Friday, March 27, 2009


The moon's a mirror; each dog sees
himself as wolf framed in its breadth,
full-waxed into the nameless night.
Which of us might look up and howl

at our own image, true yet distant?
Which of us might believe the day
no longer, trusting only dim
reflections of our soul's desire?

Give me the sun, too bright to look
upon, too much to understand,
a mirror only unto God.
The wolf may sleep in shadowed den,

in dream alone to know the moon
and sing his image from the sky.

Stephen Brooke ©2009

Reasonably strict tetrameter but blank, as is much of my stuff. I'm big on rhythm but consider rhyme not particularly important to English-language poetry. Typically, the moon is a relatively benign metaphor for romance and mystery so I thought I'd try to step sideways a bit from that. Some of the imagery here relates to The Moon card in the tarot major arcana.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Wonderful imagery, Stephen. I am affected by your poem, as usual. I can just see a drawing to go with this one.

Talking about drawing, I am really going to *try* to get some done. Things have been so hectic around Ac's neck of the woods. I've been doing some diary entry's so you would appreciate. Bad things come in 3's, maybe, but it's like, now, a thread-pull experience from tangles.

Have a good weekend. Cheers from Aussie.