Selection #4
O you ghosts!
O you spirits and ghosts - -
Forgive me
if I neglect
your ancient whispers
for this green moss,
this bright sky.
--Amos Clifford Selection #5
Plucking mu from my Buddha bowl
- long December shadows
taste like rice
--Amos Clifford
Looking
forward from
where you
are: the
moon-light
masked by
the
manufactured
haze hangs
amidst white
clouds like
doubts that
linger in the
mind. You
can’t touch
the light cup
it like water
that slowly
seeps
through
unsteady
fingers . . . no;
you can only
think about it
wave your
hand before
your face
watch the
moonlight
peekaround
the corners of your hands
their deliberate gestures
and try to understand
that even
light must
find its own
way through
the human
murk that
drifts across
the smoke-
smothered
sky.
--Michael Patrick McSweeny
Lunar Eclipse
- - - for Esperanza
Winter's dark, dead of the night
on the cold Solstice.
Not yet dark, the full moon and I walk the dog
as it, the moon, disappears in slices of my shadow, the earth's shadow, our shadow---
mine and the dog's and yours, my friend,
six days dead and three buried.
The moon over your grave disappears
and will reappear
like your love.
Resurrected
like light on this now-dark night.
- - Rebbecca Del Rio
Lately the moon has been wondering:
Does it take its brief life seriously enough?
Sometimes it thinks it casts
Its light carelessly,
Does not bother to look closely
At its surroundings,
Takes little account of its
Long and now, sadly, routine
Relationship with Earth.
Realizes that it has been proceeding
automatically, with little thought for tides
And their consequences.
It senses that it has been only dimly aware
of inspiring 10,000 poems,
10,000 love songs,10,000 suicides.
These not easy things to ponder;
Doing so goes against long habit.
Things have changed
Since it was a young moon.
Behind its back the stars
Have held grand council,
Have gotten organized; and even
The planets are now quite accomplished.
The moon waxes and wanes,
An old familiar habit become
A predictable rut. And then, this morning,
Unexpectedly, come questions: What is there
To depend upon? Where do you want
To go? Do have a vision,
Any vision at all, for what you
Might become? Does the word “you”
Have any meaning, and if it does,
What is its significance? The moon thinks:
I must give these questions the
Attention they deserve.
Another night Approaches.
What are you waiting for?
- - Amos Clifford
Solstice Full Moon
Homeless person
Bundled disparate garb
Plastic bags tied to her
Bicycle
Avoiding mud puddles
On her way to the next
Trashcan
- - Bill Krumbein
