through the sun and back again

in the rays of the pale sun
under the white sky, a droplet
of melting snow is a rainbow
semaphore, signalling
the brevity of time
and time alone, to be remembered;
a collection of shards of reminiscences
inhabiting the world of now, and ever so
astray;

[it is]
a vivacious reminder
that all the white colours
must contain a rainbow
transparent with joy,
cutting with sorrow
over the less fine moments
down the memory lane;

a little diamond of oxygen oxide.
a drop of light.
a candle of memory.

listening to geese through the night, mist and north-westerly wind

all night long they were flying,
singing their signals, as they navigated
across the half-lit city
on, on to the north where
the barren land of winter will
spread a gracious table to nurture
if not to protect their future.

and i, wingless, only a witness
to the pungent smell of melting
soil, to the different greys
come to unfurl the life
dormant beneath the last
patches of rotten snow

Joe Moran’s blog: A Christmas Poem

Joe Moran’s blog: A Christmas Poem.

left me wordless for a while. still recovering.

how hairbrushes are totally useless in the times of storm

when rain comes with
the storm, does it matter
how carefully one has
made their hair.

the wind has the capacity
for streaming chaotic activity
all over the place,
invisibly, suddenly,
all momentum commences,
only to crash a moment later.

and only the trees
stand between the heaven
and earth, and worry
not, of how, when or whether
they will continue.

and only the grass
bows down so low
that nobody notices, and all
the pranks of this wild
runner pass overhead.

the wind comes with the rain, to stay
right in your hair.

how the worlds are lost and won… a story of possession and creation

their hands met. his right palm against her left, her left – against his right. his were a little thicker, hers – subtly smoother, but they were, oh, so similar, almost indistinguishable.

they talked through nights, and could not stop thinking of the other one for days. they went to bed in different houses at different ends of the city, but they fell asleep and woke up together. they made time for each other, and the world was beautiful.

their hands explored their bodies. their hearts trusted each other. the world was wondrous and new, and nothing they could do would hurt the other.

then she wanted him only for herself. to possess him completely. and for a while he let her, because the world was so new, and nothing had fences and borders.

grass (or when it really comes to what happens when there are no mirrors)

i opened my eyes,
pain looked out into the world.

i opened the pain,
the world looked into me.

i walked on, and i was
perplexed, frightened, in love, confused.

and the grass, and the ivy
covered my footprints.

winter tea for midsummer frozen soul

cinnamon, ginger, cardamon, black
pepper. no liquorice, liquid
fire; add water, let it
stand, for no less than seven
minutes. drink while hot.
misdummer rain whips
the foliage of sheltering
trees, owl’s screech and gull’s
laughter pierce the howl of
drag race at a distance. i
make a winter drink to warm
the spirit this night, yet cup
is empty, soul is
bottomless, thoughts
scattered. thus i make tea.