Moonlit Shipwreck At Sea, 1901 Thomas Moran (1837-1926)
A misty memory
Touch a bleeding heart
Through a moonlit beam
Peering from storm clouds
A light of hope
Revealing a story
To late to redeem
Upon the sea
Crystalline drops
Dancing free
Touch facets
In the mind
Of painted memories
Drowning dreams
Crying in pain
Write a story of love
Floating
In a distant galaxy
Mesmerizing
Melancholy
Leaves a haunting
Brush stroke
Upon the moon
Slipping away
Touching beauty
if just for an instant
if caught by its magic
— if only just once
(Moran Junction Wyoming: August, 2021)
Captain Moran never gave up hope.
We were being tossed like washrags.
Many pirates of our crew were brutally ill.
The waters of the Caribbean were dangerously dark.
Some of the rest of us wanted him to turn back to the cape.
Captain Moran kept the clipper steady as he could.
Holding the wheel in the most adverse of circumstances.
It was so dark in the evening, we thought devils were afoot.
Many discussed a mutiny.
I was not one, but I was close.
On the eighth day the sky opened up right in the middle.
The sun showed herself, grinning and kicking with glee.
Right above where the Captain was holding the wheel.
Captain Moran acted like it was usual.
We all knew it was anything but.
He is blessed, our captain, by special angels.
On calfskin created, a beauty in youth!
A master’s creation, none can dispute!
Her auburn tresses and complexion fair!
Who created her image, who can declare?
Italian princess or cashier from Bolton?
Either way for me, the image is golden!
He can knock up a Moran in half of an hour?
And fool all the pros, even the most dour?
White lead was a tile, nicked from a roof?
An unlikely tale with no logic or proof!
So what do you think, the swiftest forgery?
Or really a princess, drawn by Da Vince?
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_Bella_Principessa
Erin Moran has died at the age of fifty-six.
She was special and a credit to all chicks.
She was adorable when she starred as Joanie Cunningham.
When a person dies that young, it's always hard to understand.
I learned about her death on Facebook and it made me feel bad.
When we learned of her passing, it was tragic and so very sad.
She had a wonderful figure and good looks.
When we watched her on Happy Days, we were hooked.
She died too young and her death has devastated her fans.
Sadly, we have to say goodbye to the talented Erin Moran.
[Dedicated to Erin Moran (1960-2017) who died on April 22, 2017.]
THE MORAN
Dreadlocks running down his shoulders
So red to pass for a bloodbath
But traditional beauty veins deep
My brother the great Moran
His eyes black with strange look
Not fear but ready to strike
His white teeth gives bright smile
My brother the great Moran
Too strong to carry loads and kill
Black strong arms ready to crush
Broad dark haired chest indeed healthy
My brother the great Moran
Up high they jump across the air
Brown traditionally beautified legs
Keep off track lest they pass for metal rods
My brother the great Moran
The white beaded shield always at arm
The long spear his weapon his hunt
The lion smell him the deer he feast on
My brother the great Moran
Its not bedtime don’t query the sheets
They make his clothing hide his nakedness
Two birds with one stone, they serve purpose at night
My brother the great Moran
I have a companion
in my house
who doesn't talk,
eat, drink or move
No, don't think it's
an apparition
or a television....
....don't think it's
my rusty-aged bicycle
that's about to head
to the recycle
plant.....
Yes, it's my Maasai
Moran sculpture,
beautiful in nature!
Though I eat, drink,
laugh, think and dream,
my companion's
smile gleams
with radiance that
will last throughout its
sculpture life
A smile that will never
in any single age
turn into a frown,
solemn or angry expression
A smile that
always will be
as steady as the Sun,
and as dazzling
as a rainbow
enveloping a waterfall....
NB: Published in my book, "Painting of Life in Poetry"
I watch myself before
This great mirror
Of the global village;
I am nolonger wearing
The blood-shot eyes of the moran-
The sun shines in my eyes,
And an enigmatic smile flames like
A promising dawn
On the threshhold of dusk;
From this great face too,
Rises the dawn in
A halo of flames.
Gussie Moran, a tennis star,
Created quite a stir
When she wore lace-trimmed underwear,
Created just for her.
In 1949 this was,
On Wimbledon’s staid courts;
The British folk were scandalized,
According to reports.
Designed by Teddy Tingling,
A tennis pro and Brit,
The all-white skirt (above the knees!)
Had newsmen in a snit.
They said she brought “vulgarity”
And even, more so, “sin”
Into a sport that prior
Only let the proper in.
Along with her obit, there was
A photo of her wearing
These very clothes; to us, today,
They’re anything but daring.
But bravo to this fearless gal!
Her charms she did assert
When she gave fans at Wimbledon
A shock beneath her skirt.
There was a lady that I once knew
She met her love she felt was true
He carved their initials into a tree
As she leaned closely on his knee
Trouble in paradise soon they learned
When her initials he wanted to burn
Her middle name he did not know
Until on the tree he wanted to show
Her initials spelled a body part you see
For her name was Linda Elaine Greene
When he burned it into the tree
He was concerned exactly what would be
When also carved his name into the tree
His name spelled a body also you see
For his name was Armond Raymond Moran
Now what was seen Leg Loves Arm so he ran
Lurking in my darkened mind, hatred strains
for freedom...incarcerated by sanity...ever
seething, bleeding, clawing at chains,
locked by my hand. It will sever
my soul if the key
escapes from me.
Nestled in my hidden eye, my heart cries
with such pain...adorned in white...hushed,
deep, unseen, cringing from all eyes,
protected by my wrath. It will be crushed
by Christ if I expose
myself to the murderous blow.
I walk upon a virgin sea, dawn's light
upon my hair, the breeze my breath,
the sun my smile, the sands my treasure, God my might,
the rain, my tears...life my death.
I know not me.
I know not Thee.
Patricia Langston-Moran
I must be mad...I wonder
if ants get tired as the weight of a
crumb bears down upon them...
for survival.
I wonder if dogs think...I wonder
if houses weary of their occupants.
I must be mad...I wonder
if houses weary of their occupants.
I must be mad...I wonder
if trees yearn to move - or do they
never long to stretch their roots...
See a city.
I think too much - abstract thought
that gives life to a rock.
A flower is more than
an ornament to a vase...
Perhaps I think of ants and trees and
dogs because they are so quiet.
A tree never kills...
The ant carries a crumb
never complaining.
Yes, I must be mad.
Patricia Langston-Moran
I am gazing - out the window,
And I see an Ivy, climbing to the sky,
I see Humanity walking by,
My window,
I don't see love.
I see seeds upon the ground - dead.
Seeds of justice.
I see a child holding ragged little arms up
to Mother,
and another,
Walking in proud hatred.
I see love passing by, walking into darkness
Of death, awaiting in time.
Aged weariness just befell my eye...beaten...
Hoping for elation of death.
Walk on...walk on.
I see a dog in playful ignorance,
Loving the Master, and the Master
In wisdom, painfully loving back.
I await eve- and night falls, entering my door -
I wonder...tomorrow will I see more...
From my window?
Patricia Langston-Moran
You ask too much of me -
By asking nothing.
You tell me silently
Without a word - I see
That I am nothing to you -
I need to be.
Patricia Langston-Moran
Love freezes within broken hearts...
Remains tall, insurmountable - an
Iceberg against the cold sky,
Never melting,
Never growing.
A benigh tumor lying dormant
Between Heart and mind.
Seeking a warm touch
To transform it to flowing
Water
Love only touches love.
Patricia Langston-Moran
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