Tonight we’re due for snow, but look out there
at sun and warmth, no frilly white to wear.
I don’t think I believe the weathermen
who talk of snow again, and then again.
They taunt us, make us think that winter’s here
with their predictions. Nah, they’re just a mere
wish that their hopes align with ours, that soon
December struts its stuff beneath a winter moon.
If I had married a poet
he would sing me to sleep with simile,
march into morning with metaphor,
brew the coffee, set the table,
a woven placemat for him,
a green one with lilies for me.
The white porcelain teapot, steaming
with water for my cup, two sugars, a slice of lemon,
and his strong coffee, black, no sweetness
except for the flavor of him
across the table.
We look, see much more,
speak, don’t speak.
The air is charged.
But,
he is not a poet.
He listens to my words,
understands my simile, my metaphor.
We have combined
our differences.
He is morning. I am night,
I the moon and he the sun
who has become my poet.
One is six, the other three years old.
It’s been a busy day and they are tired,
but not tired enough to give in.
Now, there is a feeling of renewed energy
as they realise it’s growing dark.
There is a moon
and a few stars have appeared.
Christmas lights are beginning to twinkle.
It is not Christmas yet.
Not for weeks.
It’s only the garden centre
in advertising mode
dressing itself up
showing off its new seasonal wares.
The two boys
don’t care.
For them,
now,
in the dark,
watching the lights,
Christmas has begun.
The moon over a rock formation at Mt. St. Helen’s National Historic Monument.
Private intimations
Stun and astonish,
With subtle divulgence,
Scattered scantily
Amid common communication
A monotone revelation
Drifting on halcyon air.
An ominous precursor -
Flashing red lights,
Bells clanging, flags waving
Madly with such tragic bane -
Even clouds burrow humbly,
Shrouding rays of the sun
Awed and moved
Propitious foretelling,
A brilliant full-moon flight
Withering silence
simultaneously freed
And paralyzed
By the escape of such
Transcendent truth
Rationed to a rapt mind.
Trust of the un-trusting
Meandering beyond boundaries
Of a self-conscious mind.
Sometimes I
admire the
moon for it
cannot match
the sun’s glory
so it finds
it’s own patch
of sky to
brighten.
Sometimes I
admire the
nightingale
for it is drowned
out in the shrilly
shouts of other
fowls so it
finds its own
silence to
liven.
Sometimes I
strive for the
sun yet I
can’t reach it,
so I aim for
the twinkling
stars instead.
Somewhere
over the rainbow
the colour black
is weeping,
but then she
realizes the
mysterious beauty
of the night.
A sweet vehement desire
to reach the sky so high
and kiss those stars,
play with the moon-ball,
just fly care free away away and away.
I hope I was that kid again,
the desire of whom I now speak of.
How time changes, how realities become
more important than fantasies, ending
all such sweet vehement desires.
An early morning dream
where everything is still so dark,
the light of the day hasn’t yet arrived,
the dawn is beginning its show.
An early morning dream,
where I dream of the early morning,
the stars still shining,
the moon though can’t be seen.
An early morning dream
where I experience the early morning.
I am waves upon your shore, she begins,
dashing myself against you, constant.
I am undertow, says he.
Succumb or be pulled under.
See me in every tree, she replies,
leaves trembling to see your face.
I am the moon o’erhead, he replies,
watching for your every move.
I am the dispersing wolf, she says, traveling
a thousand miles, separated from the heard.
He answers in a howl- I am wind.
I know exactly who you are.
The rain lightly falls
As a squirrel sits on the fence
Eating his breakfast
The moon reminds me
And the stars as they flicker
In darkness they shine
Svein Koningen painting “The crowded room” (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
The wretched racket of quiet
has entered this room
dancing mockingly at your gloom
I laugh back
for I am in love with solitude
little had they knew, I relish and catch-up
on conversations I started with myself
by clear water lagoons
they had forgotten
I passed many a moon
Still the dancers; erect ears
set on doom
I will tap on their shoulders
for a spin about my room
laughing playfully
they thought they could
grate my ears with
their crackling croon
of quiet performances
bowing down at my gloom.
© [Jeanette Shihadeh] and [thepainterspalate.wordpress.com], [2012]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material, artwork, or photo’s without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Jeanette Shihadeh] and [thepainterspalate.wordpress.com] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
Green gray
this day
warm icy wind
tickles my skin
goose bumps live
under the rain drops
solemn moods
and soaking cries
illicit friends
burning sky
birds no more
intrude
the sun snoozes
behind gray clouds
as if to never speak aloud
again to light
rejoice
rebound
night-time moon
crescent crown.
© [Jeanette Shihadeh] and [thepainterspalate.wordpress.com], [2012]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material, artwork, or photo’s without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Jeanette Shihadeh] and [thepainterspalate.wordpress.com] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
If I were Venus, and
you were the moon
I would likewise cross the sun
determined to reach you,
the arc of my resolve set.
Feet on fire.
Nothing quenches me but you.
My heart is racing, tap
tap, tapping on the moon
this night is a bore
the quiet stillness
I abhor
forget the blinds
up in the sky, pull
pull them down
around, around
silly night, you cannot serenade me
seducing me into your spell
I fell, I fell into my mind
to forget to sleep in time, not mine.
Forever – ’til the end
only this silliness
to contend
around, around
forever and more
the quiet stillness
I abhor.
© [Jeanette Shihadeh] and [thepainterspalate.wordpress.com], [2012]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material, artwork, or photo’s without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Jeanette Shihadeh] and [thepainterspalate.wordpress.com] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
Moon rising. (Photo credit: kaybee07)
I heard a tale of long ago,
about my brother moon;
myth or fact I do not know,
if what was said was true?
As it goes the story told,
and you older than I,
that I would feel incomplete,
without you to light my sky.
Brother moon where are you now?
I don’t know where to start.
My firmament is incomplete,
and life is growing dark.
I need you here to show way,
and be my guiding light,
so I could look right up to you -
become my shining night.
© Brother Moon 2012
By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm
