Hummingbird Moth in the Moonlight

For Kerry’s Prompt over at Real Toads.  A darkly mysterious ink drawing by Luke Eidenschink.  This picture brought to mind a huge bed of cleome I had planted and the hummingbird moths that clustered around them at night.

Moth-Woman
Luke Eidenschink
Used with Permission

Hummingbird Moth in the Moonlight
The wee things of night curl about the stones
waving in the soft breeze,
the greyed green of ferns,
the soft coyote brown of mushrooms,
the white stars high in the sky.
In tones of grey, black, white
poems fall from the sky
and explode in tiny bits of ecstasy.
Ferns giggle softly as we wander
the ley lines beneath the stones.
Hush. Magic is happening.
Hush. Magic is curling in upon itself
like a hummingbird moth’s proboscis
drinking nectar from cleome –
mauve in the moonlight.

hummingbird moth

The Owl

For Marian’s Fussy little forms prompt at Real Toads. A tricube form. three syllables per line, three lines per stanza, three stanzas per poem. Posted at Poets United Poetry Pantry

The Owl
full moon – an
owl glides in
the moonlight.

silent and
deadly – wings
extended.

mice scramble
for cover –
it’s too late.

The Moon in my Yard

Today at ReaL Toads, #30 in 30, Sanaa is giving us the The A L’ Arora, a form created by Laura Lamarca consists of eight lined stanzas. The rhyme scheme is a, b, c, d, e, f, g, f with no syllable count per line and the minimum length for the poem is 4 stanzas with no maximum length stipulation. You can also opt to write one or two stanzas in case you find the length a bit overwhelming. I chose two stanzas hoping to keep this short.

The Moon in my Yard
My yard is bathed in cold silver light,
the moon looks down at me, I look back.
Sitting on my steps I watch ragged clouds ghost
across its cold face.
In daylight, clusters of wisteria hang in
fragrant fountains of lavender.
Tonight in moonlight, they are white shrouds
hanging limp and torn.

No full moon madness here.
Only melancholy sighs and empty musings.
What was is vanished.
Whited out by moonlight, colored dreams
morph into pale wraiths
of what was and is no more,
what is and nothing more.
Truth and cold light.

fair use

Crayola Dawn

I am posting this on dVerse Poets Pub for De’s lovely prompt on Quadrille Monday. She requests that we use the word “dream” – dreamer, dreams, dreaming, dreamed – make the noun a verb or the verb a noun – it’s all good! A quadrille is a poetic form that came about a couple of years ago when we were making changes to refresh the Poets Pub. the form has exactly 44 words not counting the title. You must include the prompted word in your poem.  Come read these wonderful humming bird tiny poems. I am also posting this to Real Toads Tuesday Platform.  Here are the links for both:  http://dversepoets.com/2017/08/14/quadrille-38/   and  http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/08/the-tuesday-platform_15.html

Crayola Dawn
I see the dawn before the rest
of the world awakens.
I came to this dawn through the moonlight
of my dreams.
I dream of the world in argent shades
and awaken to the Crayola dawn –
It is cool this morning.
I am at peace.

copyright kanzensakura

Moonlight, Kendo, Coffee spoons, Perfect Cherry Blossoms, and Springsteen

 

Regret, melancholy, walling oneself up alive,

Breaking down the wall,

Blowing that spark into a fire,

Doing kendo in the dark.

 

We make choices

We make sacrifices

We love deeply and intensely

We seek perfection and only at the last moment

Do we realize a thing was perfect all the time.

 

Living life by carefully dipped measures

Afraid to move to take chances to open up again.

But being brave enough to let the wind of change

Turn that last spark in us into a conflagration.

 

Turning up the MP3 full blast

Springsteen in all his rampant pounding wailing.

Dancing in the moonlight,

Doing kendo in the dark.

 

Lifting my shinai to the moon

And laughing aloud.

I remember when I taught my love how to dance

How to rhumba to jive to hustle

How to move his hips and shake his butt

He taught me how to do kendo in the dark.

Now I’m learning again.

 

I’m not bricking up that wall again.

I’m piling up perfect cherry blossoms

In all the cracks of my days.

Decadent display of pink and white.

I’m driving too fast and listening

To Springsteen too loud.

(Oops girl, slow down – that county mountie

Looked too hard at you whizzing past!) <huge grin>

 

I’m not measuring the moonlight

By coffee spoons.

I’m bathing in it and being profligate.

No regrets, no retreat, no surrender.

I’m starting a fire.
I’m relighting passion

I’m thinking of love

And doing kendo in the dark.