But with the Moon, it’s about phases.
Crescent, gibbous, waxing, waning.That’s what happens.
Crescent, less than half illuminated, and gibbous
more than half. Waxing: growing. Waning: shrinking.
But really they’re all there, all the time.
Leaving the poetry reading, into the rain,
I see a mom and two-year old,
who is crying, at the bus stop.
“I don’t want no bus,” he yells
“I want to fly!” So do I.
In Papety’s painting, Saint Hilarion is tempted
by a topless woman, fruits and wine.
Lushness in that hard Syrian desert landscape.
His arms outstretched keep temptation away, but
in a moment, they might still embrace.
St. Hilarion’s feast day is October 21. More at wikipedia.org/wiki/Hilarion
My mother asked that no cut flowers
be at her wake, so her favorite,
yellow chrysanthemums, filled the room, then went
to be put in the September ground.
Two years. Blooms of Elysium’s October gold.
In writing this poem, I reread Thomas Hardy”s “The Last Chrysanthemum” which contains this stanza:
Why should this flower delay so long
To show its tremulous plumes?
Now is the time of plaintive robin-song,
When flowers are in their tombs.
I also thought about using the word “wake” and wondered what the origin of the usage relating to death and funerals. It is from Old English (wōc) and wacian meaning ‘remain awake, hold a vigil’ and the Dutch waken and German wachen, meaning to watch.
This night sky of Capricornus, Sagittarius, Aquarius,
Pisces and the Great Square of Pegasus -
the same as a thousand years ago.
With better sight, we can connect stars
to form any shape, idea – new constellations.
When you don’t seek the poems and
they find you, even if you’re asleep.
They slip into your dreams. First draft:
90% autobiographical and 10% art, but then
revised, that reverses. Poem and poet emerge.