Jessamayann’s moon is far more patient than mine tonight, still fighting to get over cloud cover. #fullmoonsocial
Beautiful, shining orb
in space. Insanity reigns.
Reflecting the sun.
It was a clear evening. Great for viewing the rising full moon tonight.
Many of you know that Beloit Poetry Journal published two of my Mei Yao-ch’en poems about a year ago, just before I published the limited edition of Moonlight & Shadow which has recently sold out (before you ask, yes! I’m preparing a paperback edition).
Recently BPJ sent out its annual Valentine’s Day card, and I was honored when the editors told me they wanted lines from one of my poems to be on the card.
BPJ’s long been one of the long term signs of the vigor of poetry. If you’re not already a subscriber, think of subscribing for a year and seeing for yourself. I will forever be grateful to this journal for giving me a chance to introduce more people to my old friend Mei Yao-ch’en in the Winter 2015/16 issue — and now again on a card that sends wishes for peace, love and poetry to their readers.
When there are stars
The train is always departing
Or skidding through without stopping.
Because the crows blend in to the night sky
They lose their right to complain
If a thought intrudes on the view.
The thought– it wakes you in the night
After the candle has guttered into its glass
And the house is a helmet too small to wear
When there are stars. The thought’s engine
Is fierce but its tracks have already been laid,
It will go right on by whether consciousness
Stands by with its ticket or not:
When the train wakes me in the dark
I think of people I know, the cost
Of their freight, of a mile of empty cars
Pushing through the darkness with dust
Their only passengers. In the morning
The crows stomp their feet soundlessly
But can finally speak again, about everything
They saw when their eyes were closed
And they slept above the earth, like the stars
We do not see during the day. About
An empty train and what it used to carry.
The moon looks out the window.
Reflects on the pane of consciousness
Thin as a snack. Feels himself sliding
Across it, helpless. At the edge
He will become something that does not exist
In the real world. Something partial
In a place where even broken things are whole.
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, […]
Here’s the view of the moon from Pleasant Street…