winter moon


daring a flawed moon
to shrink above naked trees
I find melancholy riding
in the songs of late hours
with a pallid light
longing for much more
than cycles and skulls bouncing
on the surface of
a full stop

a pale dance above the trees
a silvery silence of boughs
slow in frosty nights
a crackling sound
water turns to ice
tarnished darkness tattered
blue with fallen skies
is finally taken
by silent voice rising

a rift in time
a tip of the hat
solar clocks that
evenings will abridge
in a long summary gone
with dark grinding
of forgotten bones
toys sea salt
and the kind of a sermon
birds wait for




Poetry by Bob
Read 662 times
Written on 2015-01-14 at 19:46

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I like the whole poem and echo the sentiments of Ashe and Shells about the power of the images--skulls bouncing and all sorts of magic happening on a moonlit, winter's night. But I really like best the last two lines. It brings to mind the legend of St. Francis preaching to the birds.
2015-01-15


shells
I echo Ashes comment, I really loved this for its cold beauty, so many excellent phrases, ie "tarnished darkness tatter blue with fallen skies."
2015-01-15



Bob, the images you paint with your words just leave me weak with emotion. I can't describe it any other way. There is so much beauty in each description. I start out just to understand the poem, which I believe is about the passing of time, etc., but it's the imagery that stays in my head and it piles one on top of another until I can hardly bear its beauty. Thanks for posting all this beauty!!
2015-01-15