Long Full moon Poems
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One of these depressed, depraved, morbid nights
I shall awake to the God damned game of life
And sit under the graying light
Of the foolish full moon
And laminate upon my luminance
And chew up the garments of past lives
And cry my soul
But no one will hear the plight of my mind
On strike for better wages
And more love
Thus, I will sit, and think and dream
Dreams that no one ever before dreamt
It is so very lonely being a foolish lunatic
But then as I drink to oblivion
I begin to think
Of all those things that I have not experienced
And wonder with a vengeance
Why God hates me so
Or is it only an illusion?
When will I awake
Or do we just sit waiting for more beer
To cover up
The stench of putrid rotting flesh
Waiting for death to take us away
To the Cosmic garbage dump in the sky
Trying to communicate across a gap
That is light years’ long
And will never close
For man was not made to know
The real thoughts of another
Man was made to suffer, cry and wait
For the party in Hell afterwards
, let’s us die and be done with it
Or live without our God damned dreams
Running our thoughts
Into pits of depraved madness
On a night in November with a full moon sky
There is a graveyard in the Highlands where spirits fly
Scriptures of old are chanted by the past
As they rise through the earth as the red ones are cast
Gravestones levitate with precision and ease
As dark angels in black glide through the trees
To a stone they surround as they circle above
Slowly they transform into an ebony dark dove
Upon this stone it perches as it awaits the await
For when the red butterflies fly, the light they desecrate
The sky turns from night into a reddy dawn
As the moon hits their red their spirits now flown
They land where they land, guided by the dark dove
Their quest is to capture and lure life's love
In the village near the graveyard on this November night
A population in fear, in fright of their light
Before the sun rises souls are drawn as if sprites
No care for the living, their presence leaves blight
A new day starts as if the previous night never happened
For when the red butterflies fly, come this November night
You may be summoned
(!-V-!)
In the hollowness of the desolate wasteland
a sunburnt solitary tree languished for a long while,
cast nonetheless on the parched crumbled ground
a sensuous shadow, my forlorn secret sanctum.
A crystal path I’d built to the realm of retreated yearn
along the contorted contours of disguised desire.
There the roses blooming amidst the spiculed cactus
wafted me away on mirage to the oasis of reverie.
In the motif of morphed vision of my unclosed eyes
the lanced landscape turned into garden of paradise.
Flying fringe of cloud captured colors of horizon’s pallet,
southern breeze serenaded the seducing tune of twilight.
Like an angel you came floating on the flair of stardust,
radiant in amorous glow of silver embrace of moonshine.
You lifted the shroud of secrecy, entered my hidden abode
where I dreamed a dream that night, I was the full moon.
Written : February 18, 2019
March 12, 2020
Contest : Strand Choice D, Any Form, Any Theme
Sponsor : Brian Strand
~ An age of artificial love...has no deep feelings ~ Quote by poet
She sees the shadow of herself, aura of indigo
Lick honey from life's thorns, no knight in shining armor
Why her over someone else, why should her heart be an exception?
Grieving a lost dream of the prince on the white horse
Her heart yearns for touch, smiles and love
where everything in life feels wonderful and magical
She felt numb and that life was pointless
without someone to share it with
The full moon with a white-golden hue appears up
She leaves the door ajar so the cat can enter
– the unconditional love of a pet is priceless
I adore modest women,
so soft-spoken and
very elegant,
who aren't looking for men
to seduce without being
atrracted to them!
There's a shortage of men,
and they try to get whomever they can,
ugly, handsome or good- for -nothing;
all they want is pleasure, not a friend!
I love simple women
who are fashionable
and very sleek;
I love women
who can look in their mirror
and say to themselves,
" I'm beautiful! "
Honesty can make any man weak,
enough to give them much more!
Be careful of women who touch their face
when they laugh and pretend to like your kisses,
giving you the illusion of a full moon...
in the middle of a hot afternoon:
you will burn, but won't remember a darned thing;
and all that wasted energy for a quick sling!
I adore modest women
who don't wear lots of make up...
to hide a despised face;
isn't simplicity
another form of beauty?
I adore modest women
who undress you when they're hot...
they make you feel wanted without words:
and that's when my passion starts up,
and I become a real man!
**ICE CREAM SUMMER NIGHT**
Let’s go barefoot, when the stars come out tonight.
Sidewalks and streets, still warm from the sun’s delight.
Stop fretting, the sidewalks are really clean.....
Don’t forget, they are our natural grounding machine!
Look at all the cats, looking up at the full moon.
Whatever,are they thinking_I ponder the city of Rangoon!
I am starting to drool for raspberry toppings atop of vanilla!
Can I lick your caramel one, I know how it soothes ya!
Peace, serenity, joy are hallmarks of our town.
Existing here,well....impossibly hard to get down.
The cerulean light rays, peek at us from stars above.
Where everyday and night, we celebrate our blessed love!
***********
6/21/2021
The full moon rises, her glow shining through her mantle
of dark clouds lured forth from the depths,
the aftermath of a storm's vengeance –
a sight born to put upon us the night's eldritch weave;
a sight truly bred for All Hallows' Eve.
She casts shadows throughout this night,
falling off innocent objects to become
shapes known only to your mind –
she leaves a black pall
to hang over us all.
Even worse, when those nebulous wisps of the sky
cast a veil over her, hiding us from her purview,
for she was your only guide –
now we all are left simply to drift,
through this night, evil's gift.
All Hallows' Moon, it shall be called, a beacon
in the shroud of this night; but don't thank her,
for you need light to reveal the depth of the darkness –
of your soul, do not allow the blackness bereave,
on this sepulchral night, All Hallows' Eve.
Summer breeze whispers in my ear
Rising sun would color my sky
I could smell your fragrance flow near
On graceful wings of butterfly.
As you run on garden pathway
Summer breeze whispers in my ear
Hold her, let her not go away
In her eyes stars would soon appear.
Full moon sparkles dusts of silver
On your face, in my heart they rain
Summer breeze whispers in my ear
Night like this wouldn’t come again.
Flash of your smile tells me you’re mine
My heart beats for you, you would hear
It’s time I take you to cloud nine
Summer breeze whispers in my ear.
November 15, 2017.
Form : Quatern. Syllable count : 8 each line.
RUN, I'M WATCHING YOU
Be quiet now, the full moon scrapes the hour
when evil ghouls crawl on bleak streets, unknown
a gruesome feast they thirst to devour
the carnage of the living, down the bone.
As midnight howls, dare not open the gates
shadows can transform into bloody paws;
to unplug the light, a rampage awaits
the wailing screech of flesh drilled by chainsaws.
From graveyards of old, more corpses arise
with maggots on tongue gnawing spoiled debris,
and hissing winds darken the view; be wise
since terror reeks a plague like a red sea.
It's witching time; beware of fright undone
Pray... I'm one of them watching you, so RUN!
Halloween Night Contest of Nayda Ivette Negron
Repost 10/15/2016
I pricked my ears to follow the sound,
As did my son and our puppy hound,
delight of violin in full tune,
Played to setting sun and rising moon!
Winter evening was well underway,
Christmas carol singers in full sway,
Violin was playing the church psalms,
And Beethoven,Elgar, Berg and Brahms.
Mystery player hidden from view,
Three ardent followers, wish he knew,
Our quest to trace the source was in vain,
The flow of music was unrestrained!
A bright full moon but it was still dark,
couple in romance strolling the park,
sound of violin has come to stop,
If not for ducks one can hear pin drop.
In corner of park a wooden bench,
the maestro was here, was my hunch,
Some tell tale signs of food and foot prints,
Other than these there were no more hints!
We returned next week for an encore,
A Christmas cake with thank you decor,
There was no music but silence all the way.
Near the bench, a note:-
“ RIP, In heaven you shall play!”