Blood moon, O, sun-halogenated bulb! Sublunary loons swear and swoon Your red blushes flood The late twilit noon In hot menstrual flushes of blood!
But blood moon! In your earth-orbited race I think you run out of skied space Much too fast cloud-apace And star-apace much too soon!
O, Muse of Poesy, Bide my time! Stay passion-blooded with one Whose verse is done Bequeathing the world his rhyme!
Poet’s Note: To ‘End-days Christians’ a blood moon is one sign heralding the end of the world. This poet begs to differ! To him, the blood moon, is regrettably, too short-lived a natural but beautiful event and an opportunity to invoke it as the Muse of poesy! This poem is dedicated to 15 year old Destiny Hay of Cross City, Florida. She is active on High on Poems and aspires to be a poet of import. Good luck Destiny! I hope you will in time bequeath the world some of its finest poems! The last verse in Blood Moon is written with your aspiration in mind!
They had surrounded the tank; collars on the legs. You were tracking the revolution. The process melts the crosses in flowing blood. Everybody was carrying a rose. The bruises were spreading on table. King was drinking wine. Unwritten law. Death
Instant in second thought would we peer morely impoverished flame would we adhere lonely would we let love persevere or love in lost love in those disappear into a pleasance our one love so near an impoverished flame of our heart so sincere pleasance from love we once sought in
After bending the oracle, there was participation in voice of grievers. The child of sun was dead in arms of nature. It moves, when I thought it was stillborn, the history of mankind. In the saddest day today, I believe