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James Moon Poem
A man, 20 years of age, another man, 40 years of age
The young man in his inexperience asks the 40 year old man
"You've lived twice my life, whats your advice?"
The older man pauses
Reflecting on his own life, in hindsight..
He says:
It is said by many
The best teacher is experience
This statement is true, but experience
Does not equate to intelligence, or intellect
As both do not equate to experience
With every word from spoken by a man in his youth
It is received by the senior with a grain of salt.
Though in reality, they are both adults
What distinguishes a person whos lived longer?
Is years of learning beneficial if they accomplish little?
A decade spent listless watching days blend together
Carrys more wisdom, more growth than 5 years of struggle?
To believe this I refuse.
Adults of seniority, arent always mature
Bickering, arguing with each other,
Talking over the other
Neither letting either get one word in edgewise
Their bodies mature, years experienced
Yet arrested development has left them
Adult children
The fresh face child who endures struggle
And is given responsibility,
Experiences his growth as man
A man who never has had to struggle and grow
Is stuck in his adolescence,
Copyright © James Moon | Year Posted 2016
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James Moon Poem
Look how far civilization has come,
Take away all of our technology and advances
And we are still the same
Primitive
Bloodthirsty
Savages
That we were 2000 years ago.
Copyright © James Moon | Year Posted 2017
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James Moon Poem
"Existence is an ocean."
The body is a vessel, this life is a sea.
God brings the winds that fill its sails,
But it's captain is only me.
Other ships may come and fire against us
My crew may plot a mutiny,
If succeed they do, and if I lose
My ship goes down with me.
No one else will tell me how,
Or why, or what, or when.
Till the sea swallows us up,
And it's waters birth us anew.
Till I say good bye, the final time,
And sail those seas again.
Copyright © James Moon | Year Posted 2015
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James Moon Poem
As I lay dying I cling to this life, everything in it
The pain and the strife, the heartbreak the sorrow
Always knowing you can start over tomorrow
As I lay dying , I feel too much regret
Frantic and panicked, what did I expect?
If I had moved to the right, but I went to the left
As my life leaves me, I feel myself wade into the shore
But no matter anymore, the big sleeps knocking at my door
Copyright © James Moon | Year Posted 2015
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James Moon Poem
When a tree falls in the forest,
is it heard by the stone?
As it whispers to the grass,
one last and final groan.
Does the moss cradle it's dying branches,
While creeks and rivers stop their flow?
Or does it die as it lived?
still and silent, all alone.
Copyright © James Moon | Year Posted 2016
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James Moon Poem
Our final hour draws near
As the pillars of the earth
Are raised above the threshold
The human condition of primeval primitivity
It's tribal, and civilized devices
Our cherished, but brittle
and unstable societal constructs
Have been refined and pondered upon
By wisemen for a millennia
But they remain all the same
of gold and jewel hoarding merchant swine
Or the Lord of the land which still
Holds in his hand the peasant lives
have existed Since the days of Christ.
Fortunes and prestige was made
On backs of the slaves of man
No longer slaves of one color race or Creed
Be it the blindly led masses, or the ones
Who exist to fill a pair of Jack boots
To crush any who oppose the will of few
Imposed upon the liberty and lives of
the inumerable many
Kept in listless contention
like precious cattle cargo kept in comfort
In the moments before slaughter
No use for livestock who no longer can be soothed
By the noise of the static which has kept them subjugated
Slaves, by whatever name designated
As a product of which the era produces for them
Today still remained shackled
Even as they no longer have chains
To bind the spirit or flesh
The forgotten
Will not be extinguished
They writhe in ancestral rage
Their enemy oppressors
Shall be cleansed as pennance
In the fires of retribution
But the end will be swift
with coming winds of changes
Which will blow with the sands of time
Eroding the stone inscribed with the epitaph of humanity
"What hope could there be, for us, when the light that we possessed
Our compassion, the goodness of man,
is something learned and not inherent in our souls
And bring the torrent of uncivilized upheaval
Tearing us like weeds from their earthly respite
Grinding and rending us in our vessels
back into the soil and seas.
Relinquished to the warn embrace
of our celestial mothers womb
As she plants the cosmic seeds
Sowed in the brilliance of her aeons
And which grew the bountiful harvests
that fueled our creation
And let us to thrive
as we found our way
through a cruel,
but natural order of selection
The anomallic flux
In a fluid plasticity of
Biological machinations
Copyright © James Moon | Year Posted 2022
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James Moon Poem
When in my heart I feel a shade
And I see that darkness blend into a grey.
When a soul corrupts from spite and hate
When all they are is led astray, one kind act.
May be our tomorrow's sorrows saved.
As our innocent suffer,
and our privileged feel blessed.
Whats there to show
For every breath we invest?
In the clothes and the cars,
and the goods that we make.
We watch rich men laugh
As they skip to the bank.
For what evil lives in this cruel world
Does so in the grey.
It lies not in the poor families shambled house,
or the homeless man sleeping in the cold night.
Not even the criminal who repented for his mistakes.
If what is good and true is what they embrace.
Where wealthy men sit and lament in fine clothing
But to the poor? He says "No sir not one cent more!"
"To hell with the jesus crap, I paid for these church walls!"
"I made my own fortune, poor people should too"
"Everything I did is what you could do too!"
Then he walks right through the house of god's doors.
He smiles and shakes hands with our daughters and sons
Where if you looked deep in his heart
You would tell them to run.
What lies in his soul is what tears us apart
There is such where all demons hide,
Where daylight flees a pale winter sun,
And the blood moon rises
Above a withered sacred oak,
Where legions march
The rivers run with blood
The houses empty
No fires in those hearths
and all the wealthy man's souls,
sit beside him on the throne.
Copyright © James Moon | Year Posted 2017
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James Moon Poem
From the soul, comes logic and emotion
Rationale and objectivity, Passion and belief
It's flaws of ego, arrogance, and self interest
All are self-evident dimensions of the soul
To find ground in only one, hinders only yourself
Copyright © James Moon | Year Posted 2017
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James Moon Poem
Sunken circles
Drawn faces,
Exhaustion and fever gleam
In the eyes of the badly wounded
"If they cannot stand,
They must be left behind"
None of us protest
As the situation is dire
"If fate is merciful,
They will freeze or bleed out before..."
Aircraft engines roar in distant sky..
"Before Bolsheviks arrive."
"A Soviet finds a litter half-dead defenseless men
They take the first opportunity"
To inflict upon a non combatant
The most barbaric torture and mutilation.
But we simply dispense a bullet
Suitable for a soviet burden.
Such is the war of total annihilation.
Encircled and cut off
Our forces attempt to break out at dawn,
With our final act of symbolic dissent.
We attempt to still survive.
To give credence to the losses and suffering
But apocalyptic ends await
This starving pack of desperate animals
Copyright © James Moon | Year Posted 2022
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James Moon Poem
My questions, I answer.
They ring with self doubt.
Will I lose my grip,
If I should trip, fall down?
Same answers, I question.
Always never so sure.
If I fall from my grace,
is it just what I deserved?
The answers and questions,
Swirling round from below.
When it affected my courage?
So very long ago.
Answers, Questions
Minds never cease.
Question yourself
Find inner peace.
Copyright © James Moon | Year Posted 2017
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