One a.m.

Under an unforgiving winter
full moon
light,
bonded
I become
by these rules,

heavier than gravity
or speculation.

Disheveled sheets show
lasting impressions
in icy blue hues.

The sky reflects
jagged pieces
like a shattered mirror,

Fragmented
by this time
life traces the artwork,

Homer hovers above
A tired lady remakes her bed,
tucking in the corners
mitered under the mattress
as taught-

as if poetic justice
could be concealed by folds
or heat could be
contained.

Art is often a window
to what we are about to be-
come.

Cliches cling to us.

See,
beauty was always drawn to you
in long strokes thick in color
and time-
You would not look-
until Now.

It would always be shown
how moonlight erases any line
untrue
to round forms,
like heavenly bodies

tumbling through
mortal moments
both heavy and light
in alternate perspectives.


Painting by Winslow Homer, 'Moonlight' c. 1874 in Public Domain. 

Photosynthesis

To grow in the moonlight
               whispered the purple breeze,
daunting its profundity
                in a lilac lilt,
makes for the most sensitive
skin, the thinnest rays
               wasted across barren lands.

A tiny trio of skylights
show how syllables
need less volume
when speaking in
                         moonshadows
across open floors.

Grey becomes more than shade
when the pale moon
was more than enough
to still feel
growing pains.



Artwork by Ohara Koson [Public domain].

Two a.m.

I wake up early-
earlier than usual.
And I assume it must have been the moon
disturbing my sleep, with its intrusive and
garish moonlight on high
and the ghoulish nightmares
all rising to the surface.

When it finally rains, I am comforted
by the cloud cover,
which will luckily tuck me in tonight
and I should sleep tighter, making for more
muted sleeping conditions
with this welcome addition of white noise
atop clean white sheets.

It pours. It hails. It is dark.
And I wake-too early-
still-wondering
why this sinking icy feeling holds me here,
alert and anchored.
Awake. A constant pull, resistance and an
uprising washes over me, cold chains snap
forcing me violently to the surface,
gasping for air.

My two eyes try to adjust
to the bright white light,
where windows make mirrors
dark pupils shrink in the glare.
And I see, plainly,
it is too early to tell...



Painting by Johan Jongkind c. 1872 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Nightcrawlers

Moonlight dripped wax,

cooled from distance,

now hardened in the corner

of my little eye.

It burns a bit.

It is soft light when I blink...

How grease is easily spread,

superficially diluted in various

concoctions and reeks with a tinge

of petroleum, oh hum-

or pouring out the midnight oil.

I've never smelt a rat alive,

a spiders nest freshly woven, maybe

even minerals misting with moon dust.

The moon always watching her back,

a spy in the sky

she sees it all coming her way.

Meteor-light, star dust,

it was just us, quiet enough.

Painting by Edvard Munch, Moonlight (1893) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Super Moon 2016

Shadows at night
where wolves delight
soloists under spotlight
weaves and watches
the carnal illuminators
make mythic obscurities
to taste to night.

The frozen pine aches fixed
posing proper around the palisade
bats swing silently in the eave
while a couple of country owls
seek around in unisong
for the fox that plays the child
while the puma preys, and remains wild.

An hour more magical miscreancy
left to fancy fullness in excess
lavishly luna lends her silver linings
in phantom phases
bewitched but ever grave
over night like this luscious

black sea, velvet
tidings in abundance
this softer sway
to ward
the lite of tapering
day, courtship comes
home.



Image credit: unknown, (source: social media share) account holder anonymous. 

Afloat tonight

Light,
           light               feather
                       as a
chit for chat
idle, chew the fat
                                 nonsense
weather
                   whether
I fear
                    I cannot hear
(the talk is too small)

-It's your call-
(don't answer)

rhetorically,
                     what if...


           light-ly
Light
                      as an **IDEA**
wham-bam
                     Thank You
                                         shhhh
(snores
ignored tonight)
          Up      like             the moonlight              
I'll be

Light
             light
                         as ignite
(that's right)
Incite-I might try
                         to light your fire
a spark
gleaming
in the dark
                        Light-years
                                    away...
(Please,
keep your beacon bright for me).



Image By NASA/Scott Kelly over Italy from ISS[Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.