She spells and conjures me
beyond resistance.
She strings and dances me
through frantic streets,
her hapless marionette,
clacking limbs
and wooden heart.
I am played and plucked
with ivory fingers
my strings vibrating
as she paints me
with this lunar grin,
new moon on her back
Cheshire feline fading.
It cannot last, this phantom face,
this bright madness.
She has me by the balls
and won’t let go.
She pulls me inside out
and whispers secrets
I don’t want to know.
Mistress, muse and madam,
Priestess and lover.
She commands me
and all my gestures.
Such brief moments
of elaborate ecstasy,
endlessly repeated,
is all i ask.
moon photo thanks to Google Images / poem by clinock
The Harvest Moon will never be the same again John……….thank you! (and so good to see you back in town!)
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Thank you my friend, I think it is a flying visit…
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Fly HIGH!
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How odd John. This just showed up in my inbox today and I can not find it in my Reader???? And yes! What a magnificent moon!
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Oddness is the poetry of moons…
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I am played and plucked
with ivory fingers
Great imagery. Life, women and booze have done the same to me. I am safe now though. Life on life’s terms but the bar and piano shop and opportunities for the ladies are closed. Forever.
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nothing is forever Carl, nothing…
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As someone wrote…the Harvest Moon will never be the same. Enchanting!
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Full Moons Enchant…
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dancing
in luminous
~
light
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