Mother Moon
wide-smiles
with nod
toward stage of Earth;
in fixed-gaze
and without stir of wind,
She washes through us
fallen creatures,
gently rocking
World to Sleep’s domain…
musings & scribbles
like
whimpering pet left in rain to cleanse,
merely
open door
and stay with you shall
’til crown of time banish us
to love eternalized.
like
sunrun raindrops
through back of tiger
streak-striped
in orangeflorescence
how serene her smile in Summer’s facial lightings,
where hair of shined mahogan’silk rests in bask of Daylight’s father
frequenting Shore for despise of Shade and its
lower Beauty–
but though for stuttered moment pictured is her Serenity Smile,
fallen to love has she with other.
brokejaw ice like
teeth in crimson’d
drink
one glass [milk of
in halfdoze many jawgum
left choke-spat
sparingly to crystal
as though by fresh-shined
child and smiling]
in LEGO’d fever
age’ed jack o’ lantern,
your ash-caged jagged grin
finds reflection: me–
awakened in
smile of throat,
cross of eye
to eye
to close
to smile again–
to
smile
to
flint
again
;
Once again it was that time of year,
To plant, to mow, to set the dogs in rear.
For a month or two we would be gone
A time too short, but for Mum too long.
“The maid,” she’d say, “will care for the dogs.
I hope she doesn’t feed them like hogs,
as you’re so prone to do.”
With that, we packed and scattered through
To the truck left running in the yard.
Before noon we were a third there.
“Oh how I hope to see it soon,” I stared.
Out of my window were the grasses so well known
That each blade had a name, like Matt, Tom, or Joan.
And that sign still hung above them all;
“Welcome to Milburn Place: Closed for the Fall!”
It had been up since the early Twenties, or so Mum said,
Left there after the great man himself lay dead.
“Why do they not take it down?” I asked for the hundredth time.
“It’s their choice, Hon, not yours or mine.”
It was sad to see and worse to know
That Mrs. Milburn couldn’t let go
Of the only one her heart would know.
Yet, every year, with loving arms, she’d welcome Mum, me, and Flow.
We’d go camping, riding, even biking off road
In nothing but our trunks, something special Grandma sewed.
Even with the adventure we’d take,
I could feel Mrs. Milburn’s life begin to shake,
To tumble, out of control, until a smile creased her face
And we’d have our last summer at old Milburn Place.
spin me
and watch me fall–
top-heavy with dreams of you–
this pounding in my chest
could it be
from you?
your only gift to me
without knowing i exist–
rash, but not completely clueless
to the ways of love
and everything that comes with it..
i know
a look
can’t be enough
to wrap me ’round you,
but can a thousand?–
each second
of every forever
that you go walking by,
turning slightly–
are you noticing me?
..hopes too great
to let them be right–
i’m always wrong
so nothing’s new..
except
that now
it’s you
that is right
without knowing
what you feel like
against me
in the darkness
of a candlelight vigil–
maybe tomorrow.
spider’d legs
smooth-tapping in consistent beat
of eyes turning
falling by–
tap, tap, tap,
tap–
first finger figuring rhythm of own
i
peaked
last night
as
you
slept in arms grown numb but
warm;
i peaked at
your lips,
pucker’d in thought and lost in air;
i peaked
as
your lungs
rose breasts,
drew back,
rose again;
i
peeked
at your darkened thoughts
as lids played host
to
eyes
gone rambling;
i
peeked
in to see
heaven
adorned with shadowed-sheets whispering
‘do not leave us
once sun returns;
do not cast us from
your hips
a mountain of us made’