sweet man,
I can see your glory in this moon -
and I'll tell you,
tonight I can write only cliche.
the words never come out
when that special glory is in the moon.
no. they don't.
being a lover is easy,
being a poet is easy too.
but being a poet in love, no, m'love, no.
only cliches will come and go.
your limpid glory; from your lips,
from your beautiful face -
it is reflected to the moon.
I can see it -
crystal clear, picture perfect,
in the exact way I imagine.
I can see you in the moon,
I can see your reflection in every star and shadow.
My dear, maybe you're seeing the same damn moon I'm seeing.
Tell me. Tell me how you do it. I know
you do it.
Not the moon,
not the rectilinear propagation of light
nor the laws of reflection.
Well... maybe. Okay. It is all Physics.
So, remember honey,
The beams of your beauty are ever-real -
they are reflected to my eyes
through a mere, beautiful moon.
Remember, the angle of reflection is equal
to the angle of incidence (or i as they call it)
I am "i" and you are you (or the angle of reflection)
We are the same. We are one.
Remember that the incident ray, the reflected ray and the normal
all lie on the same plane.
I know it. We lie in the same bed watching moonlight
trying to peek into our cocoon
with your heart
beating like a drum
in the midst of sex.
I know it well.
But still, I can write only this damn cliche,
My soft, loose hair,
your moonlit eyes.
I hate my cliched verse.
I want to write of good thing. You know, like Neruda.
Let me at least fathom, darling.
Well, I think I should start concluding this long, long epic.
Long like the distance between two edges of the bed.
Long like the sense of "long"ing in me.
Long like the vast spaces between my breasts.
Let me tell you one thing.
I can write of thousand moons
falling on thousand beautiful blades of grass.
But I can never write of a moon
with a reflection of you -
falling on a single blade of grass.
I cannot.
I don't want to spoil that moon.
Let me just write cliches and
learn physics by myself
on a long, deserted bed.
Just let me,
and I will.
A contest entry
- ~ she paused, squinting at the sky ~ by Heart Sutra.
2200 points, ended January 5, 2008, 14 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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This is a lovely example of narrative poetry and I agree with Zayra, there's an honesty about it, an openess that one only experience when you are deeply in love - - and that love allows us to be open like the moon you write about. I was thinking of Octavio Paz and Quabanni while reading your poem. I think it was Paz that wrote "no more cliches"... I do like how you've weaved your poem around the concept of cliches. This is lovely poetry and I just adore moon poems - so this one spoke to me.
Thank you so much for this beautiful entry.
~ Nicolette
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Your work slipped so easily from the voice box when read aloud. There is an uncanny naturalism to this work. Almost as if the person to which it is written (if there is such a person) were ear-shy, and you only had to whisper these words or speak in a calm, soothing tone.
I am one who believes that without cliches we would literally have nothing to say that wasn't abstract. An excellent take on the prompt. Very original. Thank you for this entry and we wish you the best in the comp.
Much Love ♥
Renee
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There is an emotional honesty in this poem that does not want to hide or foresake any aspect of its passion, longing, desire, sorrow or love. I appreciated the confessional narrative quality and the depths to which you have choosen to reach.
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Wow, reading this is like a breath of fresh air. This poem was long, but it held my attention the whole time. I love how you centered everything around the moon. The whole poem was elegant.
I notice that you're new to the site, and I want to give you a warm welcome!
Good luck in the contest!
Always,
Cassie
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