Of Magic, Mortality, and Morning
Three Poems for a New Week
The brilliance of the recent full moon inspired this first poem.
Do not gaze full-faced at the moon tonight;
She is too clear, too buoyant, and too bright,
Hanging atop the arch of midnight sky,
The stuff of which our dreams make magic, high
And puissant. She, the queen in hallowed space
Alone, with not a cloud to touch her face,
A queen, who sits upon an ebon throne,
Whose silver dreams enwrap, entwine our own,
Beneath whose gaze our dreams are formed and fade,
Beneath whose placid smile our visions made
To wander through ethereal worlds, where they
Weave weightless tapestries not seen by day.
Their unheard melodies, ere they have passed,
Take shape and laugh and drift away at last.
Do not gaze full-faced at the moon, where she
Is at her zenith in her majesty.
The rest of this week’s poems look at some of the animals I’ve been watching as the year veers toward autumn.
With so much wild country surrounding us, vultures are, of course, a common sight. The other morning, as I was watching a pair soaring nearby, this poem arrived in its rather unusual format.
And this second poem is in the tritriplicata form developed by poet Arjan Tupan. Do check out his wonderful Substack at #trpplffct!
The Listener reflects how a change of light changes what I see in a very regular resident of the garden.
The long light
Of a September dawn
Is glowing warmly through the pink ears
Of a quiet rabbit
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