Fragments of Night
The moon goes rising in the night;
The night is mirrored in the pond;
The pond is still;
And half a moon is in the sky,
And half a moon is in the pond
Below the hill.
Somewhere deep inside me is always a dream to create poems that I would have loved as a child. Poetry was a safe space for me, and a space where my heart could reach out and discover the forbidden world beyond me.
I never made much distinction between “children’s poetry” and that written for “adults”. The first poem I ever fell head over heels in love with was John Masefield’s “Sea Fever”. I must have been seven or eight years old when I discovered it.
But there is an indefinable quality that encompasses imagination, information, rhythm, a touch at least of rhyme, and a widening of the world in my mind. It's not something for which I could or would seek any formula, but rather a hope to bring more of such work into the world. There is not quite enough of it.
All of this is simply to say that today’s poem has some touch of what I would have loved then and still love now. When it comes to my love of poetry, not much has changed, really.