Luna Maura arose unexpectedly, unbidden
In the midst of the lake of the waterfall
We recognized the power of this water faerie
Legend had predicted her for thousands of years
The love we share might rate no beauty prize
Aesthetics playing servant to its plot
Seen best through finger blinds drawn cross the eyes
A love festooned in Hallmark rhymes it's not
Still we alone stood witness at its face
The provenance of each disfig'ring weal
Inflicted wounds our tongues dare not retrace
Kept moving on and left the past to heal
For love is our reward for knowing such
That self-survival is a pauper's end
Without your love I'd not have learned that much
The richness of my life's to comprehend
Love's beauty's lies not open but at heart
You are my depth, my love my work of art
I can feel the darkness trying to swallow me whole.
Emotionally I'm a mess, and I feel I'm losing my soul!
The pain just aches causing me to lose consciousness.
So many mistakes and I never thought of the consequences.
I'm absolutely alone, and I'm desperately trying to get back.
A loneliness like I've never known, the day I stepped away from that track!
Being confined has refined the mind to get back on track;
Lack of affection produced a yearning desire, my fire requires freedom!
Hope has kept me inspired, I'm seeking a wounded soul to mold;
One who can hold my thoughts, I may obtain the antidote towards her pain.
If she's out there, then maybe we can ride the train while we explain;
How to get on the same track of happiness after all the sadness.....
Note: I wrote first stanza. My brother in this struggle wrote the second
stanza. To say "hey" to this fine poet you may write him at:
Curtis Davis, P. O. Box 506, Maura NC 28554
Snapdragons Crackle
Snapdragons crackle
in the air for Maura
and her flowing gait,
a swagger neither Nora
nor Maureen would ever
let a suitor savor.
Maura knows
that in her wake
men with scythes
and burlap sacks,
creep like gators,
eyes afire, jaws agape.
Nora and Maureen
can smell these men.
Unlike Maura
and her flowing gait,
Nora and Maureen will smile,
take their time and wait.
Donal Mahoney
An Irish Gathering
Thomas said
you can’t go home again
but I did for my sister
and the christening of her first.
Everyone, on folding chairs, against
the whitewashed basement walls, was there
for ham and beef and beer, the better
bourbons, music, argument and talk.
Maura came; she hadn’t married.
Paddy, fist around a beer, declared
I owed my family the sight
of me more often.
Hannah, thickset now,
gray and apronless,
rose beside the furnace,
wolverined me to the coal bin door
and asked me in the face,
with sibilance and spittle,
who or what it was
that kept me anywhere,
everywhere, but there.
Donal Mahoney
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.