Tag Archives: Moon

Shadows of love

Andrada's world

by Andrada Costoiu

The midnight saw the moon
Round and gold, no other stars
She was alone,
Just like me.

I tried to close my eyes,
To stop thinking,
But sometimes my mind
Acts like a Medici tyrant.
Shadows of the promises you made,
Were dancing in every corner,
And I knew that I cannot put eyelids
On what was to follow:
News wreck
Involving some “truth” that crushed my wings.
Does that mean that I will have to be walking from now on?
Would it be possible to go be a caterpillar again?
At least that would mean hope,
I always liked to fly.

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Filed under Poetry - Poems, Re-Blogs and Great Blogs

Autumn – by T.E. Hulme

A touch of cold in the Autumn night –
I walked abroad,
And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge
Like a red-faced farmer.
I did not stop to speak, but nodded,
And round about were the wistful stars
With white faces like town children.
~ T.E. Hulme

T.E. Hulme in 1912
Ed. note: Written in 1908, ‘Autumn’ by Thomas Ernest Hulme (1883-1917) English aesthetician, philosopher, literary critic, and poet, one of the founders of the Imagist movement and a major 20th-century literary influence.

Hulme posited that post-Renaissance humanism was coming to an end and believed that its view of man as without inherent limitations and imperfections was sentimental and based on false premises. His hatred of romantic optimism, his view of man as limited and absurd, his theology, which emphasized the doctrine of original sin, and his advocacy of a “hard, dry” kind of art and poetry foreshadowed the disillusionment of many writers of the 1920s. He advocated the “geometrical” art of Pablo Picasso and Wyndham Lewis as the potential expression of a new, more disciplined religious outlook. {Encyc Brit.}

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Filed under Being and Feeling, Nature, Pictures of the World, Poetry - Poems

by fire

House of Heart

When the sun is sinking low

the living gather at the river bank.

A widow wails her mantra out and into

the watery grave.

The Moon plays upon the wake of the burning boat

while at the bank mourners chant and dance

their faces obscured by the glow of the fire.

As the pyre disappears beyond the horizon

the young inhale herbs and chew kava

to make it easier to forget.

 

pyre 3

photo by Day Schildkret

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