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Shelley Moore Poem
We strive for the norm.
We don’t dare deviate,
for fear of rejection
from parent, peer, or schoolmate.
If you do, you’ll be labeled
weirdo, kook, or quack.
People may point at you
or talk behind your back.
But what, exactly,
defines normal, anyway?
Is it in the way we look
or in the things we say?
Do we have a formula
to measure by degrees
the ability to “fit in”
with the greatest of ease.
But me, I don’t care
if you think I’m a freak.
I’d rather be myself
than boring or meek.
So you think I’m flaky?
I’d prefer to say,
I’m eccentric, quirky,
and unique in every way!
So don’t act your age.
Go dye your hair blue.
Have some fun, laugh out loud,
and to yourself, be true!
Copyright © Shelley Moore | Year Posted 2015
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Shelley Moore Poem
In the West
I searched for a vision
to capture and keep
and glimpsed lovely wings
in sky of azure
Summer was dressed in her best greens
and trees, like sentinels, stood silently by
watching me…
watching her.
The chase began
It led me deep
into the forest,
to an altogether different vision
She continued to elude me
and I was afraid I’d lose my chance,
to capture this beauty,
and lose my way as well.
But then the thought occurred to me…
Would it be so bad to lose yourself in such a place?
Would it not be fine to linger here in solitude?
Having as company
only the flora and fauna
To fall asleep each night to Gaia’s lullaby—
to a symphony of croaking frogs and chirping crickets
and awaken to avian melodies
To bathe in the tranquility
away from the industrial din of Urbanity
No buzz of traffic,
just the buzzing of bees
No hum of technology,
only the hum of the wind
No inane babbling of superficial voices,
the only babbling is that of a nearby brook
No discarded refuse littered on Gaia’s plain,
only scattered leaves on the woodland floor
Not a human face to be seen,
only the face of the moon smiling down upon me from her celestial bed
It was then that I realized I could never lose my way
In such a place
the thought was absurd
like getting lost in your own house.
Was I losing my way?
or finding my way Home?
Copyright © Shelley Moore | Year Posted 2015
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Shelley Moore Poem
Oh the sweet bliss,
of a milk chocolate Kiss,
it's velvety sweetness, so fine!
I'll say it the first,
I'm afraid that I'm cursed,
with this chocolate addiction of mine.
I get feeling dandy,
from an M&M's candy,
I love plain and almond as well.
I also love the scent
of dark chocolate and mint.
Oh, what a wonderful smell!
And I'm fond, oh so very,
of the chocolate covered cherry,
as it releases it's syrupy glee,
on my toungue, which is tingling
with the chocolate/fruit mingling.
It's as good as sex, don't you see!
I love to savor,
the sweet, creamy flavor
of chocolate and caramel combined.
There's nothing so lovely.
It makes me feel bubbly.
When I eat it, I feel quite divine!
And who can deny
the sugary high
of cocoa and raspberry mixed?
When I'm feeling quite blue,
I eat one or two
and then all of my problems are fixed!
The decadent taste
of chocolate laced
with toffee and almonds, so good!
I can't help myself,
from reaching for the shelf.
I'd eat the whole bar, yes I would!
So if you are wise
and care for thin thighs,
I'll advise you not to indulge.
But me, I don't care,
a size larger, I'll wear,
for chocolate, I'll take that slight bulge!
Copyright © Shelley Moore | Year Posted 2015
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Shelley Moore Poem
Death, with bony fingers creeps,
reaching for our souls
It hides its face in shadows deep,
waiting to take hold
longing to share with us
its ebony embrace
to transform our light to
a state of darkened grace.
Like a hunter, patiently,
it lingers by and by
You’ll know it has come for you,
when you hear the Banshee’s cry
Copyright © Shelley Moore | Year Posted 2015
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Shelley Moore Poem
There is a garden
in which blossoms revel
in sunlight’s divine aura,
and glistening dewdrops
dance upon petals
fine as silk
The scent,
like the perfume of Aphrodite herself,
pervades the air with its aroma--
reminiscent of love and beauty
The thorny spines
uphold a family of blossoms--
some resplendent in their debut,
their petals lustrous with color
and heavy with fragrance
Others show signs of waning--
their fragile hips,
curled and fading,
timeworn, but
still lovely in their ripeness
In this place,
Serenity reigns
Time is of no consequence
There is only the light,
the fragrant breeze,
and the colors that paint the air
with pigments of lavender, mauve, lilac, and blush
And if you sit long enough
and listen carefully,
you may hear,
among the sounds of drifting water
and a crane’s solitary cry,
the sigh of roses
content in their quiet existence
If you listen…
in Mary’s Rose Garden.
Copyright © Shelley Moore | Year Posted 2015
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Shelley Moore Poem
Globes of amber, sky-blue, sage,
what they’re thinking, one cannot gauge
In sunlight, marbled crescents glow,
snake-like, rodent’s worst of foes
Evening’s dusk, hunting hour,
Pupils black, their depths devour
Sleepy, languid, hypnotizing,
Curious, cunning, and conniving
Twin moons, dark illuminates
Cat’s eyes always captivate
Copyright © Shelley Moore | Year Posted 2015
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Shelley Moore Poem
Like a balloon, I am tethered
Cares, like strings,
tie me down
‘Til the light of dreams
comes to me
and severs my binding,
releasing me from my earthly burden
Not only do I fly from consciousness,
but from the earth itself,
which, like a pebble,
becomes small,
insignificant.
Warm winds carry me
I let them take me wherever they wish
and follow gladly,
leaving behind my vexations
that held me, like an anchor,
to the ground
To the wind gods, I pray
to lift me up,
and make me forget that
Solicitude ever whispered its words in my ear
Soaring above the clouds,
I feel as if I can do anything
Boundless possibility--
like the endless horizon before me--
no ceiling, just sky
Limitless, free
Copyright © Shelley Moore | Year Posted 2015
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Shelley Moore Poem
The days drew towards winter
as the waning sun retired
Autumn’s chill, with bitter breath
drove them closer to the fire
In velvet darkness, Night embraced
they had to heed its call
It held them strong and fast
in its dim, nocturnal thrall
The fire’s eerie glow,
upon their faces, shadows cast
Ghoulish and surreal, they looked
telling tales of All-Saint’s past
The teller told his tale,
eyes filled with devious intent
Overcome by the sinister magic
that the story darkly lent
Helpless victims, the listeners became
as they watched him madly leer
Weaving sanguine threads into their hearts,
their minds, saturated in fear
A church bell tolls in the distance,
its reverberations, ethereal
It wakes them from their stupor,
from the spell, so funereal
But it has only just begun,
for the bell tolls twelve-fold.
The witching hour is upon them
with more stories to be told!
Copyright © Shelley Moore | Year Posted 2015
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Shelley Moore Poem
Fallen petals from a funeral wreath,
freshly dug-earth,
and a hint of rot…
linger in the graveyard air
and mingle with the living scents
of the spring breeze—
of lilac and honeysuckle,
and the more elusive smell
of memories and of prayers
They are present here,
as she sits beside his grave
Recalling with eerie detail
the lines of his face, the love in his eyes
And wonders with morbid thoughts
how those features have transformed now
As she contemplates
what lay beneath the earth’s crust
and what similar fate awaits her,
there comes a new smell among
the stones and moss—
An overwhelming smell of fear.
Copyright © Shelley Moore | Year Posted 2015
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Shelley Moore Poem
We are caught in the round
To the earth we are bound
We start in the womb and end up in the ground
From the ground we rise
from our lonely demise
and are born to a life, which is twice as wise
As the one before
Our eyes do see more
Our hearts are open and so is the door
Which leads to great wisdom—
the gift of man’s kingdom,
which helps us to know just where we come from
In the womb we begin
or is it the end?
The circle of time tends to transcend
Beyond the limits of ages
We’re released from our cages
and so begins the turning of pages
Of the book Divine
We see the sign
of the Creator’s purpose and Nature’s design
We are caught in the round
To the earth we are bound
We start in the womb and end up in the ground…
Copyright © Shelley Moore | Year Posted 2015
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