Waking

Waking

Beneath this moon, set at rest now,
beyond the hedge where blackbirds wake,
the shadows hid a thousand deaths.

In waxing light, a drift of feathers blows,
and this day growing in ripening light
will be less their brightness,

the bare earth still ache, dust-dry,
and the blue will echo
with their lost voices.

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Too much

Painting by Lionel Walden

Too much

Too much moonlight
to see the depth of the starry sky;
soft silver sifts down
through the empty miles,
filling our eyes with secrecy.

Poplars rustle like rain,
falling from the cloudless night,
and the dead brown leaves
sigh in the south wind,
ebb tide in a lonely cove,
footsteps departing.

Night time: gogyohka sequence

 

moon picks up

the stray threads

of sunlight

weaves a new

cloth

 

moonlight

a haze of motes

soft as feathers

kinder than sunlight’s glare

I wear it gladly

 

wandering strands of silver

strands of gold

among the green and the grey

skylights finding their way

to earth

 

in the parched grass of the night

pools of silver light

sooth

almost like rainwater

falling

 

we see only beauty

in the fields of the night

hear only music

in the cry of the hunting owl

beneath the silver a sprinkling of red blood

Winter moonlight

Marianne von Werefkin’s work is a joy.  This painting is entitled Moonlit.

An ekphrastic poem in the spirit of the dverse prompt, if not following it to the letter.

In the winter there is nowhere to hide,

the cold strips and splits, and ice cracks on the river.

In the moonlight the shadows are black,

and even old monks with backs bent

by the weight of other people’s sins

have spindly alter egos that trot lightly across the snow.

In the dark by the light of a cold moon,

there is a stillness

that not even the promise of a blazing hearth can stir.

In the moonlit winter cold the world is starved thin

and black as sin.

Quadrille 7: Moonlight icing

Sometimes,

moonlight is soft as a quiet sea

bathed in silver.

Last night,

there was a moon,

stared so hard I hid from its light,

harsh as midday,

coating limp leaves in icing,

wedding cake-hard.

I wished for storm cloud

to snuff it out.

Frost-coloured roses

As today is Saturday, (not yesterday ahem) I decided to pay a return visit to the oracle. I like what she had to say.

 

The cool-fingered moon

has no time

for those who sleep

in the shadow of death.

Storm sings mad music

that soars, screaming

into the black sky,

like love lost at sea.

 

Stars sail home,

night sky flying,

their sad, secret poetry

perfumes the dark

with clouds,

the colour of oceans—

blue breath lingering

like ice in the grass.

 

One moment,

a regard,

a voice in the night—

language of the heart.

Dream a river of music,

sing songs of the sun,

fly me to you

on wings bright

as the evening star.

 

Dusk falls

like the roses,

sweet and dark.

I long to see

the moonlight bloom,

frost colour

in this summer grass—

last tendrils of winter.

 

 

 

Microfiction challenge Moonlit night: the entries

Bit slow off the mark today with the round up, but it let one last entry slip in under the wire. I really enjoyed the stories this week. They explored the subjects of friendship and loyalty with great thoughtfulness, and I think it says something about your sensitivity that the dog was an important character in your stories.

Ken

https://rivrvlogr.wordpress.com/2016/11/25/true-friend/

Pensitivity

https://pensitivity101.wordpress.com/2016/11/25/microfiction-challenge-24-moonlit-night/

Lorraine

JD’s Microfiction Challenge #24: Anya – Lorraine’s frilly freudian slip

Michael

Microfiction challenge #24: Moonlit night | Morpethroad

Neel

neelwrites/fiction/200wordstory/27/11/2016 | neelwritesblog

Lady Lee

Microfiction challenge #24: Moonlit night – Ladyleemanila

Ellen

 Waiting For Iliya. | Ellenbest24

Lynn

Jane Dougherty’s Microfiction Challenge : The slap and hush of the water – Word Shamble

Reena

On the backside of Time – REINVENTIONS BY REENA

Geoff

The Memory River #microfiction | TanGental

Merril

Thoughts in the Moonlight: Microfiction | Yesterday and today: Merril’s historical musings

Kerfe

Postcard Fiction: What She Saw, Part 3 | method two madness

Mine

https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/2016/11/30/microfiction-the-last-of-the-moonlight/

Bill

Moon Spill

 

Microfiction challenge #24: Moonlit night

Time to get back to serious subjects after last week’s comedy interlude.

I found this painting, another one by Iliya Repin while I was looking for something else and found it captivating. We can’t see the woman’s face but she appears deep in thought, facing the river but possibly not seeing it. Her dog is watching something, someone arriving the dog doesn’t particularly like? The sparkle of the moonlight on the water, the muted night time colours, the dog lying at the woman’s feet create a beautiful peaceful image, but there’s something waiting just out of sight that is slightly disturbing.

What do you think? Put the answer in a short story and post the link in the comments box before next Thursday. Have fun 🙂

Moonlit stones

Another twitter flow poem

Lay it to rest, the love that died,

plant a yew tree at its heart,

let it be and let it grow,

no regrets, no pleas to start anew,

let tomorrow blossom free.

 

Moonlight wanders on the lake,

silver water laps the shore.

Where did it go the moonlit love,

gone with the dreams I dream no more?

 

In the old stone, voices whisper,

memories of warmth and fire.

Should I kindle the cold hearth’s flame

I will add my words one day to theirs,

for stone lives longer than our puny bones,

its ageless silence softer than our raucous songs.

 

 I will never be the cold stone in the path,

the branch that snags,

the stinging wasp.

For you, I will always be

the sun on the grass,

the morning dew,

and the lark singing

where the river meets the sea.

 

When all the world is sleeping

When all the world is sleeping sound,

I walk the house, where scattered round

Lie pools of moonlight on the ground.

 

When all the stars are shining bright,

In my white shift I walk the night,

I have no need for candlelight.

 

I pace the empty rooms so slow,

Hear echoes fall in midnight’s glow,

But where you went, I’ll never know.