Wednesday, December 31, 2008
February 2008 (a, b)
Michael, the dancer
It is a full moon on your death,
And all I can think about is your life;
How you turned my kitchen upside down
For the sake of the gravy last Thanksgiving;
How you made my children laugh with your
Funny faces and fart noises at the table;
How your body flexes and bends to your
Demands, leaps and curls, writhes to the poetry
And song of the dance, to the snap of it all.
I watch you now, your life dance an India rubber ball;
Bouncing out of bounds, retrieved with a big slobbery pant,
Now large, now small, crouched in a quiet corner of the universe.
The spotlight that follows you casts a long shadow,
Missing its mark.
We try to fill it with meaning and are not
Successful because no one ever is doing that.
It is empty, this shadow dance.
We try to fill it with love
And the dance begins.
The dance will be because of you;
Because of you we will move in ways
We would not otherwise know.
-Jane Rogan March 2005
Full Moon Shell Game
You can't write full moon poetry
When there is no full moon
You can't save those peppy witticisms
Prognosticate what you might say
Foresee what you will feel
and then say you wrote them on the full moon
That's just not honest
That's not the full moon
You can't protect yourself from
When the full moon does not inspire
When it is shrouded in clouds
When the eclipse cannot be seen
Even though you know it is there
Somebody told you so
You see so many people writing full moon poetry
Make something up
Just to fit in
That's not full moon poetry
The day of that moon
Listen to what she is singing
Even if it is wet and dripping
and you cannot see that moon
she is saying
do your taxes
Now that is full moon poetry