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Best Poems Written by Dalton Moss

Below are the all-time best Dalton Moss poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Mary

You should see Mary
Her eyes have midnight halos
Rings of inky mystery
Surround each chocolate iris
And swirling round those eyes, her hair
An ocean of silky waves
That tumble in coffee tides of soft delight
Sweet brown streams
Lit by those confection moons
That shine on someone else’s night.

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When Poetry Threatens

There is a greasy odor in the air

At the window
across the room

the diaphanous wings of a fly

peal off accompaniment,
--a staccato--contradictory notes

to the stretched rays of a dying afternoon sun

falling  on the face of my otherwise muse

And in her countenance
all I can see
is the potential of a growling dog ....

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Notes From the Future--A Tale In Two Forms, Free Verse and Rhyme

“I am in a desert place in my life
I had this dream the other night:

Comfort came to me in two forms
Dark and Light
Remembrance and Anticipation

There was a sweet taste,
Not on my tongue but in my heart
And a soft touch soothing
But sublime

My mind saw this scene from two angles
Left and Right
I perceived a choice between two women
One I have known before
The other I would know

I was standing
My back to a wall, facing an open room
From my left Dark approached me
She put her face to my face
And her body right up against my body
As we sank to the floor kissing
It was odd—but familiar.

From my right came Light
(Dark had already gone)
Light put her face to my face
And her body against my body
As we sank to the floor kissing
And it was right
Each consuming the other.”
-------------------------------------------
Dark is a woman I knew—years ago
Light is a woman I had yet to know

Dark needs no light, for her countenance seen
Dark is lit up by my fond memory

To see Light I’d need hope, and it came in a vision
It took a great while, retrospect acquisition:

Committed recall to the blank white of paper
Returned to my eyes again, many years later

Gave chance to bestow, my mind reels at the means 
The future made known to the man, it would seem

No notes from the future, squeezed backward through time
Piggybacked upon muons*, the old paradigm 

It came by cigar with some gulps o’ the brandy 
Wouldn’t suffer invention, no technology handy

Through membrane not diodes, transistors or chips
Premonition the cargo, time-transient ships

Time seeps and flips back--bits of data it brings
Knowledge bestowed in ethereal** dreams 

The upshot of this story? Light’s my destiny
And I’m happy to say that her name is Tammy.

*The time traveling muon
**extremely delicate and light in a way that seems too perfect for this world

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Poet's Spectre, My Ghosts Are Not Diaphanous

Beauty that is mirrored is that beauty?
Absent love leads phantom duty
My running pen speaks not so bright
In its ink hide ghosts by night

It’s intimate with willing paper
White bond drinks up all black vapor
The curves, the contours, strokes—I gape!
Appear in spectral words of shape

And whisper sounds from verse I fashion
But lacking substance, wraith-like passion
Attempts the work of a lover missing
Does not convince my lip she’s kissing.

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A Nod To the Jabberwock

Along ta derry ga de hance
‘til dawn we sit, amid, astance.
And once the full moon rises on’t
Da mid awhorl doth all we want.

But soon ta blacken brot a gri,
wit stil da crackon akabree--
And once t’gin ta ram da moot
Dow noland farce th’ wil ka soot!

A packa shoon curl tabard sheath
And when we drather forka beeth,
Is wan ‘taback the cabbarth shoe
Around about will strike the moon.

The will soon eddy wine dak crown,
To ramble on the turtle drown.
We pounce upon the blackened brot
‘twas crackon gole th’ trei be shot!

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I Hear the Yard A'Calling

I heard an old graveyard, whisp’ring my name
Old stones reside there, seemed friendlier, that game
Tho not having met my three score and ten
I'm thinking these thoughts, my beginning to end?

Regrets I have many, desires not filled
This world holds youth's wonder like soils not tilled
My days? They all merit a decent days work
But I spend my time stewing; my toil I shirk

Time spent on bad thinking, and gazing my navel
This life is worth more, my self is more able
Would that I had power to pull myself up
By bootstrap or bucket, that truth I won’t buck

Great knowledge I've witnessed, keen minds spewing forth
They tell me: "act happy then feel the new mirth"
So I will move forward on wisdom not mine
Perhaps take a rain-check, that graveyard, this time.

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Second Time's the Charm

I’ll keep this short, 
that all may know
These words I write, 
I write to show

A singer* once said of 
the trade that he plied
A poem is a person, 
stands naked and spied

A compliment given 
reflects back upon 
The giver if not 
those words were steeped on

So when you tell me 
just so, to be nice
“The stanzas you wrote 
I just had to read twice”

(I'd expect you to do so
And second that motion
Re-read it my self
Added words to this notion)

Please do a poem honor 
and read it again
Don’t let first time through 
be simply the end.


*Here's to Leon Russell!

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Morning Template

Dew dripping
Dim light
Birds chirping
Restful night

Dark streaming
Cool quiet
Plants growing
Eyes bright

Wet grass
Thoughtful moments
Sunlight brass
Symbolic omens

Sky of glass
Petals open
Earth laughs
Morning poem

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My Life As a Smoke Ring

With a nice cigar
I blow a perfect smoke ring,
And the ring holds briefly.  

I consider that focus of energy-- 
The snapping of my jaw.
The ring succumbs to the evening:

       Hard-edged blue smoke
       Burns off the hot stick end
       Soft volumes of gray puffed circles 
       Spew forth as the moment calls
       To live out their perfect circle lives
       Then be annihilated
       Unnoticed
       By mere confusions
       In the cool night breeze 

I consider my House
Pieces of life drawn together 
Of more dynamic forces.

Energies which held together Home
Decay
In the same way the smoke ring is gone.

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My Life, As a Haiku

Minute by minute, 
between moments of terror,
Joy finds me shaking