Sunday, February 19, 2017

Moon Prophet




Moon Prophet






The  moon is a white hand on fire,
a skull's sign in the water, candled
on the drowning of night.

At the crossroads, the black dog howls;
six pups suckle and snarl on her scarlet milk.

The wind tastes of dangerous words:
war and righteousness, delicious with chocolate
patriotism.

The moon is burning, and still she knows
the time's come again for poor men to die.


~February 2017 










for real toads









Image: Shadow With Pelvis And Moon, 1943, © Georgia O'Keefe
Fair use via wikiart.org

13 comments:

  1. The moon has witnessed this folly sso many times -- that is why it has right to the dual -- identical? -- mantle of prophet. As sure as its meteor-impact acne, the moon reflects our naked will. It's seen it all before and so have we, the rich sound of war, the cascade of poor blood. Tough night hanging in the heavens, but what's a moon to do? Baleful mirror, turn away.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Man that scarlet blood, poor man's blood... and a pity she was a whore. On edge, observing, waiting, wailing a bit

    ReplyDelete
  3. Loony tunes indeed. We live in a time where intolerance and paranoia rule the day and are admired, while intelligence and character are passe. What a strange light to wander in.

    ReplyDelete
  4. "candled on the drowning of night"---what a stunning description. Sigh.

    ReplyDelete
  5. "The moon is burning, and still she knows the time's come again for poor men to die." That is such a haunting image..!!

    ReplyDelete
  6. This has the chill of prophecy... man's mad deeds to play out under the moon.

    ReplyDelete
  7. This feels like such a dark omen at troubling times... The poor man's blood is always the one to be spilled. Gun-fodder politics... a war lover's song... I have heard him, and his dreams of the purity of war. Hopefully there will be a history to doom them.

    ReplyDelete
  8. I could feel myself; a soldier in the forest, as hyenas eat my friend

    ReplyDelete
  9. This is scary, but gorgeous. The moon will continue . . . even without us.

    ReplyDelete
  10. Though the poem is dark, the wonderful words/images make me shiver with delight.

    ReplyDelete
  11. Flames and bones seem to mar sky and thought. It's impossible not to see that life and nature is being bled (well, impossible if one doesn't decide to close one's eyes).

    There is a living warning in these lines... a voice that says, if we don't see and listen and do, we'll die. Because in the end, every man is... in a way.

    ReplyDelete
  12. yes. and no.

    veritable chills, Hedge, down my arms and up my spine. ~

    ReplyDelete
  13. Really bad contrast here on your poems. Could be my settings although I have tampered with them with no results. lyle

    ReplyDelete

'Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance' ~Carl Sandburg