Friday, September 9, 2011

Poems X

The Moon

Moon, I lost you
for awhile,
as dark and terrified
nights of wrath
shamed me blamefully.
And, of course, fear,
my pale sibling twin,
was there too,
limping home,

But, suddenly,
the other day,
while I aimed my wait,
you came back to me,
glowing like a ghost,
fervent bright, like
a fever of white love
gulped too fast,
brimming relief in spades.
A bit of shade,
thank god.

Where had your cryptic orb
been all this time?
Why had I lost you,
barren terrain
mindlessed to no avail?
Why had I been so blind and dull,
mute, a portrait blank?

I wasted myself,
but, Moon, you
interrupted like cataracts,
gratefully --

now, all at once,
you seek me,
and then hide
my ruminating,
frightened foibles,
the leftover anguish
that is just and only mine.

You are the shift in me,
the space of cool
within the shadow of
my endless nights --
gilded whims
of distant thought,

You know me, Moon,
as a mother knows
its hopeful womb,
and you enter me eternal,
waxing full,
and flowing.


I'd heard You were back
and I packed my bags,
ready to go,
to flee,
to feel
the earth below my feet.
For there is nothing
quite so frustrating as
trying to be inspired
by freeways and meetings,
and looking
for raptured beauty
and seeing only concrete.

But I was wrong,
You weren't.
So, fine then,
I'll go inside myself
and create visions,
and images,
and memories,
and music,
and You are not there,

My mind is a jungle,
a garden,
 -- luscious --
but everything around me
in hot weather,
and I'm so over it,
but my heart is held
by children that beg me
for cereal,
or popsicles,
or sometimes, even,

I have a yearning inside
trying to get free
and its stumped
like in Scrabble,
and I'm better off this way,
I know,
but I can't help still wanting,
and I can't help still feeling,
and my days are dull,
but my insides are so
very, very vivid.

Come back to me again,
and again and again,
and I will shut off the T.V.
(for now)
and give you my eyes,
as well as my soul.

Float me above the bed,
and make me whole,
and I will never forget
and never let go,
and then
I will be inspired again,
and concrete will seem like gardens.