Moon Moths by Becca Stadtlander, 2020
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Moon Moths by Becca Stadtlander, 2020
Nights bring memories of longing
For a touch that won't come.
While the world slept
I dreamt of desires
Sinking deeper into their secrets.
I coveted all that I could
While leaving so much of me
That I never thought I would.
Through the realms of possibilities
I closed my eyes and prayed.
Where were you to guide my destiny
While I waited to fade away.
-H. Murcia 6/3/2026 8:26 AM
What’s behind the stars?
Your eyes could answer that question
Flecked with hopes and dreams
Twinkling cascades of promises made
And kept before they close
A thousand sparkling moments
Full of love, full of joy
Whats behind the stars?
Soft lips pursed, waiting
Eager fingers grasping at eternity
And endless heartbeats matching the rhythm
Between the galaxies in my chest and yours
Filling the void between seconds
With everything we’ve waited for
What’s behind the stars?
A bath, pure and sweet scented
Cleansing our flesh from the grimy work
Before we soothe one another
Bubbles drifting heavenward
Popping only to release the fantasy
Of flying hand in hand eternally
Behind the stars
.
â“’ Michael Greywood Poetry 2026
Near my house there lives an owl. Night has come. Let me not disturb the sweet and fine solitude of the spotted owl. See how she waits in silent beauty. The owl is so still that my faith in a benevolent god is nearly renewed. How blessed and long is the night, and how fine this wide and long valley is, where I stand, beneath a tremendous pine. James Lee Jobe
dark evers
this future
now
skinned and stranger fed
your name like mine
crying
breath and blood denied
our eyes and tongues
de-echoed
The Architecture Of A Failed Collision (The Sun And The Moon)
the orbit is a locked jaw a machinery of perfect distance he is the burning anvil...furious and deafening she is the cold, white curve of the pendulum they are forbidden the mercy of collision cataclisym...caucophony so the atmosphere must break to bear it the rain does not merely fall...it is hurled a million silver wires strung down from the dark trying to stitch the daytime to the night it begins in the humid, collapsed lung of his afternoon a swelling ache thick with ozone and bruised dirt he boils the sea just to reach her pushing the vapor upward like a heavy...desperate breath clouding the glass of the sky with the steam of his blinding want but the dark translates all fever into gravity by the time the storm crosses the threshold of the evening the heat has been stripped from the water what rose as a frantic...boiling lust descends as the cold, sharp shrapnel of the drop she watches from her hollow theater of chalk she sees his burning desire turn to freezing silk against the leaves with a quiet, gravitational pull, she gathers the ruin of it drawing the swollen tide a damp sheet over an empty bed this is the vast and weeping architecture of their grief the sudden thunderstorm is the violent friction of bodies that cannot meet the flash of lightning the brief...agonizing hallucination of touch and the slow, gray drizzle that follows that is the quiet turning away every drop a transmission that fails upon impact heavy enough to rise as longing too cold to survive the dark
the seat next to me is empty
gulls soar grey against grey over the vast ocean of car park
one day I will be fine
flood lights shine white light despite the sun clouds build up high towers pressure piles on
I want to forget
when it's time to work roll up my sleeves to hide where rain has dampened fabric
too late to pretend I don't care
-acklum
To know hope
is to know
the soul of
a prairie
summer,
feel the feather-
weight of
milkweed seeds
wind-tossed,
listen to the
dry-brown rustle
of little bluestem
as rain booms many
months away.
hearts, like flowers, cannot be rudely handled, but must open naturally
-- Louisa May Alcott
North Atlantic Coast
rocky spoils flee to the sea
and waves learn to splash
in mighty crescending crash
among dangerous beauty.
.
D W Eldred
I still think of her and the way her head slightly tilted when she walked - knock-kneed and awkward and keeping herself small inside big crowds of middle-of-the-road daydreams - trapped by parental standards and caged by wisdom-givers not so wise
so, live a little, I’d say and her response was always outlined by a devious smile - half-turned to the heavens and the other half falling straight to hell full of laughing fire and brimstone - knowing she shouldn’t dare but provoking the gods, both old and new I can still see her and the way her chestnut-hued curls bounced in the sun - twisted, tangled by the gusts and blown backward away revealing a forest inside her deep, phthlao green eyes - far-reaching and expressive and armed with well-kept, sunlit secrets
I can still hear her and the giggle buried inside her voice over things past - standing on growing stages and dancing as they knew we would showing the vanity in the laws of youth’s misled wisdom - twisted, and trying to become anything other than all the betweens
©Nicolette Branson
did you know you can see the waves from space?
The ocean, like a hungry lover
Chewing at the atmosphere
The way the stars are embers
Onlookers, aflame
The gaudy glow
Electric light like
Artificial love like
Smiles gone cold
The way twin abysses
Kiss with bitten lips
The way we watch
Bright cities burn
I owe an apology to the boy I used to be
And the man that came after
You were too young to understand
That love was meant to be free
Meant to be given and received
That your heart was worth fighting for
You deserved a stronger fight
For your right to believe what you do
Instead of hiding it, instead of keeping it in
You deserved to let your flag fly high
And proud and free
You deserved better from me
But you’re safe now, kept in my memory
The joy, the laughter, the me I used to be
I’m sorry, so sorry
For not sooner becoming me
Autumn remains
Even on the cusp of summer through the burgeoning and the blossoming— a resistance a chill a closing down On the ground the muted colors of Autumn remain trinkets of nostalgia evidence ignored I am wrapped in the scratchy wool of your absence a scarf of bitterness I cannot remove despite its warmth Ignore me like the life vest you scorned like sunscreen hydration (Summer can kill when your back is turned) I'll stay here in the slow decay of hope roosting in the dark attic of my mistakes
The setting Sun
Marc Chagall
Pretend the sun is just set—in the waining light your cat is fast asleep next to your head on the sofa back as you think peaceful creative thoughts—the ocean’s shore in the distance—its roar lulling you to sleep