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Our visions, that we see,
Never are the same,
Mine are realistic,
Yours are just a game.

We can see the beauty,
The stars, bring at night,
Stare at them for hours,
Never see the light.

The moon appears,
So big, bold, and bright,
It’s the suns reflection’
Illuminating, our evening nights.

The trees are swaying,
Are they waving, at you and me,
The force behind them,
The wind we will never see.

Our life this time,
Not a rehearsal for a play,
It could end, at any moment,
Then you will look, at those wasted days.

Those lost years, are gone,
You can not go back, and change,
For the time that’s left,
You can start to rearrange.

There will always be things,
That are different than what we see,
Why add more confusion,
Saying words, you do not believe.

Tom Maxwell © 01/03/2004 AD
Poems about the Moon and Stars

These are poems about starlight and moonlight, moons and stars, dreams and visions, illuminations and intimations …



Will There Be Starlight
by Michael R. Burch

Will there be starlight
tonight
while she gathers
damask
and lilac
and sweet-scented heathers?

And will she find flowers,
or will she find thorns
guarding the petals
of roses unborn?

Will there be starlight
tonight
while she gathers
seashells
and mussels
and albatross feathers?

And will she find treasure
or will she find pain
at the end of this rainbow
of moonlight on rain?

Published by Starlight Archives, The Chained Muse, Writ in Water, Jenion, Famous Poets and Poems, Grassroots Poetry, Poetry Webring, TALESetc and The Word (UK)



Step Into Starlight
by Michael R. Burch

Step into starlight,
lovely and wild,
lonely and longing,
a woman, a child...

Throw back drawn curtains,
enter the night,
dream of his kiss
as a comet ignites...

Then fall to your knees
in a wind-fumbled cloud
and shudder to hear
oak hocks groaning aloud.

Flee down the dark path
to where the snaking vine bends
and withers and writhes
as winter descends...

And learn that each season
ends one vanished day,
that each pregnant moon holds
no spent tides in its sway...

For, as suns seek horizons—
boys fall, men decline.
As the grape sags with its burden,
remember—the wine!

Published by The Lyric, Poetry Life & Times and Opera News



Regret
by Michael R. Burch

Regret,
a bitter
ache to bear...

once starlight
languished
in your hair...

a shining there
as brief
as rare.

Regret...
a pain
I chose to bear...

unleash
the torrent
of your hair...

and show me
once again—
how rare.

Published by The HyperTexts and The Chained Muse


Infectious!
by Hafiz aka Hafez
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I became infected with happiness tonight
as I wandered idly, singing in the starlight.
Now I'm wonderfully contagious—
so kiss me!

Published by Better Than Starbucks and Poem Today



Bath by Moonlight
by Michael R. Burch

She bathes in silver
~~~~~afloat~~~~~
on her reflections.…



Kin
by Michael R. Burch

O pale, austere moon,
haughty beauty...

what do we know of love,
or duty?



Kindred
by Michael R. Burch

Rise, pale disastrous moon!
What is love, but a heightened effect
of time, light and distance?

Did you burn once,
before you became
so remote, so detached,

so coldly, inhumanly lustrous,
before you were able to assume
the very pallor of love itself?

What is the dawn now, to you or to me?
We are as one,
out of favor with the sun.

We would exhume
the white corpse of love
for a last dance,

and yet we will not.
We will let her be,
let her abide,

for she is nothing now,
to you
or to me.


Moon Lake
by Michael R. Burch

Starlit recorder of summer nights,
what magic spell bewitches you?
They say that all lovers love first in the dark...
Is it true?
Is it true?
Is it true?

Starry-eyed seer of all that appears
and all that has appeared—
What sights have you seen?
What dreams have you dreamed?
What rhetoric have you heard?

Is love an oration,
or is it a word?
Have you heard?
Have you heard?
Have you heard?

I wrote this poem in my teens, during my "Romantic Period." It has been set to music by David Hamilton, the award-winning Australian composer who also set "Will There Be Starlight" to music.



Only Flesh
by Michael R. Burch

Moonlight in a pale silver rain caresses her cheek.
What she feels is an emptiness more chilling than fear...

Nothing is questioned, yet the answer seems clear.
Night, inevitably, only seems to end.
Flesh is the stuff that does not endure.

The sand begins its passage through narrowing glass
as Time sifts out each seed yet to come.
Only flesh does not last.

Eternally, the days rise and fall with the sun;
each bright grain, slipping past, will return.
Only flesh fades to ash though unable to burn.
Only flesh does not last.

Only flesh, in the end, makes its bed in brown grass.
Only flesh shivers, pale as the pale wintry light.
Only flesh seeps in oils that will not ignite.
Only flesh rues its past.
Only flesh.



Nashville and Andromeda
by Michael R. Burch

I have come to sit and think in the darkness once again.
It is three a.m.; outside, the world sleeps...

How nakedly now and unadorned
the surrounding hills
expose themselves
to the lithographies of the detached moonlight—
******* daubed by the lanterns
of the ornamental barns,
firs ruffled like silks
casually discarded...

They lounge now—
indolent, languid, spread-eagled—
their wantonness a thing to admire,
like a lover's ease idly tracing flesh...

They do not know haste,
lust, virtue, or any of the sanctimonious ecstasies of men,
yet they please
if only in the solemn meditations of their loveliness
by the ***** pen...

Perhaps there upon the surrounding hills,
another forsakes sleep
for the hour of introspection,
gabled in loneliness,
swathed in the pale light of Andromeda...

Seeing.
Yes, seeing,
but always ultimately unknowing
anything of the affairs of men.

Published by The Aurorean and The Centrifugal Eye



Day, and Night
by Michael R. Burch

The moon exposes syphilitic craters
and veiled by ghostly willows, palely looms,
while we who rise each day to grind a living,
dream each scented night of such perfumes
as drew us to the window, to the moonlight,
when all the earth was steeped in cobalt blue—
an eerie vase of achromatic flowers
bled silver by pale starlight, losing hue.

The night begins her waltz to waiting sunrise—
adagio, the music she now hears,
while we who in the sunlight slave for succor,
dreaming, seek communion with the spheres.
And all around the night is in crescendo,
and everywhere the stars' bright legions form,
and here we hear the sweet incriminations
of lovers we had once to keep us warm.

And also here we find, like bled carnations,
red lips that whitened, kisses drawn to lies,
that touched us once with fierce incantations
and taught us love was prettier than wise.



Deliver Us...
by Michael R. Burch

for my mother, Christine Ena Burch

The night is dark and scary—
under your bed, or upon it.

That blazing light might be a star...
or maybe the Final Comet.

But two things are sure: your mother's love
and your puppy's kisses, doggonit!



Dark Twin
by Michael R. Burch

You come to me
out of the sun —
my dark twin, unreal...

And you are always near
although I cannot touch you;
although I trample you, you cannot feel...

And we cannot be parted,
nor can we ever meet
except at the feet.



Upon a Frozen Star
by Michael R. Burch

Oh, was it in this dark-Decembered world
we walked among the moonbeam-shadowed fields
and did not know ourselves for weight of snow
upon our laden parkas? White as sheets,
as spectral-white as ghosts, with clawlike hands
****** deep into our pockets, holding what
we thought were tickets home: what did we know
of anything that night? Were we deceived
by moonlight making shadows of gaunt trees
that loomed like fiends between us, by the songs
of owls like phantoms hooting: Who? Who? Who?

And if that night I looked and smiled at you
a little out of tenderness... or kissed
the wet salt from your lips, or took your hand,
so cold inside your parka... if I wished
upon a frozen star... that I could give
you something of myself to keep you warm...
yet something still not love... if I embraced
the contours of your face with one stiff glove...

How could I know the years would strip away
the soft flesh from your face, that time would flay
your heart of consolation, that my words
would break like ice between us, till the void
of words became eternal? Oh, my love,
I never knew. I never knew at all,
that anything so vast could curl so small.

Originally published by Nisqually Delta Review. I believe this was my first attempt at blank verse.



The Watch
by Michael R. Burch

Moonlight spills down vacant sills,
illuminates an empty bed.
Dreams lie in crates. One hand creates
wan silver circles, left unread
by its companion—unmoved now
by anything that lies ahead.

I watch the minutes test the limits
of ornamental movement here,
where once another hand would hover.
Each circuit—incomplete. So dear,
so precious, so precise, the touch
of hands that wait, yet ask so much.

Originally published by The Lyric



A Surfeit of Light
by Michael R. Burch

There was always a surfeit of light in your presence.
You stood distinctly apart, not of the humdrum world—
a chariot of gold in a procession of plywood.

We were all pioneers of the modern expedient race,
raising the ante: Home Depot to Lowe's.
Yours was an antique grace—Thrace's or Mesopotamia's.

We were never quite sure of your silver allure,
of your trillium-and-platinum diadem,
of your utter lack of flatware-like utility.

You told us that night—your wound would not scar.
The black moment passed, then you were no more.
The darker the sky, how much brighter the Star!

The day of your funeral, I ripped out the crown mold.
You were this fool's gold.



In this Ordinary Swoon
by Michael R. Burch

In this ordinary swoon
as I pass from life to death,

I feel no heat from the cold, pale moon;
I feel no sympathy for breath.

Who I am and why I came,
I do not know; nor does it matter.

The end of every man's the same
and every god's as mad as a hatter.

I do not fear the letting go;
I only fear the clinging on

to hope when there's no hope, although
I lift my face to the blazing sun

and feel the greater intensity
of the wilder inferno within me.



The Pictish Faeries
by Michael R. Burch

Smaller and darker
than their closest kin,
the faeries learned only too well
never to dwell
close to the villages of larger men.

Only to dance in the starlight
when the moon was full
and men were afraid.
Only to worship in the farthest glade,
ever heeding the raven and the gull.



Heat Lightening
by Michael R. Burch

Each night beneath the elms, we never knew
which lights beyond dark hills might stall, advance,
then lurch into strange headbeams tilted up
like searchlights seeking contact in the distance...

Quiescent unions... thoughts of bliss, of hope...
long-dreamt appearances of wished-on stars...
like childhood's long-occluded, nebulous
slow drift of half-formed visions... slip and bra...

Wan moonlight traced your features, perilous,
in danger of extinction, should your hair
fall softly on my eyes, or should a kiss
cause them to close, or should my fingers dare
to leave off childhood for some new design
of whiter lace, of flesh incarnadine.



Listen
by Michael R. Burch

Listen to me now and heed my voice;
I am a madman, alone, screaming in the wilderness,
but listen now.

Listen to me now, and if I say
that black is black, and white is white, and in between lies gray,
I have no choice.

Does a madman choose his words? They come to him,
the moon's illuminations, intimations of the wind,
and he must speak.

But listen to me now, and if you hear
the tolling of the judgment bell, and if its tone is clear,
then do not tarry,

but listen, or cut off your ears, for I Am weary.

Published by Penny Dreadful, The HyperTexts, the Anthologise Committee and Nonsuch High School for Girls (Surrey, England). I believe I wrote the first version of "Listen" around age 17.

Keywords/Tags: moon, full moon, star, stars, night, sky, nightfall, tonight, dream, dreams, dreaming, dream time, dream girl, love, affinity and love, bittersweet love, blind love

Published as the collection "Poems about the Moon and Stars"
JKirin Mar 4
Visions of you give me strength. I'll survive this
war full of pain and destruction around us.
Soon, I'll be home with you, darling, I promise,
back in your arms, greeting you with a soft kiss.

I fight through this long night thinking of you, only of you.
Around, canons are loud, I will pull through, I will pull through.
Absurd! You'll hear a word that I am gone, that I am gone.
Believe, darling, believe – I'm coming home, I'm coming home.

I will ****, cut, slay
every foe, every last foe
that is on my way
from this war, pointless long war.

I must go, must run
and escape this wretched fate.
Early with the sun
you will wait for me, my mate.

Visions of you give me strength. I'll survive this
war full of pain and destruction around us.
Soon, I'll be home with you, darling, I promise,
back in your arms, greeting you with a soft kiss.

The enemies strike
with spears and spikes.
They advance, advance, advance.

They all think I'm weak!
Their future is bleak.
In this fight, they have no chance.

They fight to death not knowing
I have someone to live for.
I've made someone a promise
to survive this wretched war.
I will go through hell and fire,
to return to you, my love.
There is nothing that can stop me, when you wait for me, my love.

Visions of you give me strength. I'll survive this
war full of pain and destruction around us.
Soon, I'll be home with you, darling, I promise,
back in your arms, greeting you with a soft kiss.

I imagine you standing
waiting out there all alone.
From the dawn to dusk, worrying,
if I'll come back from the front.
Thinking of the hell and fire
between you and I, my love.
There is nothing that can stop me, when you wait for me, my love.

Visions of you gave me strength. I survived this
war full of pain and destruction behind us.
Now, I am home with you, darling, as promised,
Come to my arms, welcome me with a soft kiss.
a song about a man caught in the midst of a battle, thinking of his lover, who is waiting for him back home
Thoughts come to my mind,
From different sounds, and scenes,
Visions of the past,
Late night dreams.

People missed,
From passed days,
Feelings, emotions,
That will never fade.

Life moves on,
My journey through time,
Always new experiences,
A collection, in my mind.

©Tom Maxwell o3/o3/07
Chad Young Feb 2
What is quantifiable are the symbols. What isn't quantifiable are the zones between the symbols, unless there are many symbols present that form spaces.
There are partial symbols, i.e. a gesture of an animal is present but not the form of the animal.
Reality stays more abstract with partial symbology.
What is known about the symbol gives reality meaning.
Speaking of visions as symbols separates the meaning from the visual experience.
The person who doesn't see the symbol as the reality has not been exposed to reality which is somewhat hard to ascertain.
When, in dreams for example, there are just collages of things, it is hard to say that it is more than a collage. But if I recognize symbology, it allows me to see every part of the picture.
Symbols are more for the artist than the scientist who simply wants to verify what happens in reality. While transcendent of verification of meaning is reality "filler", yet it attains to meaning only if it is seen as symbol.
The filler is more abstract because logic only exists here if we consciously give something meaning. Otherwise a huff of a dog, for example, is merely a passing image.
Since concrete objects already have existential meaning, they cannot constitute as filler.
Visions, because they only partially exist, calls into question existence itself.
In filler reality, it becomes participatory as to giving reality meaning or just enjoying the visions.
What separates this filler world from normal mind is that meaning is no longer the key to reality.
Simply experiencing the visuals explain reality in an easy way.
Meaning almost ruins the mode of experience.
laying in contemplation
without a vision
people are rarely reminiscent,
of what they have been seeking
and fall into a deep torpor
maybe its this slumber
that makes them realize,
all they wanted was right there
in front of their eyes.

there was a girl, brave and bold
carried in her heart, a potful of gold
searching everywhere, knowing nowhere
where she would get her answer.

with such strong desires held in her soul,
a fire ignited in her heart
as she wandered into the dark,
the rustling of a brook, somewhere in the woods
where she would often sit by and ponder
'Is happiness all I seek?
or is it just one of life's very old tricks
and maybe it reeks?'

with such a heavy heart
she walks alone into the woods,
contemplating whether life is something
that she never really understood.
I seek for her as she seeks the answers.
Aerien Nov 2020
i have a little dream
of you in the moonlight
my fingertip tracing
poems upon your back
words limned in luminance
braiding foxgloves into your hair

it’s just an idea,
it’s all just ideals:
ideal you...moonlight, skin, words
a little dream of “could be”
prickled with starlight
tinged with a berry scent
a tangled glow

I stay drunk on dreams,
I stay inflamed on dreams,
my ear pressed to the walls of the worlds
listening to the whispers from the universe next door.

don’t force me sober.
reality tastes like concrete.
Chad Young Oct 2020
I
I am a course and
weak Self imbibed
with only me.
There is no image
save My image.
There is no soul save
My soul.
I'm refreshed by my
own eye and my own
breeze.
My being radiates its
own oneness with its
Self.
This is the garden
of immortality.
Free from the Manifestation,
abiding in my love
for my Self.
I should tell Bob
that "Baha'u'llah
said that
the highest spiritual
station is to be free
from the oneness with
the Prophet and see
oneself as exalted -
being encompassed
by the love for one's
Self."

Many in this realm get
caught in the thoughts
of others, not listening
to their own voice.
Every guide and guru
cannot stand the one
who is in love with
only himself.
Here there is no
need for others to
hear or follow.
I become the center
actor of my own
movie.
I see the image of
a statue  embodying
my Self.
Yes, we are all one
Self, enthroned in
the highest.
This is the realm of
Self-Authority
where the Manifestation is
equally envious of me.

Every thought of self
inadequacy
is met with the
sparkling beauty
of my Self.
sab ariana Oct 2020
my brain is rotting inside my head
visions of my death
creatures from hell
pestilence swarm around me
while screeching memories burst through
the sutures of my skull
i fall through the seven layers of heaven
back onto this earth
a ****** soul forsaken
i call out to god
but only hear back from satan
H A Vitatoe Oct 2020
The bull stands at thee.
Quickly but yet - no stampede.
Crashing - of the sun.
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