Friday, October 13, 2006

What We Are


The moon is such a fickle lover
it draws hot blood to yellow thighs,
drains us free of light-lust dreams, then
vanishes without touch, or tear.
No notes left by the coffee pot,
fragrance to linger on sheets, or thought.
Gone again, ‘til it needs our skin,
we’ll be waiting, we are what we are.

14 comments:

MB said...

Oh, I like this one!

samuru999 said...

Just great pat!
I love this poem!

Poetry by Kai said...

powerful

Anonymous said...

Love the rhyme of "pot" with "thought." Nice!

polona said...

love the directions this poem can take you! excellent!

Anonymous said...

the moon is my friend ... i howl at it regularly! thank you for sharing this beautiful poem with us, pat.

iamnasra said...

Don of Conscious living Blog have been hosted in www.livinginpoetry.blogspot.com
Hope you can share ur thoughts about Don

Russell Ragsdale said...

When the moon is full, I turn into a black '63 Corvette.

mikaelah said...

great one Pat... and the comments are too. Funny what a pull that moon has.

Masago said...

...as he bays at the Moon...

dsnake1 said...

woooh, nice one, pat!

Amalendu said...

what to do Pat.. Moon is what it is....
lovely write...

Pat Paulk said...

Thanks MB!!

Thank you Margie!!

But, I'm just a 205# weakling. Thank you Kai!!

Thanks Joyce!!

I love options!! Thaks Polona!!

Crazy Ronin, I could've guessed!! Thank you!!

Iamnasra, thank you, I did.

Russell, and I thought you preferred traveling on Death Stars???

Mikaelah, it can be down right scary. Thank you!!

Vaughn, you're peeking again...

Dsnake, thanks!!

Amalendu, it is that. Might as well love it, can't leave it.

Sue hardy-Dawson said...

Sensual and fickle indeed