Maybe a Proselyte

© Mama Zen Photography

Maybe I'm just moonstruck

but the color of your eyes could inspire a religion

and I could write a hymn

to every laugh line when you smile

Maybe it's just the moonlight

that has softened our faces

and given us a glow

but when I'm with you I feel like I'm still a kid

Maybe it makes dogs howl like wolves

Maybe it unites lovers

Maybe it incites lunacy

Maybe it's just a moon

but when I feel my heart race like this

I am a proselyte.

submitted for Sunday Challenge, featuring Mama Zen, at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

The Girl Who Swallowed the Moon

 

The Moon by Emhain submitted (late) for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Fireblossom Friday #6, Much(a) The Artistic

Don't Let Them Steal Your Wonder

Deep blue by buleria

 Don't let them steal your wonder

Don't let them get you down

If you feel you're goin' under

Kick out hard and you won't drown

Don't you let them make you jaded

Don't you let them make you cold

It's their own souls they have traded

and their hearts that they have sold

They just want to make you smaller

They just want to make you crawl

They've forgotten how to rise up

so they need to make you fall

Don't let them steal your wonder

Be protective of your dream

When they tell you to be quiet

That's the time you have to scream.

submitted for Thursday Think Tank #94 Wonder at Poets United

Is That a Poem In Your Pocket?

Today is National Poem In Your Pocket Day! The idea is simple: select a poem you love during National Poetry Month (April) then carry it with you to share with co-workers, family, and friends. You can also share your poem selection on Twitter by using the hashtag #pocketpoem.

I found this little ditty last year and thought it was just-so-perfect!

Here’s to the Mice!

Here’s to the mice that scare the lions,
Creeping into their cages.
Here’s to the fairy mice that bite
The elephants fat and wise:
Hidden in the hay-pile while the elephant thunder rages.
Here’s to the scurrying, timid mice
Through whom the proud cause dies.

Here’s to the seeming accident
When all is planned and working,
All the flywheels turning,
Not a vassal shirking.
Here’s to the hidden tunneling thing
That brings the mountain’s groans.
Here’s to the midnight scamps that gnaw,
Gnawing away the thrones.

Vachel Lindsay