The Poets

January 20, 2011

The Morning Moon

The moon this morn hung like a bulb
She hung in purple dawn
And though I crept through traffic thick
To her my eyes were drawn

No scars were there that I perceived
Nor pits, nor jaded face
Just one bright light whose majesty
Hung there in utter grace



Nancy said...

Lovely image of peace and tranquility of heart and soul amidst the blare of the world. I LOVE these short snippets of your everyday life. They are pure poetry.

cheryl said...

Did you take this picture?

It's so enchanting.

The poem is beautiful.

It's as if the moon through her travel across the dark sky, where indeed she is scared, jaded and pitted (sp?), has resurrected from that dark place into the light of dawn. Her wounds disappearing as she merges from the dark. For a moment she shine ever-so triumphantly (like an athlete receiving acclamation) before she ascends further into the heavens away from sight.

Your poem brought to mind another motif, Venus, as the morning star and the huntress. I'm going to have to think on this some more. I feel a poem coming on.

Feeling inspired. Thanks John. I've been in a slump for awhile.

Kendra Lise said...

I love it, John. I was mesmerized by the moon last week as well. My morning had me distracted and struggling to enjoy the reflection time my drive to work normally provides. When I looked to the sky to find the comforting glow of that perfect sphere I was reminded of beauty and its ability to eloquently, yet quietly, portray that everything will be okay. Hmm... I may use that. Here I go! Thanks!

As of April 9th, 2010