They told me love was gravity.
Something gentle with a terrible pull.
So I fell-
into your hands, your warmth,
the little red universe of your heartbeat.
And for a while
I thought this was it.
The house.
The ring.
The photograph
where we are both still smiling.
All those beautiful things we are taught to want.
I held them like petals,
careful not to bruise what I loved.
But petals fall.
And red fades.
And somewhere between reaching and holding too tight,
I became the moon—
always turning, always returning,
giving you
the light side of me while something darker grew behind my back.
It’s cruel really, how something so profound can be so gentle
I still love the life I imagined.
I still love the person
I imagined beside me.
I just don't know how to keep the dream
without losing
the girl
who dreamed it.
A woman kneads dough for cakes.
She is sad and weary of life...
Into every piece, she mixes both a little anger
and joy – for herself, for the children, for her man.
She holds nothing back from life.
When the cakes are baked,
the anger fades away
and only the aroma of joy remains...
You still cherish
that rag doll from your childhood.
As if you never grew up.
When you change the water in the vase,
lightly stroking the lily stems,
I am moved…
You always bloom when surrounded by flowers.
And when we lie side by side
for eternity, half-immersed in sadness,
it seems to me that life is not to be taken
too seriously.
The autumn moon at Halloween,
the teacher’s greatest fear.
Kids go crazy, we all know,
a full moon will soon appear.
Add in candy, costumes too,
the kids try to act a fool.
The kids’ minds are somewhere else
instead of here at school.
It’s Sunday –
a snow-dreamy morning…
The mad, embroidered Moon hangs
on the cloth of the sky.
Amidst a barren land I see
a speak-burning tree.
I am so dispirited.
By the roadside chapel, a small boy listens
to the deaf-mute woman…
through touch.
You are my Seine...
unchanging through winter and summer.
You are my wise Amu Darya, knowing
both the desert’s heat and the melting ice.
You are my faithful Ganges – a river of lotuses
and burning pyres.
You are my gleaming Yangtze from the land of ginseng.
You are my wild, swirling Ucayali…
You are my wistful Mississippi,
drawing me ever closer to the sea.
I am but a raft swaying on the waves of your dreams.
I drift downstream, past islands of solitude,
to cast anchor in the harbor of your
Passion…
Moon, well rounded,
far more approachable
directly than the sun,
a severe Father – melting
with grading glare.
But your gentle
mother nature, willing to
overlook, hide and protect, to love
in shadows as well as light –
Able to ponder and choose
my best stars for safe distance,
having found less glitter often
more appealing, more revealing
than any impatient Truth.
Asks a moon mate
if I still feel that subtle
flame beneath my heart
when she seeks to reach for me
I smile at her fleeting warmth
and move ahead
Humble sunflower
Humble smile
Smile with grace
Smile with pride
Pride is the devil
Pride is power
Power in showing up
Power in not giving up
Up with the dead
Up with the living
Living with revelation
Living with werewolves
Werewolves are sheep
Werewolves are real
Real silver
Real stars
Stars give guidance
Stars give light
Light up the world
Light shines on money
Money for me
Money for you
You have choices
You can love
Love to fight
Love to fly
Fly through time
Fly without wings
Wings translucent
Wings never sleep
Sleep talk
Sleep walk
Walk on fire
Walk on the moon
Moon landing
Moon crash
Crash against the stars
Crash on man
Man made
Man king
King shame
King David
David defeats Goliath
David the artist
Artist struggles
Artist cry
Cry for joy
Cry for pain
Pain
Joy
Autumn's many colorful moons seen through the lens of a camera,
I see beauty and color everywhere.
As a child,
I did not know there was a harvest moon.
I loved watching the full autumn moon,
as it seemed to change colors.
Autumn's many colorful moons seen through the lens of a camera,
have changed over the years.
What has made this change?
The huge night clear sky is not as clear as it once was,
the full bright moon is not as bright.
Do we see the change year after year?
Do we even care?
I weep for the beauty of olden Autumn days,
a more peaceful time.
A bright full moon and clear night's sky,
that was once seen through the lens of a camera.
Bald eagles soared to climax
winds following suit
reaching Mother Moon’s orbit
pink-blue wings swirling in space
feathers reach essences dissolving
Love innocent endures —
Breastbones transmuted at
point of no return
we sailed into Void, fluid
zéro apogee in vastness
stoic points absent to
pierce poinsettia
throbbing Hearts
bleed red —
_________________________
Silver Winner Poem
Allpoetry: Sept 26
Form : Brevity
Prompt : apogee
Patient is the seductive moon,
Veiled in a black gossamer veil,
Clouds grip the night
Evoking an emotional imagination.
Singing in silence, kindred stars
Light up in an impressionist dance
In the infinite serene heavens.
The stage under its feet,
A reflection of itself.
Untidy, cold, resonant, sonorous sounds
Of the sea and briny air roll inland.
Calm waves silently creep,
Leaving a slight silvery spume
Over the golden-tanned sand,
Then slowly drawing a breath,
Taking it back into its dark,
Moonlit glow, turquoise depth.
The seductive moon smiles
In the pleasure it gives.
The summer season
The couple laid on
The lawn chairs staring
Up at the dark sky
It was a warm eve
The full moon was bright
The stars were shining
They looked like diamonds
As they were staring
At the moon and stars
The couple held hands
Content being together
The bond of love strong
Their two hearts are one
Sometimes I feel
as if my soul hung by a slender thread
of my mother’s raven-black hair.
I remember…
her breasts beneath a floral blouse,
secretly reading the forbidden novel, The Hunchback of Notre-Dame,
with a flashlight under the blanket,
and the worn figurine of a Japanese geisha
father used to stroke from time to time.
Even in old age, I like to curl up in bed,
as I did in the womb before birth.
And wearing my mother’s stretched-out violet sweater,
I never feel lonely.
I was awakened
by a kookaburra’s screams
a crackling bushfire…
this parched yet amazing land
is forever in my dreams
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