the moonlight swirls into fragrant night
like cream into clear black tea, curling
deep down deep, visible and furled
like blown glass into marbles, only
the prettiest ones – the ones with all
the colors trapped in, except here, these
- all the colors are ash, charcoal, white,
argent, silver and grey, and the music is
click, skip, roll – regular as breaths, as
red eyes flicker and watch the play, and
your lucky shooter once again shoots
past the test, knocks the last crystal ball out
of the magic circle, and it – like the moment
it caromed from – is yours.
Gathered up in smoke,
trapped in glass, clicking
and counting each other
in your drawstring bag,
take what’s yours
and let the ash enrich
whatever it hasn’t yet set on fire. This game,
this garden, this match - like our lungs,
A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years. Try the RANDOM button to sample the sometimes surprising breadth of quality (and in several Novembers, breathtaking quantity as well), or click the "ANY GOOD" label* for those poems labeled with it. On any poem, old or new, feel free to offer your remarkable insight or critical acumen.
*I haven't yet revisited many pockets and stretches of time to appraise and label the "any goods," so some are missing. Please feel free to point out omissions, or - especially - erroneous inclusions, in comments.