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Old Mossy Moon: March 2012
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8220;The crown of literature is poetry.” William Somerset Maugham. Saturday, March 31, 2012. Between breath and hum. And the erratic flights of crows,. Their wings a rustle of taffeta. Through which I strain. My Pu-erh tea and dreams –. Reaching, breathing, ascending…. I’m mostly behind the trees now -. So close to me, I can’t. See my own arms anymore. But, at night, I do see. The slow drift of stars. And can’t help thinking. That Astraeus must be tired. Of keeping all those fires burning.
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Old Mossy Moon: December 2010
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8220;The crown of literature is poetry.” William Somerset Maugham. Wednesday, December 8, 2010. Out in the pasture,. Air above them -. In the December sky. Becomes a promise –. The smell of hay,. The curl of smoke,. The icy fern along. The frosted path,. Hung high and the. And sugared - where. Steams the windows,. And night’s breath. Breathes on us again. In our deep slumber,. As the cows lumber. Into the warmth and. Light of the little barn. Labels: Bruce Handford Painting at McBride Gallery.
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Old Mossy Moon: How It Is
http://oldmossymoon.blogspot.com/2012/03/how-it-is.html
8220;The crown of literature is poetry.” William Somerset Maugham. Saturday, March 31, 2012. Between breath and hum. And the erratic flights of crows,. Their wings a rustle of taffeta. Through which I strain. My Pu-erh tea and dreams –. Reaching, breathing, ascending…. I’m mostly behind the trees now -. So close to me, I can’t. See my own arms anymore. But, at night, I do see. The slow drift of stars. And can’t help thinking. That Astraeus must be tired. Of keeping all those fires burning. In your poem I...
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Old Mossy Moon: May 2011
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8220;The crown of literature is poetry.” William Somerset Maugham. Friday, May 27, 2011. I had given up on spring. When you called me to the. Kitchen window to show me. The orioles in the quince bush,. Like small brilliant suns -. I tried not to think. About the mountain birds,. With their dark shiny eyes. Like tiny glass marbles,. And their somber evening calls. Heard from clear across the river –. Where they roosted shadowy. In the branches of the redbud,. Some missing parts of their. Chick With A Quill.
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Old Mossy Moon: It's All
http://oldmossymoon.blogspot.com/2012/09/its-all.html
8220;The crown of literature is poetry.” William Somerset Maugham. Sunday, September 30, 2012. Starting to make sense now. Just watch how starlight bends. Close to the sun, showing. Space’s voluptuous curve. No absolute truths anymore –. Time, space, religion,. Morality - all rejected. It’s only how you take me. Into your fractal pointless. Prattle that matters now. And breath becomes absurd -. What’s happened to life? What's happened to the. Twist of my tangled tongue? September 30, 2012 at 5:56 PM.
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Old Mossy Moon: Response to Oriah
http://oldmossymoon.blogspot.com/2012/06/response-to-oriah.html
8220;The crown of literature is poetry.” William Somerset Maugham. Sunday, June 10, 2012. What do you mean…. Haven’t I been at your fire. For all these many years. An ancient shell lyre? Didn’t I play games. Of finding rune stones,. Painting fish bones, and. Giving the faeries names? And what of the moon cakes. I made - heavy and sweet -. For the spirit owls that flew. To our dream covered feet. On those mystical mornings. When the spiders’ webs. Adorned our heads like. Silver and diamond tiaras? Chick W...
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Old Mossy Moon: August 2014
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8220;The crown of literature is poetry.” William Somerset Maugham. Wednesday, August 6, 2014. This to the sky -. Wilted at an open. And a young dove. A piece of string. And where you are. Of a reluctant spring. Is no more or less. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Pennsylvania, United States. All that I sense beats inside my skull, until it projects as poetry. View my complete profile. Chick With A Quill. Life and Times of a Sometime Poet. Life at Willow Manor. My Poems And Emotions. The Clarity of Night.
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Old Mossy Moon: March 2013
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8220;The crown of literature is poetry.” William Somerset Maugham. Wednesday, March 13, 2013. To be close to my mother. The days long and gray. With cold spring rain. And the clanking trains. On the winding tracks. That ran along the river. And the strong smell. Of turpentine on rags. Laying in the corners. Of the smoky room. On top of the hill. Forming a perfect circle. Against a willing sky. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Pennsylvania, United States. View my complete profile. Chick With A Quill.
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Old Mossy Moon: the perfect circle
http://oldmossymoon.blogspot.com/2013/03/the-perfect-circle.html
8220;The crown of literature is poetry.” William Somerset Maugham. Wednesday, March 13, 2013. To be close to my mother. The days long and gray. With cold spring rain. And the clanking trains. On the winding tracks. That ran along the river. And the strong smell. Of turpentine on rags. Laying in the corners. Of the smoky room. On top of the hill. Forming a perfect circle. Against a willing sky. March 14, 2013 at 12:56 PM. My comment must have disappeared! I left one yesterday. March 14, 2013 at 6:02 PM.
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Old Mossy Moon: February 2013
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8220;The crown of literature is poetry.” William Somerset Maugham. Saturday, February 16, 2013. She appeared to him. In his father’s tool shed,. Late one spring afternoon,. On an ordinary day -. It wasn’t even Sunday,. Eddie would later say. But, there she was,. With her modest smile,. Wearing a crown of stars,. Hammers and saws,. And coffee cans and jars. Filled with ten penny nails,. And various nuts and bolts. The Mother of God,. In the tool shed,. While he was there. Working on his bike.
