(from the moon series)
again. As if the Atlantic wasn't big enough.
With waves that lap against the shore
and ignore the tourist orb and bells
that ring again and a lighthouse that flashes
in rhythm with the satellites and wind
that rattles the bones on a warm March night
but the moon,
mute as if it never learned to talk,
rises plain and ugly, walks a normal arc
and looks odd, feels ashamed and uses
the clouds, under the guise of beauty,
finally cracks its lips and mutters
a silent prayer over the Atlantic ocean.
This moon series is growing on me - I like this idea of this traveling, fly by the seat of its pants, vanguard, lord of the evenings, moon. The language in this particular poem is sharp as well. Great first stanza. I like the transition in the "must as if it never learned to talk" line. However, I think your language becomes a little too easy in the final stanza. Words like: "plain, ugly, normal, odd, ashamed" all could be pulled up a bit.
ReplyDeleteIn any case, its nice to read your work again. Its been a while. Hope all is well.
-Theoharides