October 13, 2011

that moon is a cliche’/
howling wolves rave./
that lunar muse that pulls away at;
tide, et al  to write all,
& to draw in a cave.

a young man must walk./
Late night./ streetlight to streetlight/
blurry bleak alleys/ not just black/ just dark.
It watches..wit nesses/
pushfollows him home.

An old man must watch./
Late night./ from his door down his driveway/
blurily peeks always/
up to his moonscape/
cloudblanket backs his bloom
queen anne’s lace against the face of his
luminous Orchid.






capturing   “Luna Aurelia”/ courtesy of meaxalon





.     .     FROM  DARK


I’ll start. It’s so dark  you’ll know

Your thefts of thoughts

There  left to grow

Then grabbed!

Black  blossoms


Still proceeding from its seeds  plus

Silence, from its silence.



Upon  a  pond

Where big calm mists meet surfaces

Water bug clouds  dance down aways

And I stand to see through tree trances

This moon is broken enough to lend to substance

For  near and far bearings,  distances,

And  at first. existences.


I swear here’s where the strings swell in


2 Responses to “”

  1. Sherry said

    I don’t stop by often enough to tell you hope much I love your poetry. Thank you for touching me so very often.

  2. dantrewear said

    Scary; I am in the first poem, time and time again. A good write, bro’… peace, –D

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: