See the new moon up-slip and flare its vicious whips of light across the back of night. The moon bears no delight, but brings dull rays of hurts and stings made yesterday. It sings cold songs old songs that don’t belong if we are to move on and make a fresh and novel take in the lake while baking a cake.
(Dear everyone – this poem was posted way back but got accidentally deleted – so I’m just fixing things up, and I don’t know how to tell WP that it’s not new!)
Sea waves! Kinaesthetic
Masterpiece! The earth’s trick to shine
Hefty stones into fine
Marble and, over time, transform
Dull rock. Beauty is born
Not in fierce forceful storms but slow,
Quiet, gentle to and fro,
Wave on wave, stop and go, hard grit.
Children ever question,
Perpetual in their din and quest
To know. They prod and pest.
Their parents never rest at all;
But as the breakers fall
On stony shores to maul and grind,
Mum turns into diamond,
And Dad wave-worn, refined forged iron.