Blood Moon

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    Blood Moon
    Running red it dripped
    across the October night sky
    a scarlet disc staring at me
    following my every move

    The hunter's mate, stalking me
    along my oozing blood trail
    it's florid mask absorbing me
    within it's ruddy glare

    Escape was not an option
    for it's coppery hue did bind
    wedded to it's maiden
    and it's amber painted stars

    Soon a fading glow it slid
    beneath the horn of midnight
    I'm abandoned yet imprisoned
    by the fiery Blood Moon

    James Mathew Simmons

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    Elke commented on Blood Moon

    08-08-2009

    Well, James Matthew Simmons, I like it. I like it a lot. You really had me. I was in the smoky woods...listening to the night. Bravo!!
    Reply to Comment

    Elke

    08/08/2009

    Now that I see that no one else has read this poem, it makes me thing there is something wrong with the system here. It really is good, and deserves to be read.

    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

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