Today's poet

[Mossdog]

Not quite moon rise, but this is bl***dy brilliant, me thinks...

After a Day We Stay in Bed Until the Sun is Close to Setting
by: Lyn Lifshin (1942- )


From Cold Comfort
He drives home
thru the black trees
with a poem
about me that will
make him famous
starting in his
fingers. He wishes
the wheel was his
Olympia typewriter.
He needs to get my
hair where he can
touch it on the long
drive thru the pine
trees, my musk still
drenching the car.
I want to read
this poem almost as
much, dazed, the
night's performance
has sucked me flat
and pale as an empty
sheet of non erasable
bond, has pulled
all color, all the
wet moist verbs
out the way he took
the stories I told
and made them in
to his own surreal
dreams. Even my
leaves and branches
became the green
arms of a child.
My mouth is dry, I
need to have his
poem where my clove
nipples press into his
blue striped cotton
smelling of sun and
wind in the pine
trees, a mirror that
will reflect my dark
eyes. I need this as
much as he needs
to invent me to
become himself.

[Harry H Howgill]

Moon and fells.......


Moonlight

What time the meanest brick and stone
Take on a beauty not their own,
And past the flaw of builded wood
Shines the intention whole and good,
And all the little homes of man
Rise to a dimmer, nobler span;
When colour's absence gives escape
To the deeper spirit of the shape,

-- Then earth's great architecture swells
Among her mountains and her fells
Under the moon to amplitude
Massive and primitive and rude:

-- Then do the clouds like silver flags
Stream out above the tattered crags,
And black and silver all the coast
Marshalls its hunched and rocky host,
And headlands striding sombrely
Buttress the land against the sea,
-- The darkened land, the brightening wave --
And moonlight slants through Merlin's cave.

Victoria Sackville-West

[Mossdog]

Lost souls.

Oh pale and wondrous endymion moon,
Lead me to my lovers breast so i may be with her soon,
Alas she is ethereal and out of reach,
My whispering doleful beating heart has been breached.

The roses visage ever lost to me,
Summer sun shimmering o'er the sea,
Love is now a chimera dancing betwixt head and heart,
My soul shalt wonder endlessly always to be apart.

By Matt Harmston

Gosh Tri-mind, that poem makes me shiver with sadness, but (alas) also painful recognition. Yet, somehow it's reassuring to recognise another sharing similar emotions. Thanks.

[freckle]

Not quite moon rise, but this is bl***dy brilliant, me thinks...

After a Day We Stay in Bed Until the Sun is Close to Setting
by: Lyn Lifshin (1942- )


From Cold Comfort
He drives home
thru the black trees
with a poem
about me that will
make him famous
starting in his
fingers. He wishes
the wheel was his
Olympia typewriter.
He needs to get my
hair where he can
touch it on the long
drive thru the pine
trees, my musk still
drenching the car.
I want to read
this poem almost as
much, dazed, the
night's performance
has sucked me flat
and pale as an empty
sheet of non erasable
bond, has pulled
all color, all the
wet moist verbs
out the way he took
the stories I told
and made them in
to his own surreal
dreams. Even my
leaves and branches
became the green
arms of a child.
My mouth is dry, I
need to have his
poem where my clove
nipples press into his
blue striped cotton
smelling of sun and
wind in the pine
trees, a mirror that
will reflect my dark
eyes. I need this as
much as he needs
to invent me to
become himself.

Holy moly gaucomole!....this is one of the best poems you have ever posted Mossy...and that is saying something!!!! where do you find them, brill!

oh still writing flaming xmas cards (aaaaaaaargh)

[Mossdog]

Moon and fells.......


Moonlight

What time the meanest brick and stone
Take on a beauty not their own,
And past the flaw of builded wood
Shines the intention whole and good,
And all the little homes of man
Rise to a dimmer, nobler span;
When colour's absence gives escape
To the deeper spirit of the shape,

-- Then earth's great architecture swells
Among her mountains and her fells
Under the moon to amplitude
Massive and primitive and rude:

-- Then do the clouds like silver flags
Stream out above the tattered crags,
And black and silver all the coast
Marshalls its hunched and rocky host,
And headlands striding sombrely
Buttress the land against the sea,
-- The darkened land, the brightening wave --
And moonlight slants through Merlin's cave.

Victoria Sackville-West

Oh yes. Very, very well done triple H, that's so beautiful.

[Harry H Howgill]

Holy moly gaucomole!....this is one of the best poems you have ever posted Mossy...and that is saying something!!!! where do you find them, brill!

oh still writing flaming xmas cards (aaaaaaaargh)

Good question. PoemHunter is a dead loss sometimes.

Are you in the need for some Christmassy poems then?

God I Hate Christmas




God I hate Christmas
with all it's good cheer
I hearing people laughin'
but I shed a tear
Folks they just love ya'
one day of the year
The rest of the time
they wouldn't come near ya'
They send you a card
full of love and best wishes
Then in the New Year
they run off with ya' misses
They're stuffin' their gobs
as fast as they can
Bugger them starving,
in Afghanistan
Then Santa Clause comes
with a full sack
A new doll for Betty
a bike for our Jack
'Eat, drink and be merry
tomorrow we die'
Forget about Jesus
'let sleeping dogs lie'
You think I'm a cynic
a miserable bastard
Come Christmas day
I just wanta get plastered.




Elaine Hamlet

[Derby Tup]

Been out running and came home to find poets thread awash with brilliant verse. Mossy, you're ablaze this evening; some fantastic selections

[Harry H Howgill]

Oh yes. Very, very well done triple H, that's so beautiful.

And she nearly got away with the line "massive and primative and rude" without anyone noticing!

[Mountain Goatess]

Sonnet of the Moon
by Charles Best, 1608

Look how the pale Queen of the silent night
doth cause the ocean to attend upon her,
and he, as long as she is in sight,
with his full tide is ready here to honor;

But when the silver waggon of the Moon
is mounted up so high he cannot follow,
the sea calls home his crystal waves to morn,
and with low ebb doth manifest his sorrow.

So you that are sovereign of my heart
have all my joys attending on your will,
when you return, their tide my heart doth fill.
So as you come and as you depart,
joys ebb and flow within my tender heart.

[Mossdog]

Holy moly gaucomole!....this is one of the best poems you have ever posted Mossy...and that is saying something!!!! where do you find them, brill!

oh still writing flaming xmas cards (aaaaaaaargh)

Glad you enjoyed it Freckle - it is superb isn't it. Found it on

www.blackcatpoems.com/index.html

Having taught little one myself many, many moons ago (sorry, couldn't resist), I can advise you to use pototo prints to reproduce your card message(s).