Moon Park
invisible in day
starts stirring
as dusk settles.
Meet me my love
at Moon Park.
There is a place
on the far side of the Moon
that’s home to the shadows
that have been left behind.
They walk those moors
on that grey world;
itself a shadow
to a larger body.
Call me
the Moon poet,
and i’ll
light up!
What are readymades? They are poems hiding in the prose of others. With a few touchups they make great poems too!
READYMADES
One is reminded
of the words of the poet
which I have forgotten
at the moment.
– P. G. Wodehouse from “Bachelors Anonymous.”
To be read?
Nay not so! …
Rather to be thumbed,
to be cooed over,
to be dogs eared,
to be rumpled
to be kissed by
the illiterate
ungrammatical,
dimpled, darlings!
(From Lewis Carroll intro to Alice)
Truly all things
have not been revealed.
But by long seeking
mortals make progress.
(Retelling of a phrase by Xenophanes of Colophon.)
Multiple levels
of consequences
– BBC Reporter.
The shadows grow
as darkness falls
– Glamorous Temptation TV Drama.
The sheer ecstasy
of existence.
– Charles Ephraim Burchfield.
Buzzing polinators!
– Science Daily article on Bees.
Waves erase
my footsteps.
– Glamorous Temptations, Korean TV, Final Ep.
I love being a writer
(but) what I can’t stand
is (all) the paperwork!
– Peter de Vries
A bee in the cathedral?
Get him out!
No one wants him there
but God!
the flower
seems to know
what to do!
from my door
high in the tree
I see a straw nest
my nearest neighbor.
can this mouse
help the lion?
busy people
pass them by,
but grandfather and child
love the birds.
I love to watch you dragonfly
when you’re hovering …
over there …
and not too close!
I kicked a stone
over the cliff.
A startled bird
rose up in it’s place!
You may have reached the gate,
but you’re still on the locked side.
a hole in my pocket
I found a penny
it rolled away …
Poor sick child,
now a leaf
in the wind.
Dreams
are like bubbles and
pop
when we awake!
Maybe things
will work out if …
But in truth
I really doubt it.
Are we not
porcelain plates
in free fall …
Every day
I ache and ache
every day
a darker path.
There’s a desert
in her heart.
Something like
the beating of wings
within all life.
What a shock
to then find out
all the zen was
in the pencil!
Most of the time
my head is a rock /steel
but now and then
there’s a piece of flint … (for WIS)
no matter where
in Kafka you read
the oppression begins.
She dips her wishes
into boiling water,
her favorite tea!
Here’s a poem for any kids who love the garden.
In my garden
everything grows;
I planted straw,
I planted stones.
I planted candy
and moonlight too.
I planted laughs
and the color blue.
I planted clods
that sprouted shoots.
Come see my garden.
It’s all in bloom!
