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Diary of a moonbeam

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  • Johntee
    replied
    "Because language has devolved"
    the line,
    a treatise on its decline
    to the vapid,
    a tocsin
    gone
    unheard,
    warns Selene,
    in her her cloud wrack of misty fastnesses,
    celebrity comes from, and is returned to, the masses

    Leave a comment:


  • Alfred
    replied

    A friend is a person who is able to tell you the truth in your eyes, whatever it may be ... A friend is one who does not lose you and does not sell himself ...

    Leave a comment:


  • lunar glide
    commented on 's reply
    Thanks RLW. I'm glad you felt along with this experiment.

  • lunar glide
    commented on 's reply
    Thank you for reading and commenting, I appreciate your feedback.

  • RhymeLovingWriter
    replied
    LG - I love your phrase "encouraging meditation by porous light". Very ethereal feel to this one.

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  • amenOra
    replied
    it's really sensorial; I thought this had a line thru it, o, of exploring 'sensation', a familiar feeling of poetry in general; kind of refreshing in that way.
    "telepathy to ferry us through" was a favorite line. "Thoughts without acid" made me pause n think...
    The last sentence was sort of challenging, because it has a lot going on in it; and I wonder, -- too much? to where it doesn't quite cohere. Read over that one a few times and didn't quite decide. It's a good poem and I like the breeziness of it, the tone it begins with and the subtle shift, narration, play with conceptual perspectives.
    Thanks for sharing this Diary

    Leave a comment:


  • lunar glide
    started a topic Diary of a moonbeam

    Diary of a moonbeam

    Because language has devolved to blogging, the sacrifice of truth for beauty succeeded by the sacrifice of beauty for attention, thoughts without acid , life only in a collective vicarious..
    The moon looks out from a bowl of soup , encouraging meditation by porous light
    The foggy everclear and gaze that ignites fragrant water, the translucent eyes afloat peering through the timeless froth, spying the swallows pirouetting lapping up the clouds ambitious for nothing except a meteor shower, vivid life to merge with, the hope of telepathy to ferry us through muted gloom, a breeze to caress in shadows nothing but our hair at its disposal...
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