The green lantern

The face returns, a profile on the moon.

The serious brow exudes envy in its October glow.

The heat lifts its chain mail exterior,

unarmed now

the fight subdues, breathing resumes

as the humidity rises,

solemn fog rolls over the westerly

treeline

mingling out of character,

and brewing up a new ambiance

with wax dripping from overhead,

thunder gathering below,

running on low 

light, it becomes apparent;

Degrees are mirroring phases.

Image credit By Stephen Rahn from Macon, GA, USA (Waxing Crescent Moon on 4-1-17) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

She's so shy

(Come) Back, back, back
             She beckons-
softly at first,
             Something is missing-
volume.

(With) A tint of  spilt light,
           with a whisper of consonance
striking a surface-
She has moved out
                                      from behind
the clouded periwinkle glass.

A lady is demure,
all chiffon and lace,
privacy knits her crochet brow
                               in her taciturn phase,
observing us too late and long...

(Where) She moved windows-
(knowing we would never peek there)
              She'd had enough-
                              leaving us
in the dark
(Again) To feel our way
Back, back, back
               where night shadows lie
(cheating the sun,
and stealing the superfluous
beams and streams in arrays).

She will give it all back-
Remember (when)
She's had her way
(With) keeping you
in midnight wake.




Painting By Helen Allingham (1848 - 1926) (The Bridgeman Art Library, Object 283763) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

De mure De moon

She walks in the open at night
wrapped in white sheets wet from sweat
that darken in every crevasse
by her movement

She speaks in shapes of words
by the phase of the moonglow
and knows she is watched, barely
as she pulls the threads closer

lightly, it was the way she cast
down her eyes
dutifully does not speak
until spoken at

The careless sashay,
the way her hips open
to accommodate the frame
that holds her

Embellished, a facade
shiny with optimism,
buffed and presentable as
Potemkin villages
de mure

But the light from
her being
there shifted and softened
features receptively

In decent she saunters
the skies, timidly taking her place
outside public walls
where no artificial light falls

She sees purely, clearly
she is not needed to light the way
for others to see, but every so often
she brightly becomes
full of herself.



Image by Luis Ricardo Falero [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.