The Moon
The moon her magic be, big sad face
Of infinity. An illuminated clay ball
Manifesting many gentlemanly remarks
She kicks a star, clouds foregather
In Scimitar shape, to round her
Cradle out, upsidedown and old time
You can also let the moon fool you
With imaginary orange-balls
Of blazing imgainary light in fright
As eyeballs, hurt & foregathered,
Wink to the wince of the seeing
Of a little sprightly otay
Which projects spikes of light
Out the round smooth blue balloon
But full of mountains and moons
Deep as the ocean, high as the moon,
Low as the lowest river lagoon
Fish in the Tar and pull in the Spar
Billy the Bud and Hanshan Emperor
And all wall moongazers since
Daniel Machree, Yeats see
Gaze at the moon ocean marking
the face -
In some cases
The moon is you
In any case
The moon
- Jack Kerouac
Buddha
Reader Comments (2)
I don't really like that Jack fellow, don't really get poetry, but I DO love the moon. And I like this! alunapull...
Just imagine it's the OTHER Jack (Mr. Daniels, that is). He pulls up close, whispers in your ear. He tells you, in detail, all the dirty little things he plans to do to you ... how, by the end of the night ... as the full moon marks your body, he will creep into your room and fuck your mind ... again and again ... until you pass out.
Poetry's a little like that (minus the moon and the Jack Daniels and the passing out)...