Monday, February 6, 2012

Virgin Moon

She walks in exile on the sky
or roams twixt lofty billows
etched in metallic-gilded dye
the earth, an argent pillow
She fuses daylight to the dark
Until the latch of twilight
Clicks; as the first resilient spark
Hinges the eve to midnight
And all the ruins of broad day
Which boldly scar life’s meadow
And all the dubious shades of gray
Tinting the lengthened shadow
Dissolve within the mystic spell
Their petulant rebellion
She weaves no staccato farewell
As stars in countless million
Bedazzle her infinite halls
No lovers dart can lure her
For none can climb the ethereal wall
To tarry in her parlor
And none can kiss her cheek so fair
Then kindly beg her pardon
Her silver tresses sweep the air
Her teardrops bathe the garden

© Janet Martin

The moon...she looks cold and lonely tonight...J~
Written for the The Sunday Whirl.



  1. My favorite line- "she fuses daylight to the dark". You give this moon of ours a whole new life. Wonderful. So nice to meet you. Love your photo too.

  2. Love it.

    No lovers dart can lure her
    For none can climb the ethereal wall

    in the end, that could be a blessing

  3. Thank-you Teri, nice to meet you too.

    Cathy:) I think you could be right! Can you imagine the traffic?!!

  4. Gorgeous. I especially liked "Until the latch of twilight / Clicks;"

  5. "an argent pillow"

    I am entranced, utterly entranced, by this single, simple image.

    Whirling Haiku and Senryu


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