"gibbous" poems
Published in The Quill on November 19, 2014:
http://www.amazon.com/Quill-Fall-2014-ebook/dp/B00PNVT6PG
...
On being overweight (whatever that means)
Even if you were the moon, they would complain about how much space you took up in the sky, how you were too bright, wanted too much from the stars, demanded more light than the others.
And when you shifted, from waning to full to waxing to waning, they would remind you of how instable you were, how much of a hassle it was to keep track of your instability, your need for attention. Have you tried to be a vegan yet? All the stars are doing it.
You have tried. In fact, last week was your third try – an attempt, they call it – not enough, they emphasize, try again, they say this as if it is encouragement.
That’s when you found them - the celestial crescent, the earthshine, the perilune, how the lacus are lakes without lakes, why the Gibbous is brighter either way, especially during conjunction – all strung together in pearls.
You are a full the night you return.
As you reflect off the lake, you see Selene, Hecate, Mani, Tsukuyomi, Iah, and Thoth. You tell the stars to look, to breathe your reflection, to succumb to the glow and the beauty of it all, that you are not alone—
They laugh.
Say how historical that is, how out-of-touch you are, how myths aren’t mirrors, how you - you are not a mystery at all.
But when you died – if you died – (we still do not know) - they do not wonder where you went. They spin, spin, spin the entire night home, only once confessing to how empty the sky is without your shine.
But every night they burn.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
The wind blows on a restless night
No fright, sight or cloud creep around in the tranquility of darkness,
A drizzle, brought by a softer breeze from seemingly nowhere drives near, dispersing the light brought by the sweet waning gibbous moon
And so, a grand rainbow, yet dim has been cast across the dark sky, filling it with both hope and glamour and blessed optimistic tender,
Impulisive shooting stars, racing across the sky and illuminating it,
In great numbers, one would think someone let the stars rain down instead, as they shine, then shoot across the horizon, never to bee seen again, each wishing, leaving their bright trails behind as travelers,
Appearing like a cosmic chess board, the flare stars dance in a festival of pure energy in the light of a white nights eternal moon, beaming,
The legend of a first wish, travelers which bring infinite fortune, brought to those whom believe in a shooting stars power and might,
The legend of the second wish, simply infinite power brought in light
And the last wish is carried by the realisation of transience, right before the night has come to its end, a last traveler shoots across the sky, it is the wish of immortality, an eternal life which cannot vanish.
But, the last wish, is a greater curse than hell or death itself.
~ Umi
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 6:04 PM UTC
[new moon]
Moon girl is breath and curve. She catches light and throws it back to the universe. You see her and tremble, falling, as she once must have done from some heavenly place.
[waxing crescent]
Moon girl is wild. You follow her into the forest where she steps barefoot into a stream and takes your hand, water swirling over her feet and hers. She talks about roots and branches and flight. You are in love.
[first quarter]
Moon girl is dancing. Moving her body, dynamic, unpracticed elegance, shaping space, graceful, unafraid of audience, unafraid of pause, unafraid to bend and swish and rise, flying, electric, boundless. She gets everywhere. In your morning tea, clouds, April storms, wrapped in sparkling strung-out melodies, and especially in your head. You dream of waist, skin, movement holding her and warmth, closeness, desire kissing her and your heart burns soft inside your chest, a lantern lit by lunar beams.
[waxing gibbous]
Moon girl gives you violets. You give her your hands, open; your heart, open; your soul, open. You give her everything, or you try.
[full moon]
Moon girl is with you, always, this silver fire here in the filth and blood and terror, head on your shoulder, palm on your skin, speaking to you in ways language cannot, grounding you, saving you, saying your name, holy, lifting you up, repeated tenderness, voice low, eyes deep, glorious, and she is steel, she is iron, she is endless.
[waning gibbous]
Moon girl smiling. Moon girl watching. Moon girl brave. Moon girl rough and sweet. Moon girl creating. Moon girl radiating. Moon girl moving, toward you.
Moon girl.
Moon girl.
Moon girl.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 7:29 PM UTC
Dear diabolic debutante / Spawn of the unfathomable abyss of blackness / Daughter of dreadful dead desire / Black-shrouded sinister sister of celestial gloom before whose imperious gaze the heavens fall silent / Whip-lash girl-child of the graves whose pallid visage kindles the myriad infernal fires / Autocratic vampiress of lunar doom whose winding-cloth enfolds the thousand horrors of blood-drenched nightmare / Thou that wanderest the cypress-crested hills of funereal necropolises / Whose icy glance cracks the ungraven tombstones of utter desolation / Empress of night and madness / Who stalks the locked and shadowed hallways of unhallowed thought / Whose burial-boat glides the still waters over Lethe’s silent depths to the unglimpsed isle of eternal mourning / Whose parapets tower above the fiefdoms of quotidian banality / Whose flying buttresses overlook the Stygian waters of the forgotten drowned denizens of damnation / Whose unshackled dungeons open to worlds of regal splendor / Whose spires pierce dark skies where oblivion buries the ruined cities of revelry under the drifting clouds of leaden time / Oh maiden of melancholic alchemy whose petrified passions transmute base metal into pure gold…
May the gibbous moon of equinox shine its baleful eye upon you; may you tread in sacramental calm the winding starlit paths of somnolent cemeteries; may my unmixed metaphors unveil in delirium their parabolic mysteries before the smoldering altar of your uninterpretable allegory; may the favor of your scorn forever lay me out, embalmed, undead, on the cold stone of merciless reality. Behold: in cryptic script of spectral apparition, in tracery of coded illumination, amidst the dawning rays of torment I write thine unknown name on the threshold of daylight. And from within the mortared wall of self I speak forth from my sepulcher the Sibylline utterance,
unsought, unheard, undreamt:
JUST WANTED TO SAY ‘HI’ !
☻
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
Of serene eyes that follow gently
the illicit pill she could not let go
it was heavy as the waters pulling her inside
serenading her with an estranged voice
coming from within —
her minimizing the desire to let it out
as the sun quiets down
and the gibbous moon exhibiting itself at night,
resisting the waves occurring —
as if it loathed her whole being
of her justness and the absence of these causes
her grieving and the sirens waltzing,
talking through an absentminded eye
eyeing her soul
finding love that seizes it
but hers were two feet and one mouth to breathe in
even in all shades of blue,
she can get a glimpse of the dark hue
illuminating the downside of the ocean
pulling her, wrecking her soul.
Redemption does not lie —
humoring her with plainly just truth
craving for the applause of the moon
only observing the depth of the ocean
eating the once alive soul
of her saving her last breath,
chiming in with the conversation, she
once had with him.
It could have been nice the resistance
he once had — to throw himself out
to the beauty of his light that shed
her whole body
he once was able to have
and he stayed there, eyed her the whole time
being eaten on the lonesome of the night
for he himself, shading all the blueness
like a requiem for the dreams
she kept on having
like a composition giving life
to new generations, he was still on
a token and a curse, and he let her be —
in all shades of blue.
Jul 11, 2022
Jul 11, 2022 at 5:21 AM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, sunset west moon flies east? ;]
air planes soar
beyond the limits they roar
in a longing stare they long
disappearing through the clouds and gone
arise arose arisen
and in my place still frozen wizen
they venture the winds purple skied time
to blend and wing the moon menaces racing in line
glistening afar
from the back of a wounded scar
archer to the future
claiming a bleach
where does it go?
where does it reach?
maybe Saturn not here
but the return is there
to the node of the belong flying up no fear
seems my flight gonna wait for years
the waxing gibbous flies
and I hope for dreams in the close of eyes
------ravenfeels
Jun 23, 2021
Jun 23, 2021 at 12:05 PM UTC
The villages of Algiers
Well, suburbs
Really, but villages
Is what is said
In French
And heaven
Knows, despite one
Hundred thirty years of
Colonization
Brutalization
Deprivation
The many Algerians
Still
Love French. Those
Villages team with men
At night.
At night, the women
Wait
Indoors
Behind doors, away.
Waiting.
But at night the
Men take the streets.
At night the men crowd
Streets, cut in
Front of traffic, clog
Cafes, stream
Toward the mosque away
From the mosque fill stores
But mostly
Mostly they
Squat
Sit, or just
Hold up walls.
They lean.
Stare. Talk. They watch cars
As they jostle and jolt
Watch other men
Walking, watch
The silence
The noise. Watch
Stars, the
Dark
Still buildings
The passing cat, the rhythm
Of the wind,
Watch the gibbous moon and
It’s cycle
The fullness, the waxing and waning
They watch
They witness
The villages
The suburbs
The streets
They watch
The dead.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 9:28 AM UTC
Crystallized hair pins gilded in her soft touches
Caressing earths ground
She sings the earthly creatures gently to sleep with her dream like sound
Sensible, sensitive my dear
Breathing in the clear dew drops hanging below the gibbous moon.
Natures serene dreamer planting their seeds, reaping - but soon one must choose
Difficulty arises
And despises the force of nature
Bends of the crisps wind - if shocks and stirs
It blurs her senseless ,
And shakes her earth. The goddess drinks the goblet of diamond
In silk she lays
Yet not be mistaken......
Surrounded by serendipity and indulging in life's pleasures
The crystals of the golden moon set in her hair
Beware she will leave you dreaming in heart ache
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 1:47 AM UTC
'O godmother, open your mind to me and tell me of your woe!'
'My dread spouse, he is to joust on the morrow's night; Death cannot accompany him, else I shall be left bereft!'
'O godmother, he is no longer a marauder; he shan't greet Death on the verdant hill where he shall joust,'
'My dread spouse, what will he suffer if he were to fail?'
'O godmother, ye of little faith! Your dread spouse shall joust with a fiery spirit,'
'My dread spouse, what would become of me if he survived, only gaiety!'
'O godmother, worry not, for he shall battle under a gibbous waning moon, a good omen surely!'
'My dread spouse, if he shall be pierced by an arrow whilst on his stallion, I shall weep to the moon!'
'O godmother, if his blood is to stain grass browned by heat, he will lay peacefully knowing his courage.'
Aug 5, 2019
Aug 5, 2019 at 7:25 PM UTC
...
new moon
"just let me sleep,"
moon eaten
my absence upsets all.
Look at me, really look at me,
stare up at the belly of a loved sky,
watch fingers dipping into bowls of blood holding hope,
feeling around for a sliver,
of sweet milk,
of relief,
of anything;
new moon whispers
on the dead bodies left behind,
god sighs---
he knows;
"I am not the same"
waxing crescent
map out my wreckage,
my skeleton of poetry;
in the spines of books loved by mankind,
bury me there in a pages of flowers---
in the altitude of words;
read me with a hunger you have never known before,
over and over;
whenever it seems fit~
like the light of the moon is a cigarette.
smoking,
he's always smoking now.
god takes another drag;
he describes to me:
*"You could be my bible,
you book of blood"*
I can't stand smoke...
"I have no business in being your holy snakeskin."
first quarter
I've been searching for
solid ground, solid shadows,
a solid compromise;
I wanted a little more
than ordinary love from him so I
asked him where the static began,
for me it's below my bottom left rib
and found that it was also where the spiders started too.
Time, that quiet thing
obeys god, only
because it waits for no one
it loves
unzipping the law of alchemy,
cause ink flowered in my blood again;
I should thank time
it was this saving kind of grace;
always has been
god stroked my hair this time
and said quietly:
*"You see,
the saddest thing is realizing
that there's nothing more they can do for you"*
waxing gibbous
Oh, where's my love?
Is it in the fever I call happiness,
is it in the sword my mama raised me to be
Is it in the way
the moon tiptoes closer
when he says my name
in that beautiful way he does
or breaks my name
over his teeth like it's just
glass apples
God doesn't even look at me
he doesn't have to;
"Do you believe in angels?"
the wreckage answers him
"not lately"
full moon
And it begins again
I watch as he just looks away
and says it's fine
it hurts
god narrows his eyes but shrugs
"Pain had other plans for you."
I breathe out raggedly;
***"I guess,
if there's no key
then I'll just swallow the whole door."***
...
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 9:30 PM UTC
*new moon;
i love you’s echo through the room. some may call this the honeymoon phase, but i believed it
was so much more. as your arms wrapped around me, i pictures more of our future.
waxing crescent;
you met my parents and i met yours, we were intertwining our families one by one. We started to fight, which meant our relationship was good, right?
first quarter;
first three months went by and i just about wanted to cry all the time. you came home late with lipstick on your face.
waxing gibbous;
why, why, why, why, why?
i cannot do this with you.
full moon;
i am so angry, so so angry. i screamed and scream, all you say is “i can explain” explain what? how you killed me.
waning gibbous;
i gave you an inch, but you took a mile. you will never regain my trust, but i love you.
third quarter;
i started talking to someone new and they told me to leave you. i wanted to give you one last chance.
waxing crescent;
i’m leaving soon, i saw you with her, i cannot do this anymore.
new moon;
i am made new again without the curse of you. i will be me again soon.*
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 12:56 PM UTC
It was 29° (f) degrees this morning with a waning gibbous (¾) moon. Still, as we started our run, it was dark enough that the world was rendered in black and white. Lisa was a sepia print of herself while Charles was a large, quiet shadow, a dark visual noise pattern.
We usually jog from our dorm, down to and along New Haven Harbor and back. Lisa and I love the ocean. The wind was in our faces this morning and there were no sparkling moon refractions in our direction, which made the water musou and colorless.
I’ve gotten my outfit down to a science, leggings under shorts, four long sleeve, dry-wicking spandex tops (layering is important), a power-wool-earflap-beanie, thermal neck gaiter and quantum, icebreaker gloves (with touch-screen compatibility) - you gotta dress warmly but be able to shed layers as needed.
I listen to audiobooks while we run. Right now I’m on book 5 of the ‘The Expanse’ series. I don’t have time to read anything fun these days, so I listen to science-fiction/fantasy while I workout. I love the new AirPod Pro feature that automatically turns the sound down if anyone talks.
I wear a fitbit charge around my right ankle and my Apple watch as well - they both track my run - the fitbit is more accurate but my watch sends my workout stats to my siblings - we’re uhh, sort of competitive.
At first, as we came up on the harbor, it was impossible to see the intersection of the two dark oceans - the great terrestrial and the greater galactic - but as we turned for home, there was an atmospheric scatter of blue at the edge of the horizon, heralding the sunrise on our retreating backs.
musou = one of the darkest shades of black
Nov 2, 2023
Nov 2, 2023 at 7:41 PM UTC
vain fluff, temporary garbage
954 pieces of trash is too much
to pick up
let the most dazzling of sunlight
and cool shade get along in peace
let the blue fat flies settle on the miles
of back alleyways full of dumpsters
veiled threats from anonymous faces
who are apparently experts in poetry
let it all rot under a gibbous moon
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 3:17 PM UTC
When left alone at night
I look for the pinpoint lights
of the stars that appear
when clouds aren’t there.
There’s a waning gibbous moon
shyly peaking from the shadows,
with one of its symmetrical sides,
what’s the moon got to hide?
whispering privately
I’ve heard the moon has a darkside,
that it’s coin-like and openly two-faced.
That’s no idle gossip, it's scientifically based.
India just landed on the moons bottom
I wonder what, exactly, that got ‘em.
It’s funny because the moon is ****
making the landing sound rather rude.
“India is groping the **** moon’s bottom.”
See what I mean? It all sounds rather pervish
and obscene - not at all the usual routine -
it has the ring of something politically incorrect,
but that’s progress, I guess, undressed or dressed.
Sep 6, 2023
Sep 6, 2023 at 2:26 PM UTC
self-sacrificed suffering
this life burns into nothing.
abstract obstructions
my hands are full,
cleaning, moving,
legs sore
and voice changing tones,
laughing is more persistent.
don't be nervous:
retract all motions blocked by the feeling of it.
lack of control, the situation needs to build itself
and all you have to do is live it.
communication codes:
call me esoteric emily,
leave me up in trees
I'll throw apples down for you to eat.
you feel like stones,
cement, hard-laced fruit loops,
and the morning after, and the year
after year after year
that
will
follow.
something smooth to rhyme to,
you're building fences for me to jump,
I'll leave you to mind them.
your eyes were my eyes, and it felt natural.
something you showed me that took advantage
of the bounds that tie and rebound and break,
something similar to a run on sentence.
sarcastic similes
arcane knowledge seeping through my eyelids.
now I'm forced by my own self-will to tell you everything.
there are more forces than that,
I'll learn to respect them in silence
rather than saying that I don't believe in them.
doesn't mean I'll get on my knees and pray,
just means I might want something.
seemingly mean
from the things that seem
to tunnel
underneath
your garbage,
your sinking
thoughts
combined
with
circumstantial
evidence
led me to believe in the beauty I swore was gone.
thankfully all suffering passes no sooner than happiness does.
Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 1:53 AM UTC
God I miss him,
I miss the days of old.
I can taste it.
It tasted like a windy summer night.
Where the waxing gibbous moon was radiating;
Lighting up the cloudless night and then reflecting on the surface of my heart.
Where every small movement of he makes
– with his lips, hands and fingers caused ripples.
They were exaggerated in the best way possible.
It tasted like a cold autumn night;
Like the golden, sweet and sticky honey;
drizzled over warm waffles and a hot cup of rose tea.
Where the waxing gibbous moon was glowing;
Glowing through my curtains then onto my mirror,
casting a reflection on my bed.
Where he lies all day,
Waiting for me to return from reality –
to where I truly belong.
Where we waltzed with stars and I slide down the Milky Way
right into his arms.
I am a nefelibata.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 10:04 AM UTC
[NEW]
Scientists know more about the
moon
than the ocean.
[WAXING CRESCENT]
Light can only dive 200 meters
down into the ocean. Below it,
the “Midnight Zone” glows in the dark.
(By standing in your shadow,
I am hoping to become
bioluminescent.)
[FIRST QUARTER]
Life has a tendency to thrive in hostile environments.
For this reason, Jupiter’s moon,
Europa, may be able to support
life within the global ocean of
liquid water that is hidden
beneath the ice at its surface.
(This is why I am able to bloom in the dark.)
[WAXING GIBBOUS]
The ocean bows to no one but the moon. Turn
off the lights. Turn up the stars. Low tide wants to
fold back inside itself and lap against the
shores of the Sea of Tranquility.
High tide just wants to be noticed.
[FULL]
But a heated black body sunspot,
(isolated from the rest
of the photosphere),
still shines brighter than the moon. Wolves should
be howling at the sun instead.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 10:52 PM UTC
Foggy breeze through my
fingertips when sunburnt days
seem coveted in memory.
When the columbines came back from the dead.
Burnt up cities...
The last glimpse of
firefly lights grew dim behind me
The trees sprouted everywhere like stardust
The pillars I once worshipped
in incense with amulets
became faded ruins...
The weathered walls texture
were like sequins with no glimmer
I escaped again to a place with green lakes and forrests of pines
It's quieter up here in the
mountains
Like a shudder through the
window
I hear the old house moan all
through the day and all
through the night
The sunlight pierces through
the blinds
illuminating his face
which is already illuminated
But you're my bumblebee
that insignia- a honey gatherer
If you subtract the intimacy
out of ***
Nothing's left, but
hollow mechanical *******
Stealing the rythmn from
the music
Sturdy as a beam I lay
Unable to grasp at anything
It's just noise
Sweaty day, shivering nights-juxtaposed
It's like living on Mercury
In decomposition like a basket of rotten lemons
Past conversations crush their
weight against my open ribs
No parent teacher or friend
told me how all consuming the sensation would be...
Dazed eyes staring through
disheveled blinds,
I was dropping rose buds off the
second floor balcony in the night
They hit the scratchy asphalt
like a gentle meteor shower
Monotonous nights replay
the same phases
That moon...
A face splashing
from gibbous to crescent
Waning on my malady
Always stirring like a steady torch
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 2:40 AM UTC
A growing sickness
Flowing through my veins
Burning away inside, eating me away
As the darkness takes over from within.
Lapses in sanity, I find myself lying
In cold sweat, falling through the chasm
And I know its only a matter of time
Before the demon inside has arisen.
A manic bloodlust takes over my being
I ache for the violence to be set free.
In their dead eyes, I see reflections of mine
A murderous gleam shining within
As my face stretches into a smile that isn’t mine.
Every fibre of my being, repulsed by myself
Petrified by the beast I have become
I cry out in pain and anguish
As I feel Him taking over again.
Under the light of the gibbous moon
I revel in my madness, as her
Screams goad me on and take me
To the precipice. I stand grinning at
Her broken,bloody form in the earth
As she whimpers a pathetic plea for mercy.
No one knows of my disease; He only
Claims my body for himself in the dark
Leaving me behind to feel the horror and disgust
In the cold, grey sunlight.
Every night I struggle inside
I fight against my inner devil, pleading
For reason and humanity to return
To the twisted ******* I have become.
He stretches my face into a wide smirk
Reminding me of that exquisite, repulsive
Scent of flowing gore; He coaxes me,
He cajoles, He beckons me to join Him
As my will weakens and my body surrenders.
And so ends my tale, I have lost myself
To the contorted insanity I bred inside.
Horrified, repulsed, revolted with my being
My death only entices me now
Promising relief from my unholy illness.
But I know that small comfort is lost on me
Eventually, He’ll possess me entirely
And in the remorse of this truth I lie
And I feel Him return inside, eagerly awaiting my demise
No more can I hold out against Him.
No more can I wear the mask of Jekyll.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 10:53 PM UTC
~~~
a
bit
of a
smile
on the
face of
the night
bright sky
or a
candle
getting
brighter
as sweet
winking
stars go by
*xoxox
xox
xo* a half a
ghostly gleam
partly covered by
black veil *xoxox
xoxoxoxoxoxox
xoxoxoxox
xoxox*
gibbous
moon arises
wan and deathly
pale *xoxoxoxoxoxo
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
xoxoxoxoxoxo
xoxoxoxo
xoxox*
full as a
great gallion is the
most important phase!
for she looks down upon
us with a tender, loving
gaze! the lady in the
moon a shining
beacon be
she pulls us and she stills us
and beneath her we are
FREE
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 2:50 PM UTC
write at midnight. edit in the morning.
write on a mountain. edit on a beach.
write inside a dream. edit & exist in reality.
write in a fever pitch as starlight kisses your cheekbones.
edit in the cold dawn light without excuses.
write loudly with Bjork screaming into the curtains.
edit in silence.
write as the clouds gather around the gibbous moon.
edit as the sun crests the hill & burns away the fog.
write inside, cozy under a blanket.
edit naked, cold on the front porch.
write asking questions.
edit demanding answers.
write blindfolded with your fingers waltzing across the qwerty.
edit bespectacled or with a monocle.
write like a mass ****** edit like a suicide.
or better yet
write like a homicide. edit like a detective.
write toward the open sky with your legs outstretched before you.
edit facing a clean white wall with your knees against your chest.
write because you are innocent. edit because you are guilty.
write during a fit of hyperventilation.
edit during mammoth exhalation.
write with complexity. edit into simplicity.
write, as Hemingway did, drunk.
edit, not sober, but hungover.
see your flaws in the sharp mirror of a headache.
write during sloppy explosion. edit during precise implosion.
write with your head in the clouds gnawing at the cumulus.
edit with your feet firmly planted in the ground.
write during violent collision.
edit during calm separation.
write with a pencil on soggy paper in a hot shower.
edit with a red pen sitting in tepid murky bathwater.
write among raucous laughter & banging skillets.
edit in secret while the kids are asleep.
write like a sadomasochist.
edit like a psychiatrist.
write while running on your tip-toes.
edit while lying flat on your back.
write in several languages with abandon.
edit beside a translator dictionary.
write as you are engulfed in fire.
edit with an extinguisher.
write with careless fluidity.
edit without assistance from amphetamine or coffee.
write with a full bladder,
standing up,
jitterbugging,
squeezing the tip of your *****
closed--urgently
squirm & trickle
your ideas onto
the porcelain page.
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 11:33 AM UTC
**Borne on waves of solar wind
the void of space he navigates
ostracised, sails the sky
searching the night with polarised eyes.
With beckoning gaze, his look forlorn
watching the world float in space
off-ground-tigs plays he alone
for has no friends to call his own.
Muddy puddles and oceans reflect
mellow cheese, veined with blue
marred complexion, acne faced
through scudding clouds, plays peek-a-boo.
As old as time, a crescent smile
grinning the grin of a Cheshire cat
a melon slice, a boomarang
thrown into orbit, returns again.
Without our friend where would we be
the darkest nights through eternity
no tide to pull the ocean blue
no romance, for me or you.
... ... ...**
Apr 30, 2011
Apr 30, 2011 at 12:45 AM UTC