Best Moon Shaped Poems
Here, I scribble a letter
to the rhapsodical rose,
dipping my quill in
stardust that slips
like a violet waterfall
from the tips of
white oak trees.
These marigold
orbs shine with
shimmering streaks
of sugar coated mist,
as I twist my palm
and breathe in
the lavender light
of kismet, while
tender tulips
soothingly sleep
upon the sweet seeds
of nostalgia.
O Mi Amour,
our lambent love
is but a succulent
sea full of stars,
where buttercup boats
sail in emerald
evanescence and
gentle lulls of
champagne waves
kiss those scarlet
shells of secrets,
echoing with
vibrant whale-songs.
Can you feel the
mulberry bluebells
chiming as I glide
on pistachio
plateau of promises?
Am I your soulful dynasty,
just as you are my
star-spun Prince
descended from the eden,
my healer from
charismatic realms and
my last lachrymose wish?
You're a museum
of art for the
moon-shaped chimera
of peonies painted
with hazel silk
and this chameleon
danger holds no
manifestation in
our foreign folklore,
because when
the last dewdrops
dance with sunlight,
holographic memories
of 'You and I',
will forever
remain alive in
the tamarind tales of
watercolor wildflowers.
So, when the
jinxed icicles cut
me with their
silver sword,
spring shivers
in snowy meadows
and the sun sets
along the horizon
of our ruffled story,
you'll always
hear these husky
notes of my
exotic scents
lingering in ivy
laced rains and
falling upon the
graffiti of your
ruby bones.
You'll eternally hear
celestial serenades,
singing in raspberry
language of our
incensed love which
will erase the
acetone sadness
of my unwritten absence
and those crimson
ribbons of violin's ode
will spin our saga
around those
slaty branches
of bitter destiny.
Ten years past since Coyote deceased
The land became fruitful, with the help of a new priest
It was the time of the crescent moon
When the boys would be sent out across the desert dune
To kill a coyote and return with the skin
And from that day forth their life as a man would begin
On this particular occasion the crescent moon shone bright
Casting shadows of the boys as the priest bless then in the light
One at a time they were sent in different directions
With a two inch blade for their protection
As they wondered off into the dark, out of sight
Suddenly their screams brought a chill to the air and the tribe was consumed by
fright
The medicine man rushed to their aid
Carrying his crescent moon shaped blade
Behind him were the tribesmen, twenty strong
To back him up incase anything went wrong
They found the boys laying, in a row
Alive but in a lifeless trance surrounded by snow
The ground was hot but around them as cold as ice
Everything was methodical and precise
The medicine man stood for a while looking afar
He saw a female figure near the missionary camp called “The Starr”
The ordered the men to take the boy back to the camp
As he walked off into the night just with a night lamp
He reached a huge boulder
When the air became colder
His curiosity overcame his fear as the female figure drew nearer.
He called out to it to identify itself
As she pounced majestically onto an icy shelf
She said you will remember who I am
Once a female sacrifice which should have been a man
He lifted the light to see her form
Her body perfect, a picturesque goddess, however, a bit pale
And around the thigh curled and uncurled her coyote tail
Her face, a face that every woman would admire
Except for the coyote fangs, he found that she was his desire
Like perfect mountains were her firm pink breasts
Her belly button the shape of a moon crescent was what intrigued him, his thought
confessed.
She moved close slowly and touched him with a hand that was cold
But the touch made him feel a warmth and he knew his heart was sold
To the desire to have and to hold
He kissed her gently and he felt more bold
To be continued….. P.D. Pt2
She reunited with her lover
He has been away from home
For millennia
She waited alone
In the isolated cold and space
But she did not want the children
To think about their father
She as both mother and father
The duties and responsibilities
Were left to her
How could she denied them
Angelic faces that recalled
Her lover and husband
She went to her empty bedchamber
Every night with thoughts of him
On darken nights
None to warm her
She had her suitors
Men both great and small
Passerby and casuals
They would hang their members
On the walls of her home
Like Winter Solstice stockings
She would cut them down
One by one
Hurt by their pride
But nonetheless for the wear
More than 26,000 years
Preceded her longing
For her lover
Her patience greater than Job
Her steadfastness out last the face of the Sphinx
But on the fifteen day of December
Her lover returned back home
From a dangerous odyssey
Through comets
Quasars and black holes
And light years of distant
Galaxies
She had listened to more than a 1,000 tales
End of time stories that heralded his coming
But when she saw his divine countenance
She laughed uncontrollably
He was really home this time and
For good
She rushed into his arms
Then gently caressed his face
And kissed his tendered but broken lips
Followed by their children
Who embraced him around his legs
Venus Mars and Mercury
Raised their light quotients
In accordion
As the children lay in bed
Sleeping with crescent moon shaped
Smiles
She entered their bedchamber
With him by her side
She was now with her lover
Her lover was now with her
She was now the moon
Her lover was now the sun
And with this great solar return
She fertilized the sun
The earth and the moon
And with this great celebration story
She brought life forth to
Saturn
Jupiter
Uranus and Pluto
And the nearby Pleiades constellation
And with this galactic marriage
And sacred union
There was love and joy
And with this Hieros Gamos
And the triangulation
Of the Milky Way’s core
There was love and joy
The seeding and initiation
Of a new and great beginning
An event horizon
Let us begin
Science improves things, so they say,
can't prove it by me, take the clock
once it swung, and cockco's played
now it's silent, no tick or tock.
Old clocks clucked each tick and each tock
tongue to roof, they made a clapping.
Once they had arms and hands and locks
now they don't even aid napping.
Mum's the word with digital clock
zipped are those lips, no face, no brow
no sinister tock from Hook's Croc
no moon shaped face, no leaping cow.
Flashing red numbers, fanned peacocks
neon in trancers, with tin man hearts
lipless automatons in stock
toss them all from your K-mart cart!
Live I say get a grandfather clock
one with a face, two arms and heart
with a pendulum swinging tick tock
tick off the sleepers screw K-Mart.
A baby gorilla's bedtime is a harmonic period when the bananas line up with little leaf rattles to softly croon to slumber the furry ball. Priceless is the process of pacification and pacifications are not prevalent in the pacific, the polar regions, nor do they play with piñatas in Paraguay. It is to be said that a tortoise shell footstool can rotate at great speeds do cast iron boots must be worn if placing one's feet upon the tapestry printed square form. The chime of lime is very very noisy but not as noisy as the incessant chatter and chuckling from the bowl of sugar cubes. Sugars state signalling shaped saying stuff silkily and silly too. But a mild mannered oxon could take a heifer to a ballroom but only if properly attired in a beach towel, sun glasses, three piece suit and a gown. Then an entrance can be made. With a thud. And a bellow. Brass bands made of cream donuts can entertain at this dance and the hall is quite packed with skimming skirts, scantily clad pea women, and the tidal spore has come dressed as a ringmaster but no whip for whips are for the underground stations and platforms of legs. Legality leaves legs lingering liberally. Akin to sprinkling a fine spray of salt across a plate of the towering vegetables. Piled high. Architectural really. Very mesmerising is the mist of a fine diner whose aroma lifts the air surrounding with a unjust uniquely identifiable stench. And stench drenched can be a wench, a bench but never a welk. For welk belong in tree houses and tree houses are not tables and not talking ash trays either. Ash trays do not modify a month of moon shaped mammoths. And a tree semi formed can bite so always walk very very very briskly when passing a thicket. Zoom then. Go on zoom. A zoom in a room. How rather entertaining and entertainment is equal to a climbing plant pot scaling a sky scraper. How great. Such feat with no feet. And how deserving of the medal at the Olympics of Oscar fish in an oceanographic weave of seafood cocktail with melon jus. Haha the wide mouthed octopi are singing gospel tunes to a small party of crabs. Ha the divinatory dogs diving definition digging dreams. Ha the musical mustard jar moving in time to the fish fork forte. Xxxxxx reciprocal z z z zzz. At ten loaves to forty seven slices of butter cake. Z z z z z z. 57294894907398%. Z
Form:
Somewhere between the folds of infinity
and the secrets of angels,
We must have been lovers.
Waking to blades of splendor;
(Like even your shadow makes me smile)
And the sex vivid
Under banyan trees at twilight
Or in the smoky light of your Paris flat
Smelling of rain and damp sheets;
We must have been lovers.
Through muffled memories
Of silk thread nudged by sly caresses,
It feels ripe and lush and
Forested with the kisses
Planted on my breasts by your exalted lips
(my soul obsession)
Clinging soft like wind chimes,
Then bold & red & eager
Like Friday nights and youth.
We must have been lovers.
Converging rivers, tangled and wild;
Not knowing if we'd unite again to taste
The moon-shaped curves of passion,
Or just to mention the weather;
Evading whiffs of desire
Stirred by your voice down the hall.
We must have been lovers.
Because weather is not enough
When you are in the room,
And I long for eternity and your mystic mouth
Possessed forever
In Steely Dan radiance;
Eloquent and deep,
We tumble toward bliss
And melt into history.
Errands are available to run any time you want….confuzzled beyond belief…give us brief relief & relieve us from gripping, glad-less grief…sadness swept over us like a dust storm, spiraling like the fire in my stove-hot soul…blood zips through my veins and it’s giving me more brains to write with my eternal might with tranquility & peace in mind…clustered ruins reduce me to ash and dust…I’m not priceless as dashing cash, but to try my hardest to pass the test – I must! I must bust a move to win the audience’s attention and shake off the body-quaking sensation, leading me to falling victim to torturing tension . . . every move I make….every dollar I spend…every time I waste time…every time you lie to me instead of telling me the truth of the situation you’ve encountered or the stories you share with a fake smile of glee pasted on your moon-shaped face, I always find myself puzzled out of reason and logic! Deplorable Reality’s strategic tragedy stings like billion’s of buzzin’ busy bees out of their honey dens or hives! Havin’ no where to write my feelings down, wearing an upside down time two frown! I drown in the tears of my sorrow…no tomorrow…for the meantime, it’s yesterday’s tomorrow…there’s so much treasure to dig up and there’s so much money to borrow still, though you still owe a few fines for an overdue book; however you have tons and tons of loans coming your way (I wanted to make your day the greatest day in your financial life, indulging you with dough and pride!)…read on & pen on, dear child…remain mild, calm, reserved and self-controlled, yet you should still be that wild child I adore with a passion so clever, playful and wild like the wonderful wind, put at ease with wishes without an end! Deplorable Reality’s strategic tragedy stings like billion’s of buzzin’ busy bees out of their honey dens or hives! Caught under your wicked spell or a trippy trance … … … … … …I lost my train of thought & I am left to rot.
You are the warmth that cloaks my fragile structure.
Emotional to pecks and blows; goosebumps to the chill of the autumn breeze.
You are characterized by scars.
Your color washed over me,
beautifully dark.
You stretch and expand and make room to hold life.
You resists pain,
You protect my treasures,
You are a canvas,
a masterpiece of freckles and moon shaped birthmarks
white spots, bumps,
you are full of pinks and purples
soft, and ruff.
You dream of touch and connection.
You are the landmark to past lovers
a handprint in the sand.
Once washed away you refuse to forget.
They have called you beautiful and I have denied it.
I have covered your nature and beauty.
I have taken you for granted.
I have yet to truly accept you for who you are.
My skin.
I want to never forget it.
Skin is love, experience,
It is a teller of stories reluctant to hide the truth.
It speaks of hardships and it stores its proof.
Skin knows of first kisses and remembers of being embraced.
It is shy of its insecurities but it owns up to it's mistakes.
Skin mends its wounds.
Skin is honest and gentle.
It listens and feels.
Skin sheds off the weight of the world.
It leaves behind a portion of itself like the dandelion.
It is so selfless and free.
It trusts like poetry...
It gives in.
Dinas Bran
tell your tales
share them with me
I have travelled far to listen
your walls remaining
huddle forward like greyed old men
around a warming fire
let me sit quiet as the night
in your moon shaped shadow
and dream as you do
walk across my thirsty mind
flagons filled with stories
I will not fear your ghosts
they just want to be heard.
Side Note: Yes my first Alice in Wonderland poem I wrote cause Cheshire Cat is and was one of my favorite characters from Alice in Wonderland. Here's my poem "Cheshire Cat Smile", Enjoy and please comment!
The quarter moon shines in the night.
The bright light smiles upon me,
But it is not the moon,
The Cheshire Cat has come to play,
With his devious tricks,
And his moon-shaped eyes watching me,
From every corner,
Following my every move.
Waiting for the perfect time,
To pounce.
He's coming to get me.
To cast me under his spell,
That devious cat,
That little devil.
I am under the spell,
Of the cheshire cat smile...
carried away on the last rays
of autumn sun in a moon-shaped pool
carried away like cosmic driftwood
she's having a pocket honeymoon
because
there's a coat of scarlet velvet
somewhere in her Estonian hair
having a picnic in a coffin
that's her own gallery of famine
please
let's visit our favourite sunken ships
born within the flood in a launderette
born at the edge of a melting ledge
she's a sick sycamore
down by the deli shop
she's a dark tunnel
in a raindrop
she's a blitz tempest
in a kindergarten
she's a jailed bouquet
her flowers of tartan
she's a coquette
a Russian roulette
my marionette
called Rosette
night casting
her
moon-shaped eyes
beneath
the
halo of
the
Serengeti skies
It came in the night, a crescent smile
Slit across the midlands of its face,
The foe of a thousand nights to once again battle
A mind unsettled and heaving, drifting
Towards the edges of sleep; with the flick of an eye,
Sleep was gone, no more to return,
I thought to myself in hushed, tick-tock tones,
Speaking in tongues from a distant land
I once encountered in a faraway world,
Sweat soaking the sheets, dry beads of fear
Streaking my cheeks, or were they tears,
In the dark air gasping for peace,
As the moon-shaped face of the night congealed
And cast a pall on the unborn day,
The sun slowly rose to bleed the night of darkness,
Driving back the nocturnal beast to its lair,
Somewhere in the recesses of my mind,
Where sleep lies lifeless at the feet of this monster,
Till night returns reposing to do battle once more.
eagle-owl
we take this chance
your moon-shaped eyes
and steely claws
fill this night air
in moonlight dance
I remember the meeting of our lips
Where the honey drips
Like dew from a hibiscus morning
Your tongue was a bud
And I a bird suckled there for my thirst
O crescent moon shaped wings
Parting the silver stream of words
The ivory teeth like keys sing still
For the ebon’ temple of my eyes.
When shall they worship that form again
Your breasts like ships on waves
Rising in the sunset of my expectations?
When shall their soft folds cushion more
My sleep to dream of you? Thirsty once,
My eyes drank their delicious beauty in
Despising the gospel testaments of sin,
They were the cradles where I keep desire.
O woman that is more than lips, hips
Or blossoming breasts to me
O woman whose eyes made me skip
Rehearsed phrases from memory
All thy beauty and thy form agree
To sing your inner pedigree
You hallowed gift to all humanity
My love is covenanted to the best in thee.