The Whole Of The Moon
In the whole of the moon
there was only one poem
last night. Her floured face was
matted with clouds. Nothing was bright
but your eyes
and her faint outline
a circle in amber solitude
chasing a night of saturated silver.
A matrix of stillborn memories glowed
with her, waxing and waning
willfully as your smile when
you wore all the rings of Saturn,
caped the cloth of filmy nebulae
at your throat
with Orion's dagger brooch,
posed for a sideshow slot
in a world that thinks magic
comes in a plastic package
insoluble in water.
Meanwhile the murky moon looked down
as senescent she slivered away
and made herself young again
in your eyes.
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Open Link Monday
Image: Untitled, by Zdislav Beksinksi
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That opening sentence is to die for. I wish I had written it, but as it is, you own this style of poetry and every luscious word and image that percolates from your imaginative brain.ReplyDelete
Thank you Kerry. It's good to have you back.Delete
Staring at the moon is such a personal collective event, isn't it? Both ways at once, I mean the whole world sees her, yet everyone sees their own fate in it too ... That the speaker found the only poem to be found inReplyDelete
a circle in amber solitude
chasing a night of saturated silver ((sweet!))
is pretty incredible, but then all it takes is a little history to unlock so much mystery. (Or is it the other way around? Whatever the case, the images reflected in that mirror (staring back from that mirror) are enough to keep the worshippers coming back for more. Back to the moon, back to your poems. I saw that moon too at 4 a.m., out feeding the cats, its fullness mottled behind a scrim of odd ringleted cirrus. - Brendan
I've seen those ringlet clouds--they always remind me of the scales of a very beautiful fish. We had a string of clouds rough as oyster shells, about the same color, that sort of gave her a place to perch and show that mirror of which you speak- and also pull over her face from time to time -a few very late Geminids streaking by, and the smell of thaw. Thanks for reading, B. Hope your neck is feeling better.Delete
"In the whole of the moon there was only one poem." Wow!!!!! A glorious moon poem.ReplyDelete
Always! Unless it's impure.Delete
a new favorite. myth and moon are long-time lovers in your work.ReplyDelete
That they are. Thanks, Jane.Delete
so many beautiful lines threaded through… a truly beautiful poem, thank you.ReplyDelete
ah there is plenty of magic to be had in the night sky...in the world around us...and def not in plastic...nor can the kind of beauty be manufactured...the last lines made me smile as well in her slipping away to make herself young again...ReplyDelete
Ah, lovely. I was just out walking in its silvered fields. What is kind of cool here (very cool) is that your language is beautiful it is almost hard to focus on the underside of what you describe--the dark side, not of this moon, but of the you with the waxing and waning smile. So interesting as the moon feels quite constant in comparison. Wonderful poem. k.ReplyDelete
I was thinking about the Full Moon as I opened your page and saw the title of your poem. Synchronicity in the lines too.ReplyDelete
and made herself young againReplyDelete
in your eyes.
The moon is always there to work out its magic for everyone! A great one Joy!
such a nice personification of poemReplyDelete
I should have gotten here earlier. I want to say, "What Brendan said!"ReplyDelete
That ending is masterful, and the idea of there being only one poem in the whole of the moon is a singular notion. You are so adept at taking things that don't seem to go together, and joining them seamlessly, so that the reader thinks "of course" as she reads. I've known a few moon watchers, and none of you are ever ordinary people.ReplyDelete
Did you know that the Waterboys (and Jennifer Warnes, also) did a really neat song by this title, "The Whole Of The Moon"? It's one of my favorites. "I saw the crescent...you saw the whole of the moon". They could have been talking about you.
I also thought the last line (and the whole poem) was skillfully penned. Do you write this under the light of the lamp or the moon?ReplyDelete
This is great. I absolutely love the fifth stanza.ReplyDelete
I especially loved how the moon "slivered away." Beautiful use of the word as verb. This whole poem reads like a meditation... the imagery, the mystery that is the moon in all her phases. Masterful writing! Peace, AmyReplyDelete
"a circle in amber solitudeReplyDelete
chasing a night of saturated silver"
So beautiful...such a masterful write...did someone already say that? or did I just think it? I also thought I had commented here before, but you know how Blogger is these days. Extra traffic in cyberspace in December, perhaps?