Phases of the Moon
Once upon a time I heard
That the flying moon was a Phoenix bird;
Thus she sails through windy skies,
Thus in the willow's arms she lies;
Turn to the East or turn to the West
In many trees she makes her nest.
When she's but a pearly thread
Look among birch leaves overhead;
When she dies in yellow smoke
Look in a thunder-smitten oak;
But in May when the moon is full,
Bright as water and white as wool,
Look for her where she loves to be,
Asleep in a high magnolia tree.
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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Related quotes
Moon Tonight
The turn my car took on Bandra flyover
Helped me see the part of sky with Moon.
And she looked round-faced – full Moon?
Chauffeur had steadied the car, I was not sure.
Mind went back a few years to my Delhi home
I had counted the full moons to my retirement:
Tried to go up on my terrace in Lodhi Garden
On every bright moon-lit night, alas, alone.
Now I wonder how many full moons before death?
But I don’t know how to time the interval between
Now and Death’s arrival for me: why not every one?
Perhaps there can be no better addition of riches to life.
From home, I put off TV, wore shoes, closed door,
And went down to walk under the Moon: she was
On the East at an angle: only if I walk East I see her.
Now I pass the lane between FDA and Artek Nagar.
I see the bits of broken Moon through the dark foliage
Of the trees, sometimes branches, some leaves in pairs
Asleep, while palm leaves swaying a lullaby gently,
Brushing on, without ever touching, the distant moon.
As I went on the main BKC road, I could see the full
Moon on this clear November sky in broad gaps
Where there were no cassia or queen’s tree, and
No star near, or even far, to distract my attention.
I enjoyed seeing the moon, rather self-consciously,
Keeping track of whether anyone passing by
Is watching me watch the Moon, to think “Is he
A poet or just lunatic, about to fall into a pot-hole? '
Before I turned homewards, I felt sad, very sad
To think that the full Moon is absolutely lost
In the lit streets with headlights and neon-lamps
That one has to search for the moon to see her.
poem by Daniel Trevelyn Joseph
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Ticket To The Moon
Remember the good old 1980s?
When things were so uncomplicated?
I wish I could go back there again
And everything could be the same.
Ive got a ticket to the moon
Ill be leaving here any day soon
Yeah, Ive got a ticket to the moon
But Id rather see the sunrise in your eyes.
Got a ticket to the moon
Ill be rising high above the earth so soon
And the tears I cry might turn into the rain
That gently falls upon your window
Youll never know.
Chorus:
Ticket to the moon (ticket to the moon)
Ticket to the moon (ticket to the moon)
Ticket to the moon (ticket to the moon).
Fly, fly through a troubled sky
Up to a new world shining bright, oh, oh.
Flying high above
Soaring madly through the mysteries that come
Wondering sadly if the ways that led me here
Could turn around and I would see you there
Standing there (and I would see you there, waiting...)
Ticket to the moon
Flight leaves here today from satellite two
As the minutes go by, what should I do?
I paid the fare, what more can I say?
Its just one way (only one way)...
Repeat chorus:
Repeat chorus:
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Shall Be Loved As Quiet Things
I shall be loved as quiet things
Are loved--white pigeons in the sun,
Curled yellow leaves that whisper down
One after one;
The silver reticence of smoke
That tells no secret of its birth
Among the fiery agonies
That turn the earth;
Cloud-islands; reaching arms of trees;
The frayed and eager little moon
That strays unheeded through a high
Blue afternoon.
The thunder of my heart must go
Under the muffling of the dust--
As my gray dress has guarded it
The grasses must;
For it has hammered loud enough,
Clamored enough, when all is said:
Only its quiet part shall live
When I am dead.
poem by Karle Wilson Baker
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The Silver Lily
The nights have grown cool again, like the nights
Of early spring, and quiet again. Will
Speech disturb you? We're
Alone now; we have no reason for silence.
Can you see, over the garden-the full moon rises.
I won't see the next full moon.
In spring, when the moon rose, it meant
Time was endless. Snowdrops
Opened and closed, the clustered
Seeds of the maples fell in pale drifts.
White over white, the moon rose over the birch tree.
And in the crook, where the tree divides,
Leaves of the first daffodils, in moonlight
Soft greenish-silver.
We have come too far together toward the end now
To fear the end. These nights, I am no longer even certain
I know what the end means. And you, who've been
With a man--
After the first cries,
Doesn't joy, like fear, make no sound?
poem by Louise Gluck
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An Autumn Treasure-Trove
'Tis the time of the year's sundown, and flame
Hangs on the maple bough;
And June is the faded flower of a name;
The thin hedge hides not a singer now.
Yet rich am I; for my treasures be
The gold afloat in my willow-tree.
Sweet morn on the hillside dripping with dew,
Girded with blue and pearl,
Counts the leaves afloat in the streamlet too;
As the love-lorn heart of a wistful girl,
She sings while her soul brooding tearfully
Sees a dream of gold in the willow-tree.
All day pure white and saffron at eve,
Clouds awaiting the sun
Turn them at length to ghosts that leave
When the moon's white path is slowly run
Till the morning comes, and with joy for me
O'er my gold agleam in the willow-tree.
The lilacs that blew on the breast of May
Are an old and lost delight;
And the rose lies ruined in his careless way
As the wind turns the poplars underwhite,
Yet richer am I for the autumn; see
All my misty gold in the willow-tree.
poem by Eugene Field
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In Fullmoon...
In full moon night,
the moon walked
with me with his light.
There was cool breeze,
his light touched
the heads of trees--
and the green darkness,
spread its sheet
over the leas' face.
The moon sat under
a leafy tree....
looking at me with wonder
He told how he does fade,
and the dust, smoke, fog,
cover him with shade!
He wept, and I heard,
until, he slept and woke
listening to the call of bird!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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It's the Tattered End of Autumn
It’s the tattered end of autumn,
when the beech tree’s yellow dress
has rusted
and a thick carpet
of mustard
lies rotting underfoot.
It’s the tattered end of autumn,
when the white bones of the birch
are exposed
and its last leaves
cling
like baby koalas.
It’s the tattered end of autumn
when single leaves
dance solos
and next door’s blower
disturbs
the stillness of mid afternoon.
It’s the tattered end of autumn
when bed beckons
and the moon is bright,
and you and I touch toes
tenderly
under the doona.
poem by Alison Cassidy
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East Of The Sun
Half of a letter
Tells half a story
The way I see it
It's half the worry
Where I came from
I forgot too soon...
East of the sun
And west of the moon
Money talks
And hey, I'm listening
I've lived without it
Enough to miss it
Where I'm going
I'll get there soon
East of the sun
And west of the moon
Another day leaves me aching
I try to wake up
But something's breaking
Here inside me
Deep and hollow
A sound that no other sound could follow
I know the pain
Before the wound
East of the sun
And west of the moon
song performed by by A-Ha
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Portrait
LIKE the sway of the silver birch in the breeze of dawn
Is her dainty way;
Like the gray of a twilight sky or a starlit lawn
Are her eyes of gray;
Like the clouds in their moving white
Is her breast's soft stir;
And white as the moon and bright
Is the soul of her.
Like murmur of woods in spring ere the leaves be green,
Like the voice of a bird
That sings by a stream that sings through the night unseen,
So her voice is heard.
And the secret her eyes withhold
In my soul abides,
For white as the moon and cold
Is the heart she hides.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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East Of The Sun, West Of The Moon
(pal waaktaar)
Half of a letter
Tells half a story
The way I see it
Its half the worry
Where I came from
I forgot too soon...
East of the sun
And west of the moon
Money talks
And hey, Im listening
Ive lived without it
Enough to miss it
Where Im going
Ill get there soon
East of the sun
And west of the moon
Another day leaves me aching
I try to wake up
But somethings breaking
Here inside me
Deep and hollow
A sound that no other sound could follow
I know the pain
Before the wound
East of the sun
And west of the moon
song performed by by A-Ha
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Moon Song
A child saw in the morning skies
The dissipated-looking moon,
And opened wide her big blue eyes,
And cried: "Look, look, my lost balloon!"
And clapped her rosy hands with glee:
"Quick, mother! Bring it back to me."
A poet in a lilied pond
Espied the moon's reflected charms,
And ravished by that beauty blonde,
Leapt out to clasp her in his arms.
And as he'd never learnt to swim,
Poor fool! that was the end of him.
A rustic glimpsed amid the trees
The bluff moon caught as in a snare.
"They say it do be made of cheese,"
Said Giles, "and that a chap bides there. . . .
That Blue Boar ale be strong, I vow --
The lad's a-winkin' at me now."
Two lovers watched the new moon hold
The old moon in her bright embrace.
Said she: "There's mother, pale and old,
And drawing near her resting place."
Said he: "Be mine, and with me wed,"
Moon-high she stared . . . she shook her head.
A soldier saw with dying eyes
The bleared moon like a ball of blood,
And thought of how in other skies,
So pearly bright on leaf and bud
Like peace its soft white beams had lain;
Like Peace! . . . He closed his eyes again.
Child, lover, poet, soldier, clown,
Ah yes, old Moon, what things you've seen!
I marvel now, as you look down,
How can your face be so serene?
And tranquil still you'll make your round,
Old Moon, when we are underground.
poem by Robert William Service
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Moon, We Look to You.
Moon, you have a shade of blue tonight –
Is it something that you saw or heard?
Only yesterday, your tone was proud and bright,
Yellow silver, full, and so assured.
Moon, despite the clarity of sky,
Metaphors of cloud that fluff with grey
Drift across your rounded face to spy;
Feeding back, there's awfully much to say.
Moon, you have a role to play up there –
We below must bear the earthly pain.
Duty bound, we shoulder sorrows fair –
You are free from our grotesque disdain.
Moon, we depend on you to shine
When the sun retires down below.
Add to that your grandest role divine:
Tidal Lord, to keep the seas in tow!
Moon, I hope you take to heart our plea –
Needless is the reason for your blue.
Beaming, you should give the night its glee:
We're despairing – so we look to you.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-57
Campbell's Magnolia(Magnolia campbelli)
Dwarf Magnolia(Cempaka Telur, Magnolia coco)
Temple Magnolia(Magnolia doltsopa)
Banana Shrub(Magnolia figo)
Magnolia(Southern magnolia, Magnolia grandiflora)
Egg Magnolia(Magnolia liliifera)
Lily Magnolia(Magnolia lilliflora)
Saucer Magnolia(Magnolia x soulangiana)
Disparity is not His intention
For creation all beauty adorned
Painting different here and there
Passion for His colourful creation
So is Magnolia big and florescent
Champak white and yellow hale here
Cream and pink there purplish pale
Leaves large elliptic, oblong, obovate
Born are big in blossoms dignified
For His praises glorious colourful
Born are dwarf fragrant strong high
For His praises vast wide in demand
So not atall disparity His intention
Even Temple Magnolia can ascertain
On par all Himalayan with the southern
Magnolias pretty beauty for His creation
poem by Indira Renganathan
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The Winter's Come
Sweet chestnuts brown like soling leather turn;
The larch trees, like the colour of the Sun;
That paled sky in the Autumn seemed to burn,
What a strange scene before us now does run--
Red, brown, and yellow, russet, black, and dun;
White thorn, wild cherry, and the poplar bare;
The sycamore all withered in the sun.
No leaves are now upon the birch tree there:
All now is stript to the cold wintry air.
See, not one tree but what has lost its leaves--
And yet the landscape wears a pleasing hue.
The winter chill on his cold bed receives
Foliage which once hung oer the waters blue.
Naked and bare the leafless trees repose.
Blue-headed titmouse now seeks maggots rare,
Sluggish and dull the leaf-strewn river flows;
That is not green, which was so through the year
Dark chill November draweth to a close.
Tis Winter, and I love to read indoors,
When the Moon hangs her crescent up on high;
While on the window shutters the wind roars,
And storms like furies pass remorseless by.
How pleasant on a feather bed to lie,
Or, sitting by the fire, in fancy soar
With Dante or with Milton to regions high,
Or read fresh volumes we've not seen before,
Or oer old Burton's Melancholy pore.
poem by John Clare
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O Turn Once More
O turn once more!
The meadows where we mused and strayed together
Abound and glow yet with the ruby sorrel;
'Twas there the bluebirds fought and played together,
Their quarrel was a flying bluebird-quarrel;
Their nest is firm still in the burnished cherry,
They will come back there some day and be merry;
O turn once more.
O turn once more!
The spring we lingered at is ever steeping
The long, cool grasses where the violets hide,
Where you awoke the flower-heads from their sleeping
And plucked them, proud in their inviolate pride;
You left the roots, the roots will flower again,
O turn once more and pluck the flower again;
O turn once more.
O turn once more!
We were the first to find the fairy places
Where the tall lady-slippers scarf'd and snooded,
Painted their lovely thoughts upon their faces,
And then, bewitched by their own beauty brooded;
This will recur in some enchanted fashion;
Time will repeat his miracles of passion;
O turn once more.
O turn once more!
What heart is worth the longing for, the winning,
That is not moved by currents of surprise;
Who never breaks the silken thread in spinning,
Shows a bare spindle when the daylight dies;
The constant blood will yet flow full and tender;
The thread will mended be though gossamer-slender;
O turn once more.
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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Yellow Billed Spoonbill
By the lake shore in the shallows where the waters are still
He walks in water to his knees the white bird with yellow legs and long yellow spoon like bill
With his bill in the water as he walk moving from side to side
His prey water insects, crustaceans and tiny fish in the water weed hide.
He and his partner build their nest on a high branch of a tree
On her nest of sticks she lays four white eggs though sometimes two or three
They both take care of their young a bird devoted to fatherhood as well as to his mate
Food from their stomachs to their nestlings they do regurgitate.
On river rapids never seen the still waters they need
Birds of the inland lakes and dams in the shallows they feed
Of humans 'twould be fair to say they have a healthy fear
To a human standing on the shore they never venture near.
Yellow billed or yellow legged spoonbill are names they are known by
On the lake I see one yesterday he did seem rather shy
With his long yellow bill moving from side to side in the shallows he shuffled up and down
The shiest of the water birds in the big park by the Town.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Attadale, West Highlands
A black and glassy float, opaque and still,
The loch, at furthest ebb supine in sleep,
Reversing, mirrored in its luminous deep
The calm grey skies; the solemn spurs of hill;
Heather, and corn, and wisps of loitering haze;
The wee white cots, black-hatted, plumed with smoke;
The braes beyond--and when the ripple awoke,
They wavered with the jarred and wavering glaze.
The air was hushed and dreamy. Evermore
A noise of running water whispered near.
A straggling crow called high and thin. A bird
Trilled from the birch-leaves. Round the shingled shore,
Yellow with weed, there wandered, vague and clear,
Strange vowels, mysterious gutturals, idly heard.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Moon Light
Moon Rises High Into The Sky
The Moon Is Gray
The Moon Is Bright
The Moon Is Full
Every Night The Moon Comes Out And Goes Down.
The Moon Shines Onto The Earth.
Brightens My Path.
I Look at The Moon And Say 'Moon Light Moon Light Bright My Path As You Shine My Way'
The moon Looks down And Shines My Path.
I Walk To The Pond And The Reflection of The Moon The Moon Is Beautiful And Bright.
The Moon Will Never Disappear.
The Brightness With Alwayz Shine My Path.
poem by Sonya Wesley
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Beneath A Desert Moon
From the mountains of the moon to the mighty delta
From the deserts of the West to the shining sea
Beneath the canopy of stars flowed the serpent river
Flowing through my father's land that he left to me
From the baker to the priest to the candle maker
From the highest to the low in my father's land
We make our offer to the sun 'fore the break of morning
Or else everything we have will just turn to sand
I have a lot to ask
I have a lot that I need to say
I have so much to do
And all I need is another day
From the soldier to the scribe to the carpet maker
All the different colored threads in a carpet loom
A woven tapestry of life is our mighty nation
This is the writing on the wall of my father's tomb
We have a lot to ask
We have a lot that we need to say
We have so much to do
And all we need is another day
Beneath the desert moon I call you
Beneath the desert moon I sing
Beneath the desert moon so lonely
I'm just a boy who would be king
With just the moon to guide us
We sometimes lose our way
If there's a light inside us
We'll follow, follow it to the brightness of the day
Every single blade of grass every yellow flower
Every ripple on the sea or the blue blue Nile
Every leaf on every tree every single creature
From the smallest little bird to the crocodile
We have a lot to ask
We have a lot that we need to say
We have so much to do
And all we need is another day
Beneath the desert moon I call you
Beneath the desert moon we sing
Beneath the desert moon we're waiting
Before the coming of the king
Beneath the desert moon that's sinking
We see the Eastern skies on fire
This is where darkness leaves
And shining waters fall
And let the shadows run
And we'll say, "welcome to the sun"
Brand new day...
From the mountains of the moon to the mighty delta
From the deserts of the West to the shining sea
Beneath the canopy of stars flowed the serpent river
Flowing through my father's land that he left to me
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Loon Point
Softly the water ripples
Against the canoe's curving side,
Softly the birch trees rustle
Flinging over us branches wide.
Softly the moon glints and glistens
As the water takes and leaves,
Like golden ears of corn
Which fall from loose-bound sheaves,
Or like the snow-white petals
Which drop from an overblown rose,
When Summer ripens to Autumn
And the freighted year must close.
From the shore come the scents of a garden,
And between a gap in the trees
A proud white statue glimmers
In cold, disdainful ease.
The child of a southern people,
The thought of an alien race,
What does she in this pale, northern garden,
How reconcile it with her grace?
But the moon in her wayward beauty
Is ever and always the same,
As lovely as when upon Latmos
She watched till Endymion came.
Through the water the moon writes her legends
In light, on the smooth, wet sand;
They endure for a moment, and vanish,
And no one may understand.
All round us the secret of Nature
Is telling itself to our sight,
We may guess at her meaning but never
Can know the full mystery of night.
But her power of enchantment is on us,
We bow to the spell which she weaves,
Made up of the murmur of waves
And the manifold whisper of leaves.
poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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