‘The word within a word,unable to speak a word,
Swaddled with darkness. In the juvescence of the year
Came Christ the tiger.’ – T S Eliot
‘Please write a poem on
Super Blue Blood Moon,’
This is my brother’s request to me.
‘ Why not,’
I answer in a calm,
It’s a tragedy
I readily agree to his request.
Love, why don’t you give me a coy smile
Now that I propose to you!
Let me sit near you for a long, long moment
Drinking in the beauty of your feminine charm.
There’s no ordinary moon tonight –
It’s a rare sight
Seen once in every 150 years.
She is truly of royal family
And the sky smiles at
Her regal gesture.
Here rarity makes me think
Of the etymology of the idiom
Once in a blue moon.
At this crucial moment,
Words fail me;
I feel my muse has deserted me.
Does the word poem mean anything to you?
How do you define a poem
And what is there in a poem
That is useful to all mankind?
Is it a hospice for the terminally ill?
A word of truth
That outweighs the whole world?
A faint smile
That outshines the broad smile
Of a spring morning?
Dear oh dear!
Why are you deserting me now
Before I can write a poem
For one of my dearest brothers?