Image for the poem Moth Halo

Moth Halo

cloud assault
like lightning and lightning
like a box of chocolates
too much sugar in the blood
too much sugar in coffee
too many gods for faith
water falling from the sky
water falling from the sky
water that does not wait
to fall from the sky
water that doesn't stop to fall...

There were birds,
in my childhood days,
heard: swallows.
I remember them in the backyard
while he chewed what came to hand:
Birds over my head when I was little.
I'm much older now
and the birds seem to have grown weary
or to have been silent for so many autumns.

the wind drags the perfume of the shadows
sheds light on the petalless flowers
the wind bends the shadows on the flowers
the light lands strangely on the flowers
shines like drops of invisible dew
the light brings the shadows in the lap of the wind


Scenes From A Laundromat

3:02 pm.
Sunless winter
Crawled in the womb of afternoon
Gathering clouds by the yoke to devil's tune.
Brooding slurs and humdrum of whimpers rolled in irony
Rolling thespian tragedy of a change coming.


perspective becomes fluid,
yet not before first being
a wild and raging thing,
tempered to gentle flow
by experience, wisdom
imparted from those things
you’d rather forget

my faith wains
in agonizing retreat
with emotion’s tides;
it’s hard to believe holy
of the wholly unbelievable;
the gods are all feared dead,
yet I believe in resurrection

in the quiet
of the last winter morn,
I quietly commune
with the patience of the moon -
she lends her counsel
whenever I forget
my purpose is to change;
the chrysalis is temporary

I planted tulips in the
near-frozen ground,
my hope nestled tightly
within the chestnut bulbs;
we anxiously await
our awakening;
a rebirth is coming
and I am ready to emerge

there is beauty in this pain,
a sharp relief against
the nothingness
that threatens my peace,
a bold bloom of red earth,
an expanse of blue sky
among the grey;
I am grateful, even for this


The washers twitched
In methodical righteousness
Right, left, right streaking the pane
Reflecting the missing "T"
In green sign, Cus omer's Only
Spinning sins of mortality
Fools of immortality
Helical helix, entwined
Spiraling the beaten slippery-
Slops of consciousness.


From ravines written withered within this heart
among driftwood an opening bleaching blue
floating fleeting motion

Speak now trembling tongues
Swallows fly from their nest
transformation awakens

leaving leaning
lulling each stream
diadem dew

nightly ghostly satin surface
anoints pristine beauty
Intoxication falls from my lips
Speak now birthing presence

I wear a diadem of dew
upon my silken hair
Let us find oysters

amongst the driftwoods
dive, kindle
we are belonging

to each distant star incarnated


He's there again
In the handicapped space
Singing the Lord's prayer
Pacing, praising, declaring
$10 to heavenly gate.
"Behold, for there is no fear. No grief in believers"
Five dollars more than last November.
A pass 'n go to heavenly father.
Red lights flash, demanding
More coins.
I drop one then another
Tumbling tumbleweeds of prayers.


Young mother,
Weariness rings under the eyes,
Like soot shadows of a
Fireplace in morning,
Black half moons,
Trailing into a sea of jaundice

Walks beside her toddler,
Little girl in pink Minnie Mouse
Sandals, her short legs
Pumping at an awkward gait,
Rubbery and bowed,
A coiled root emerging,
From the acorn

Older man, balding, paunch in a
Flannel shirt, seeping gravity
Of a weary life, sits on the
Concrete steps, gaze
Fixed upon place and
People he'd known,
In some distant collisions,
They're eyes and hips,
Breathing phantoms into
A shuttered house

And there is beauty in that,
Even that,
Whitewashed marble,
Of an eye turning up,
Into a vacant skull,
Rust that weights the
Wings, and yellows the
Lengthening tooth,
Like gods,
Gazing at the end of time

And the sunlight is like love,
On a cold day


The newspaper is upside down
Her hands raw, red, crooked
Claws branched in tattered threads
Trembling in gestalt of differences
Cold, fragile, old perhaps too bold
Focused on the word
At the end of the row
Waiting for the storm
Marching through the walls
To mellow in the marrow.


The Spring is my heaven
Where I wish to rest

Capture me in time
A snow globe of
Apple blossoms floats
I am a figurine surrounded
In the delicate swirl

Lilacs coat the breeze
Soft, safe and sweet
How I wish
My existence could be

The absence of you
Plunges me into winter
The scene of my crucifixion
Painted in drab browns and greys

Nailed through my palms
With grief, the loss burns
Before hypothermia sets in

Bleeding in rivulets,
Careening down my form
If only my pulse would slow
then I too, could finally let go


Shadows recede
Coiling backwards
From lesser to less
The future bowing to
the present.
Both bowing to the past.


For each window,
A different version of the sun.
To gleam beyond the places
Where love was something more
Than we’d ever understood.

For each window,
A different version of night’s voice.
Darkness stutters without you
Lisps her tongue across piano wires
Bleeding another Moonlight Sonata…for one

For each window,
A different version of the train.
It ploughs the fertile land
Sickles wheels of promise and memory
Rattles my heart to her platform
Written by DanielChristensen (The Fire Elemental)
Author's Note
The total list of writers on this collaboration is: Par, Luna Greyhawk, Rianne, DanielChristensen, Diesirae and Strangeways_Rob, with Vee threading the whole together in the stanzas between the ellipses. 7 voices of poetry, moths fluttering about the eternal flame. It was an honor and a privilege to pass the quill and share the page with you, in the spirit of community and pure love of the art.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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