The moon makes patterns on my floor,
leaf-edged and almost still.
The thick blanket of night silence cushions
the little sounds
of talking wood,
the rhythmic heartbeat of a dripping tap,
a bark in the distance
that is passed on faithfully in highs and lows
to north and south and east and west.
I wish I understood its message.
Sensitivity quivers
and a hundred crawling perplexities
mate and multiply and mutate
into grotesque monsters
that pulse electric shock
after shock
after shock
until the patterns on the floor
reduce them to limp, exhausted slugs.
I long for night to end and never end.
Leaf-edged and almost still,
the moon makes patterns on my mind.
(July 1999)
Perhaps you still remember your daughter, settled in Australia and you love her. A nice poem coming out from your subconscious.
Diana, I love this delicate poem! Funny how the moon inspires poetry. I wrote one last full moon, and so did another member.
A truly mesmerising read, Diana! The first lines take into the mystery of the Moon and hold the heart and mind till the end of the poem. A wonderful ode for the Night! Best wishes. A.
This is trully inspirational. can i have more of your poems, eight is not enough for me. the writting is beautiful. I am sure that you are or were a poetry teacher at once..lol.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Dear Diana This is such a strong poem, the moon's pull bringing not only patterns but an eerie feel to the night. Your imagery is outstandingly vivid and the two lines in the beginning used again at the end round up the whole work with aplomb. Excellent work! Karin Anderson