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Posts Tagged ‘moon’

Wine by the St. Lawrence

One summer we had wine by
the St. Lawrence on Howe Island,
as wide as a river can be,
as old a story a river can have,
a thousand islands dot that section,
as open as our bottles
of delicious red and white
that woke us up, inside-out,
and our eyes could feast on
the crafted scene, outside-in,
the day glittered away, flowed westward,
chased the sun in its colored trail.

We were with someone who watched
fireflies emerge and dance
their glitter dance up to the tops of
dark trees for the first time,
who had seen her first chipmunk
earlier that afternoon.
I remember noticing my first fuchsia,
those pink-petaled-purple-bells,
my first British robin, the first time
I noticed bluebells in the woods,
the things we miss and know,
the things we take for granted,
subtle gifts in something new, some quiet joy.

A silent howl for Howe Island
gave way to a full moon
over black water, black land,
black trees, black sky,
the moon was everything then.

Through all the dark silhouettes
it shimmered, glittered, an oil-spill of light,
danced sideways across the river
like ice-angel-wings that you could glide over,
step delicately over, tiptoe over, onto,
holding your breath to not be seen,
up that stairway, through the gap,
silver water, white land,
bright beams, to the moon.

Kyle McHale        2014

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Remember to Live

So remains a clear picture in the night,
Half forgotten, off centered, on the wall,
Some room of forgotten candles and wood,
Where moon sees its light on that picture fall.

In this hour the picture is perfect,
Remembered by and painted by light,
A man in that picture standing at
Some high valley stream absorbing his sight.

If it were so to cut out of life
A still piece memory of faith dreaming
Real hopes, perfection driven moonlit landscapes
With true uncertain guides, not plain predicting.

Find me in that lofty moment to freeze,
To capture what will never be again,
A moment of real love, inner faith,
Spirit warming from a real friend,

A first mountain morning mist that lifts away,
A snow covered east-lee wood that whispers,
Moments of greatest loss and greatest gain,
Of midnight madness and shifting mixtures.

Throw those moments in a hidden room of
Misplaced items, lost gathering places,
Where deformed, disconnected from the living,
Hoping to catch lost wandering faces.

But only catching moon light is enough,
Forever living moments need themselves
And a touch of all that midnight light to
Truly dance and breathe with content on shelves.

All that’s past and captured, lost and remembered,
Where is that unknown link from us to them?
That they lived, danced, dreamt for us may be enough,
Enough to love that spirit light again.

To see what is and forever will be,
For who we are is who we were,
Amongst the characters of the absurd
Resides some truth, half clear and half pure.

Lock the door to live again,
Join the man at that high valley stream,
Carrying the truth, the love, the light, the right,
Into the living past and present, into the dream.

Kyle McHale      2010

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In it’s White Madness

The veil of a moonlit cover
Dusts the woods and open field
With an eerie sense of wonder
And the moon dance that is real.

Attempt anything in it’s madness,
What seems hidden is highlighted,
What seems forgotten is remembered,
Those secrets kept are spilled over
And seep into all that’s covered

By that strange keeper over head,
That has tortured through the ages.
When in secret fashion revealed
Like prisoners broken from their cages.

A split rail fence won’t keep it in,
Nor stone wall or stiff tree line,
No door, no tarp, no roof is safe
From the casting white spell of moon time.

Go hide, go run, go lie in the field,
Seek shelter under birches or pines,
Run from the past or the darkness,
Finding you the spell of white moon time.

Dance in its strangeness and give up
The secrets, for it already knows.
The victors are mad and dancing,
The victims are hiding down low.

Kyle McHale       2012

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Orange Moon

Moon you are orange tonight,
For stars, clouds, my delight?
Moon you seem so in tune
And yet you are not white

Like when we stayed up all
Those times during the fall
And shared lovers secrets
In white chill I recall,

I gave you great thought for thought.
You rarely lit my way. I rot
When you need a peaceful word,
From my counsel you shall not.

Now sickly, faintly pale,
No orange men do prevail,
You stay so ugly orange
And lose your guided trail.

No moon of mine a bore,
For sailors on a shore,
To see almost red for
Good bait? Good hook? No lure.

May the sun cut you up-
The sphere to burn you up-
Who needs safe orbit now?
You have been killed enough.

If ever white again,
Do not call me my friend,
Because I want no more,
Of whiteness pure and lure.

Kyle McHale      2004

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