fighting with the clouds to see through inky sky my mind wanders to the last months how many times someone comes to mind when I do not wish it dear will-o-wisp clouds enchant me but still I strain to see the moon and it shows just its slip, straining my eyes for only a glimpse, […]
via winter waltz — Are You Thrilled
Here’s the view of the moon from Pleasant Street…
The moon feels caressed by the clouds.
When it opens its eye they are far out of reach.
You turn your blonde head away from me where I can still see the shadow on your cheek My naked eye is always looking for your tender skin under all of those garments made in the east the search for you is never tiresome as the loss we turn away from or as weary as […]
via Penumbral Garments — jessamayann
Great poem by Jessa!
Please share your full moon poems by tagging them #fullmoonsocial.
When Clouds Eclipse the Eclipse I Give in to My Frustration and Write a Bad Poem About the Eclipsed Eclipse in Iambic Pentameter (I Hope) and in Quatrains That Have no Rhyme—or Reason—but That’s to be Expected from a Poseur Poet Who Might be Better at This if She Were to Practice More Rather Than […]
via Full Moon Social 2017 — Unexpected Paths
Not sure it gets much more wordy than that. #fullmoonsocial? #snowmoon? #lunareclipsefullmoonsocial? Heck, I dunno, maybe we should just stick with #fullmoonsocial …
Just as our ancient Chinese poet friends did (I’m talking to you, Sheng-yu!) let’s gaze at the moon and write poetry tonight. Then tag your post #fullmoonsocial on WordPress, Twitter or Facebook so we can share via the tag.
I plan on starting to monitor posts around 7:30 Eastern time tonight, just as the lunar eclipse reaches its maximum effect.
Our fingers weave silence like the hands on a piano
before they touch the keys. The music held complete, waiting.
Over what instrument do we hover? Whose song?
It sprouts like corn in a field. The summer sound of growth.
On the edge of the song I find an old tree
And a treehouse. Lights twinkle inside.
I am building a stone wall at the trunk, New England style,
Piling loose slab upon slab, spending hours on the balance
Of space and solid. Grave and strong. It will never fall!
You walk out of the song and step over it.
The monster in the lake only wants to be in the lake.
The monster in the sky over the ridge wants only to fly.
There is nothing to be gained in gathering the net
Or by pulling the kite string. They are already yours.
*
An oily beast. Strand to lock. Radiant and remaining.
A drum beneath the water. No, it is the drumming in our ears
As the plane lands. The sky naga takes us on its back
And brings us slowly to earth and we wake in separate beds.
*
Want a monster in Loch Lake.
Ridge monster is flying all over the sky,
Is contained in the web
Or pulling off the line. They already know.
*
-JSS
The week lays before us like a red ladder on the floor.
While it seems to point forward it is going in the wrong direction.
What can I lean it against that will let me climb up to you?
–sometimes the present has no leverage!
The black belt looks at his watch.
For a long time he does not move.
He is like a pen hovering over a blank page–
The shadow is written first.
*
There is an art to flying across the days
To reach out without holding on.
The will, like a migratory pattern, synced
To wingbeats, weather and hunger.
Before we knew what we were
We knew where we were going.
On the ground below, at the site next door
A worker rests his ladder against the wrong house.
*
And here we are now. Like hands on a watch.
Atoms that can get no closer no matter what we do.
In the quiet do-jang, the students disperse like birds.
The music from the mall hesitates at the entrance
And slinks away. The black belt has seen enough,
He covers his watch with his sleeve and turns us
Into a form of silence and motion. Like words
That could save someone’s life, or kill them.
Translations from the English 