Harvest Moon ~ Part Two: Just before the break of Dawn

Misgivings.
Isn’t that what the moon is antonym of?
Refined, its sugars are absorbed into the bloodstream
almost immediately;
draping
what little is left of breath, of light that longs to become one
with being—
I am cobalt etched, a glorious panoply of sensual scrawling(s)
ranging to mauve-blue, from buttercup yellow to rose.
Bend me over to the edge of the moon
and watch
as body arches toward its direction, its ways—
the virtuous, the chaste, the naïve, the unsullied aren’t afraid
of what sends shivers down the spine;
a leaf in a hurricane,
we are equipped to run miles in a universe of pleasure and pain.
Nobody notices it at first;
pristine, its crevice large lures and later covers with memory.
I dare not cross the bridge knowing “never,” is a garland
waiting on the other side—
like an addicted smoker who inhales poetry, I can’t get enough
of his verse;
the moon, dressed in red velvet, in turn exchanges a smile.

 

 

 

Photo credits: Aaron Westerberg, “Kimono.” Pinterest

It’s time for OLN at dVerse! Come join us! 🍹

A Skylover Wordlist: Shiver, bridge, refine, etch, leaf,
cobalt, pristine, garland, drape, never 💝

Posted for Open Link Night #274 @ dVerse Poets Pub

A Soft, Silent September Night

“Swans should never despair over ducks not liking them.” ― C. JoyBell C.

Slipping subtly through to lift the blackness is want; its brazen
light shimmers across dark waters, just outside, and streams in
through the space between my curtains. “Sometimes, all that a
heart needs is a push.”

In their dreams they sleep with the moon; freed of gravity, flail up
to dimensions of realms unknown. Herons, unlike us, fret not over
gulls not accepting them. I am a soft, silent September night sewn
by the sense of you. I tell myself misgiving is first and foremost an
external force, stating that one isn’t capable of handling situations;
are we seriously going to allow it to stand in our way?

I hold a perfect salt-bleached shell to my ear, listen to the voices
reaching out from all sides. Sweet, succulent, savory, the sting
that rises
within erases all remains. I prefer stewing in dreams wide
awake.

 

 

 

Photo credits: Edward Hopper, “Night Windows,” 1928

Merril hosts at dVerse and asks to write inspired by a
line from
“Death at Wind River,” by Mary Oliver 💝

Posted for Prosery Monday: Moonbeams and Moon Dreams @ dVerse Poets Pub

A Poet’s Love

In the cavern of my heart you proceed like a river flowing deeply;
calling only when all around is silent.
You are faintest trace of hope,
perhaps a flower embedded or fervid dream—
let me past jagged thorns while world outside is bound by sleep.
Whispers of love renewed flow,
as though gardens that revel in Spring—
you are verses bursting, blooming among my thoughts,
undulating as pulse-like waves.
Like a prayer sealed upon sweet lips;
you are amalgamation of the moon and sun—
perhaps a hymn, as though a sacred song.
In the cavern of my heart you proceed like a river flowing deeply;
calling only when all around is silent.

 

The poem I chose to edit:

In the cavern of my heart, you flow
like a river deep; calling only when
all around is silent.

You’re faint hope, perhaps a flower
or impassioned dream. Let me past
jagged thorns, while world outside
is bound by sleep.

Whispers of love, rekindled flow, as
though gardens that revel in spring.
You’re verse that blooms among my
thoughts, surging through as pulse-
like waves.

Like a prayer sealed upon sweet lips,
you’re moon and sun both wreathed
in one. Perhaps a hymn, as though a
sacred song.

In the cavern of my heart, you flow
like a river deep; calling only when
all around is silent.

Original poem dated March 22, 2017

 

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Peter hosts at dVerse and invites us to edit previously
written work.
Come join us! ❤️

Posted for MTB: Write like a dog, edit like a cat @ dVerse Pub

Self-Portrait – In times of Covid-19

The mirror is a poem we write to ourselves;
long after the sun,
like golden petals stretches out into the blue—
I am equal parts chaos and order,
it’s a truth I do not care to hide from myself,
if I am to be human.
Allow me to sift through your worries,
replace ache
with soft whispers; conviction
I have learned is a roseate hue that makes browning leaves
seem pretty.
This year has been challenging; uncertainty
drugging the wind worldwide, is this how it’s going to be
from now on?
I am the rain falling in a series of cascades after the drought;

why succumb to apathy
when we can encourage evolution through spirited verses—

come, let us bridge the gap
there is no discouraging us poets from the path;
“I” is equivalent to We.

 

 

(Photo taken a little after quarantine in May)

Sarah hosts at dVerse today and asks us for a poetic selfie. Come join us! ❤️

Posted for Poetics – “Come and take a selfie” @ dVerse Poets Pub 

Lady in the Wind

This is how I picture the wind;
roguish,
blowing across lush fields, into the dark catacombs
of bosom— eavesdropping
where thoughts soft-spoken are buried.
Surrounded by pandemonium
I observe its prowess closely; is this what it means to be vigilant?
If so, teach me.

 

 

 

Photo credits: Lady in Red by Emerico Imre Toth, Pinterest

Kim is our hostess today at dVerse and the word is “eavesdrop.”We may take a form or compound of it.
Come join us! ❤️

Posted for Quadrille #111 @dVerse Poets Pub

https://dversepoets.com/2020/09/07/quadrille-111-whats-that-rustling-in-the-eaves/