A little perspective on reflection…#fullmoonsocial
moon–you’re the right size
to slip into my pocket
or stay in my eye
——
A little perspective on reflection…#fullmoonsocial
moon–you’re the right size
to slip into my pocket
or stay in my eye
——
It would not be a full moon social without Sister Madly!…
It is nothing short of madness
That’s been laid to rest
Here, it began
And here, it will last ~
A realization
That comes so cruel
That something was created
As momentarily as you.
Images by: Leonid Tishkov
Always good to have Mother Earth involved…
Sun sets-moon rises
Cool air quickens before dark
Pulls me out this night.
Mother Earth
My old New England neighborhood used to be full of those guys…
…running the night ragged…
it rained hard ten minutes now sunshine beating on me it could be just about any day but this day feels different the full moon somewhere beyond the blue don’t I know what it says to t…
Source: full (bloody) moon
Pleasant Street got this #fullmoonsocial going earlier this morning…enjoy…
I need a friend veracious and true I offer my hands, and a knack for speaking in blue if you steal the moon for me I won’t tell on you
It would not be a #fullmoonsocial without a poem from Mr Durso…
there you are
illuminated
remote
in the heavens
while I below
my wine cup
raised
to you
to her
both
beyond reach
of my arms
We lay here on the edge with a handful
of words not knowing when it will come
upon us and knowing when it comes
(the words will be left to stand guard)
it will be without knowledge
of us and without us knowing it has come
then the skidding slippery acceleration
then the slow wholeness of a moon passing overhead
*
most of our memories congregate here on its borders
but are not allowed inside we remember
gaining it we remember losing it
rubbing our eyes with the shock of its absence
we lay here not wanting to forget a thing
but to enter it is to forget
the weight of everything else
*
we wonder sometimes what really happened
when we were there and the answer is always
much more than that happened
the loss of context that puts all into context
the details of our days all birds and sand
I have given up trying to remember anything
more detailed than that wing of a smile
but even when we know we will never lose each other
we cannot stop the alarm it is in another world after all
so here on the edge we gather with our words
the words listen for us and try to remember
while we’re gone and to hum the song
we were singing once we’re gone
somewhere in the dark plantations is a flat rock
still warm from the sun where we will sit
years from now as if no one had ever been there
and the stars will be new like the moon
In the walnut branches the birds of September begin to gather.
Late August. Empty chairs. My mind’s dinner guests.
The woman who bought the house next door pulled up the ivy
on the property line, and with it tore the bird-hollow branches
of the butterfly bush from their roots. And with that
the flying leaves of fall whose nature is not to fall will not
find my front yard. They who could bear thoughts of enormous weight
over great distances. Now I must take this thought
far up in the sky, where this poem will cast the shape
of it, its shadow only, on your mind’s green ground.
I am exhausted, ready to drop it all, when I see
I am carrying nothing. Down below you have found
a perfect place to plant a butterfly bush. It’s late August.
On the back patio the empty chairs await the arriving guests.