Dreams
Of crimson moons
Peacefully take sadness
Like a farmer during harvest
Stomping
Down hate
While we watch him
From the comfort of home
Laying down watching on our smartphones
Sleeping
A crystal path I paved
to the realm of futile triviality
along the contorted contours
of the disguised desire
where the intrepid roses bloomed
amidst the spiculed cactus.
The scent took me on the mirage trail
to the oasis of reverie.
In the motif of morphed image
in my unclosed eyes
the lanced landscape turned
into a garden of glory.
The fringe of flying clouds
captured the colors of horizon’s pallet,
the beguiled breeze conducted
the captivating concerto of twilight
for the ruby moon to rise.
Within my deepening dismay
you in my orbit gleamed
with moonshine grace,
while the floating sequins of silver fluttered
like the fairy wings of ardent butterfly
around your silhouetted face.
In mystique night you drifted enticed
with the argentine flair
in the amorous aurora
of the mesmeric moonbeam,
lifted the shroud of secrecy,
entered my forlorn abode,
where I dreamed,
I was the full moon in your sky.
the moon drifts through the stars,
ropes soft against its glow,
a small basket swaying
over the dark purple mountains~
quiet as a lantern carried by the night.
a faint wind turns the ropes,
slow enough to see the motion,
steady enough to trust.
the basket dips once,
a gentle nod toward the ridgeline,
then rises again
into the cool, bright hush.
the mountains hold their shape,
dark shoulders folded beneath the sky,
watching the moon float past
as though it were a traveler
with no destination
Moon wanes
Dark’s domain
Moon waxes
Light’s faxes
I have my mother's eye color.
In 1930, when she was seventeen,
an admirer in Prague told her: "Young lady, you have
such a wonderful gaze—reminiscent of chamomile."
Indeed—yellow-brown irises
like the heart of that simple blossom.
And yet, somewhere deep behind them
I carry that defenseless, wistful tenderness
of my father’s pale blue eyes.
Just a tiny fragment of a forgotten
sky...
Don’t chide me for my naked words,
stripped of pathos.
I feel no shame for the shyness of old age—
beneath a sheet in the dim light
of twilight's hour.
All my life, I have carried in my soul
that irreconcilable beauty born of lovemaking.
Yet I no longer have the strength
to pursue desire.
I walk gingerly
through the back gate of the yard
my complaining mom
is petting a ginger cat
the whole house smells of ginger
my moonlit montage
myriads of memories
monolith moments
See how she dreamed...
See how she smiled...
The man in the moon beamed
She is a night child
With stars in her eyes
Moonlight in her hair,
A neon glow that never dies
In her heart is always there
Was not born to midnight
She came to it one day,
Something there just felt right
And the dark stole her away...
give me peace, from matters.
I always answer: better than A wind from the pine-trees
And bright with the mountain moon.
ask about good and evil
Hark, there's a fisherman singing!
(Blackout of Answering Vice-Prefect Zhang by Wang Wei)
Sitting in his car
Judd Monte was counting stars
Enjoying his sedative place
Displaying a happy face
Then a disgruntle spinster appeared
Lunatic possessed dear
Judd Monte knew her from grade one
Elementary fun
Recess under a soothing sun
They say,
On her birthday
Moonlight shining bright
Instigated her to fight
Until this evening
Judd Monte committed not leaving
Armed with wine
Glasses to dine
Fully subscribed
Judd Monte tried
Presenting ways to win
Against the angry sin
“You see that planet out there
The moon, it is not supposed to scare”
Judd Monte’s Spinster debated her mission
And listened
Showing an immersive trance
Choreographed by those who dance
Judd Monte made the peaceful advance
Turning the uneventful sight
Romantic not a fright
Entertained by the moon
Playing a jazzy tune
Next time you cannot see
Just believe
And turn on the moonlight
It will guide you through the night
The wind blows leaves from the trees,
creating large mounds on the ground.
Fluttering down quietly without a sound,
some reds and golds dance in the breeze.
Row on row in the fields are pumpkins,
they'll be carved and put on display.
Beware ghouls will be coming your way,
have treats on hand for the munchkins.
High up in the cloudless autumn sky,
the harvest moon shines so bright.
Through the skeletal branches at night,
are eerie silhouettes that catch your eye.
Light is the shadow of God: Plato
I grip at the railing
for the ferry to sail on
as night gently sinks
into the deep again.
And I to the daily grind.
I lean out over the quay
that the harbour reflects
on breath-wash of mist
in pale, unfinished light.
The city stretches out.
Above the marble basilica
the copper cupola curves
a silhouette sharp enough
to carve the harvest moon.
A billowing crescent.
See it strikes off the dome
The blinks of lighted eyes
water-moon awakes the dawn
with the first shadows of God.
Just before departure.
He stalks his victims along the Seine
but only beneath a hushed full moon.
In the morning, thinking back
people report they heard
in the distance creepy moans of werewolves.
Meanwhile the elusive culprit still at large,
the moon pleads ignorance.
AP: 1st place 2026
The harvest moon is seen in autumn
Around the world this time of year
It helps bring in the crops we need
With feast that come with food and beer
With thanks given as summer ends
The harvest moon is seen in autumn
It blesses us with its moonbeams
From earths top unto its bottom
Now chants and prayers are given
To thank the One who blessed it all
The harvest moon is seen in autumn
It is a light that never dulls
It glows to us so extra bright
We sing of it while others strum
The music is a great delight
The harvest moon is seen in autumn
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