them, they were covered in blood, and torn
to shreds. He started to panic, and heard that the giant footsteps were getting closer. He hid
in a bush, and sat there silently....he heard nothing. He was waiting for something to show
up. He felt accomplished of fleeing from the creature, that was until he felt breathing coming
from behind him. He quietly closed his eyes, and was torn to shreds. The next day, the
family of the children went to Masterson's house to ask for help finding their children. They
slammed the door open, and in the middle of the floor, was a small corpse, and Masterson,
covered in blood, except, Masterson was still breathing.
The town said they disposed of Masterson, but that cannot be true. I see shadows all around,
and I still hear the howls at night. Stay inside, and beware the full moon.
Copyright © Daniel McGraw | Year Posted 2010
There was one midnight hour when I stood alone
beyond my bed, in the shadowed room
I was the child in the white flannel gown
watching a white moth fly and a white moon rise
The family slept..except for me
They never heard creaks in the wooden floor
or the squeak of the hinge on the old screen door
I climbed down the steps into the fresh night air
and was swallowed deep in the sequined sky
Something was whispering, from beyond the hedge
murmuring words, as a prayer, unsaid
Yet, I knew it was cunning, I knew it was wise
Temptation enticed me to follow the sound
It spoke with the drum of the cricket's thunder
I stood under the canopy of a million stars
Without hesitation, or a fear, unknown
Lit by the bleach of the crescent moon
I knew in the moment, I was not alone
The fragrance of jasmine, was caught in the breeze
flying swift as a dove, to comfort me
It picked me up, far off the grass
Where I could see beyond the past
Back in my room, tucked into the sheets
Watching a white moth fly, and the white moon leave
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2012
Deep in the piney woods
A call beckons across the branch
A call that isn't animal nor human
A call that makes your hair stand alert and skin prickly from fright!
The light of the full moon awakens the spirits and the calling from the piney woods.
If you doubt my story and risk your very life, then make sure you take a
weapon into the piney woods. Well, I believe the call is from the ghost of the moon
shiners that have lost their lives in the mica mines many years ago.
The mica was
big business one time until the mines went dry.
The deep holes were perfect cover for the moonshine stills until
the revenuers caught the culprits. A great gun battle raged until death.
Today the crumpled mica shimmer in the red clay is all that is left of the mines.
The local children like to scare
themselves with the
abandoned rock graveyard along the edge of the piney woods. If you look close at
the mound of rocks...it appears that there is a bony hand protruding from the grave
and pointing directly at you to leave. The ancient thick cedar trees seem to
guard the graves and whisper "Warning, Warning."
In 1969 there was another vilolent firey death on the road through the piney woods.
A man died inside a burning wrecked truck, screaming
"Don't let me burn to death" repeatedly until the bitter charred end.
When the moon is right the echo carries his screams across the hills.
A young man only age seventeen lost his life in a fatal car wreck on
the steep curved road. His life was taken so fast; he is said to walk
the hills searching for his sweet ride to
carry him on his journey, unaware of his eternal fate.
On a short walk along the shallow creek bank reveals an old rock formation covered
in moss now but built by a people of long ago. Maybe Indian or early settlers,
no one knows the architects but if you stand in a certain spot where the
ground is always wet with a reddish ooze. You can feel a cold icy finger
across your face and neck.
Is the call a young buck calling his bride in the after life; is the call an
evil doer fighting to avoid beelzebub's snare? The apparition can be seen
briefly if you desire look when the wind and moon are right. Waynesville
holler offers more
than beauty in the day but beware of the moon lit walks that
brave or you
may be the next victim of the piney woods!
Copyright © Doris Culverhouse | Year Posted 2010
Evening tiptoes away on slippered feet
Houses up and down the street are silhouettes
The faint sound of a train whistles through the air
leaving a melancholy soliloquy resounding through the night
A table cleared of all traces of supper, is now set for breakfast
Doors are locked, and a screen has been put across the glowing embers
The two Labradors, in deep slumber, are curled in baskets by the back door
The house settles, like arthritic old bones
and the momentum of a busy day winds itself down
Beyond the kitchen door, a garden is washed white by the moonlight
A mantel clock is ticking, and the refrigerator is humming with comfortable familiarity
The moon slowly makes a shadowy passage
through the windows of each room
as it puts the house to bed...
I quietly head up the stairs, reluctant to let these parting moments slip away
Crawling between the cool sheets, I snuggle my head on the softness of my good fortune
In the long silent moments before I fall asleep
my drowsy eyes turn to wander
where window gazing finds the harvest moon
rifting in the darkness...
Against the moonlight, a magnolia branch is stenciled black and keen
Three stars are tangled in the topmost bough...
My eyes and I say goodnight to the moon....
and thank you to the stars.....
And today becomes tomorrow....
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010
Full Moon closest to Fall is termed ‘Harvest Moon’
That’s the seasonal time to harvest
Next Full Moon the ‘Hunter’s Moon’ comes very soon
To go for hunting is the best.
In respective orbital path
On certain Full Moon night
Sun-Moon in-between Earth
Come in a line, just right.
Sun-Moon-Earth paired together
When come in perfect alignment
Lunar Eclipse will occur
Technical term ‘SYZGY’ has been set.
Under thinner-most shadow of Earth if Moon slips
Eclipse is known to be Pen-Umbral
If partially shadowed, it’s Partial Eclipse
Fully shadowed Eclipse is called Total.
Total Lunar Eclipse, now being called ‘Blood Moon’
As the eclipsed moon is not dull or dark losing glamor
But exhibits rusty red-hue glow looking boon
Sun-spectrum through atmosphere display reddish color
If the Harvest Moon shows Blood Moon at perigee
The closest position of Moon to Earth
One tenth larger and thirty percent brighter to see
Spectacular ‘Super Moon’ most worth.
If consecutive four ‘Blood Moon’ appeared
Rare occasions of lunar performance
The event is known as ‘Lunar Tetrad’
In between eclipse to come has no chance.
Watching ‘Super Moon’ I felt lucky
Then, have I gone lunatic?
Enjoying marvelous cosmos beauty?
No, I am just romantic.
Themes # 5 Poems on Moon Contest Honorable mention
Sponsor SKAT A
Copyright © Anisha Dutta | Year Posted 2015
The moon is low, so
I smile(d) at the
dark sky and the
stars that shine. I
speak to ones below.
I let my feet grab
the ground around
the rotten metal
pines. I move slow.
My drowning thoughts
catch wind of a fine
breeze, and are
brought to the
surface just in
time. Met by a dull
glow. And yet led
away to a spot
between two tall
trees. What was dark
is getting darker.
The cloud overhead
is a monstrosity, I
hope it don't
swallow me whole. My
hands, in fear, grab
whatever's near. And
the time begins to
tick quicker than I
possible. It was a
fallen stick of
pine, it was
something I could
yield if foes broke
Something i could
use in a panicked
feelings I felt soon
pass(ed) fast. So I
broke that pine
stick, and choose it
for shovel, not
sword. And I dig
myself a hole,
somewhere to sit my
(tired) spine. I
take a glance. The
moon pulls my inside
tides. Makes me
real, and even
what's not. So I
crawl(ed) inside my
head, 'cuz it's all
Copyright © Kris Lund | Year Posted 2014
The tangible sunrays cast their lights to haze,
withering the moments in a day,
but the moon foreshadows its hue of white
across the darkness of the night.
In the wooden trails under the moonlit hour,
that old oak tree stood as a tower,
bowing its head filled leaves to the ground,
as though praying or royalty to be found.
And the bark is elder, no longer a rich thick brown,
but grayness is its coat who always frowns.
The brittle roots and twigs overlap each other,
The trunk was sturdy as a man but more care giving like mother.
And the nature breath's chills the wood,
from a solemn warmth to goosebumps who intrudes.
The old Oak tree whimpers and woos from the leaves
rustling a whisper to the boy who weaves
his arms, and swings himself amongst the highest point.
He sits to watch the beautiful join
between the passage of the moon and the sun.
The sky is stolen from the moon; the night be done.
And the Old Oak tree, once again, overviews the day
of the tangible tangerine sunrays cast their lights out of haze.
And the little boy still sits until the sprinkle of rain and drizzles roam.
He climbed down the gray old trunk and heads back home.
And the old oak tree smiles, never so gleefully before.
And wishes for the little boy to appreciate him once more.
Copyright © brittany martin | Year Posted 2008