Monday, January 13, 2014

The Moon Bathing

So many midnight mind scenes;
A dark hill, remote in the price
It pays to be alone.
I suffer the impact of
Broken branches on too-tough trees
In the need to be as one.
Sacrificial as ancient witchcraft or creed,
I hope amidst the silence
That love can bring myself to me.
Across my heart and above my head
Each of the moons white eyes
Pose their eerie glory,
Two illuminating pools
Of a writer’s sky, and,
Scared as a storm wind,
I litter the hills of my house
Like a wood sprite,
Lifeless in my flightless wings,
Though still breathing.

Written for prompts at MindLoveMisery and Sunday Whirl.

Sunday, January 12, 2014

Above the Earth

Outside my window
The winter moon is waning,
Dancing center stage
To a thousand spinning stars.
They blink to the beat
Of their own sky-mist melody,
Birds pause center-flight,
Black briars that hang themselves
Across a gray-cloud horizon
Like ornaments frozen in time.
Children stand, elbows perched
On dusty bedroom window sills,
Tiny, sly magicians,
Perhaps young martians
To the timid sky people
Who watch them swing
In city parks then
Plant and kill the same flowers,
Feed their hungry mouths
From the girth of this world,
Then cultivate it for the killing.
And, afraid of the harm in human nature,
They spin their breathless secrets
Into the 6th dimension
Of so many other galaxies
Where friendlier beings smile
As they catch sky dust
Between the kindness
Of curious fingers.

*Written for a prompt a dVerse Poets
*This poem was inspired by a conversation I saw on a social networking platform, the question of life outside our own galaxy.  Many people stated that if there were aliens, they have watched us for eons, afraid of us because of our barbaric we kill each other with wars, starve each other with greed, and kill our planet for monetary value.  

Thursday, January 9, 2014

On The Eve (A Poem)

Small town bars
are full of drunken patrons
celebrating the birth
of another new year
as if each stiff drink
were another star to swallow,
each slurred kiss
or staggering arm-twist
means something more
than a meaningless gesture
in a too-crowded room.
We watch them from
the quiet of our couch,
chocolate cake
and a growing mound
of losing lottery tickets
stacked between us,
each one full
of un-granted wishes
and cheap penny dreams.

*written for a prompt at Poets United

Monday, January 6, 2014

After Hours (A Poem)

People beneath city street lights
Entail a certain anonymity.
You can’t help but glance
The shadowed human spirits,
Distant side walk companions
Sprite in their knitted scarfs
And shiny boots, some are together
And others walk their
Own lone spirits home.
But in a landscape as flashy
As New York City perhaps
Friday can make you anything,
Fresh in old hurts and new drinks,
Fifty-second thrills and
A miniskirt well-spent,
You could bend your hands
Into one-night lovers,
Once for the wearing and
hand-washed for return,
Then fold them into strange doorways
Where they forever disappear
Like post-marked envelopes
come early morning.