Leslie Philibert

Veteran Poet - 1,803 Points (6th March 1954 / London, England)

Leslie Philibert Poems

1. Song Of A Winter Attic 7/11/2012
2. Jogger 7/11/2012
3. Another Bad Night 7/11/2012
4. Buxtehude And Rain 7/11/2012
5. Morning 7/11/2012
6. The Tree Cutters 7/11/2012
7. Night Town Of Words 7/11/2012
8. Alice - The Prelude 7/11/2012
9. The Last Garden 7/12/2012
10. Katharina 7/12/2012
11. The Sorrowing 7/12/2012
12. The Endris Question 7/12/2012
13. Stunted 7/12/2012
14. Gloria Mysteria 9/9/2012
15. On A Greek Village (A Fragment) 9/12/2012
16. All Saint`s Day 9/16/2012
17. Hendrix 10/3/2012
18. Night 7/11/2012
19. Return 10/10/2012
20. Love`s Paine 10/14/2012
21. Tap Water, Jean-Paul Sartre And The Rabbit 10/18/2012
22. A Buried Man 11/11/2012
23. Don`t Join The Army! 11/12/2012
24. The Ear That Won A Casting Show 11/14/2012
25. Without You (For W.) 11/16/2012
26. The Trinity Of Books 10/25/2012
27. Asylum 10/31/2012
28. Circle 11/23/2012
29. Death Of A Poem 11/25/2012
30. James Joyce 12/1/2012
31. Congo 12/7/2012
32. Mr. Leslie Philibert`s Attempt To Write A Poem About A Fat Pig 12/26/2012
33. Mrs Macdonald 1/11/2013
34. Background Actor 1/22/2013
35. What Night Not Is 1/24/2013
36. Untitled 1/27/2013
37. At My Own Funeral 1/29/2013
38. Autopoiesis 2/6/2013
39. Sketch 2/13/2013
40. Der Turmfalke 2/19/2013
Best Poem of Leslie Philibert

The Night The Moon Got Stolen

In the night the moon got stolen
lunatics shook their fists at empty heavens,
cats stared at holes in the dark night
and seas turned into lakes, tides refused,

And songwriters hit the wrong keys
while lovers went home for an early night,
words were not whispered in ears nor
arms thrown across shoulders in first joy.

Have no fear for this lost face in the sky,
the lady that shimmers over standing water.
Aurora will bring the slow return of dawn,
Libertas will free this stolen moonlight.

Read the full of The Night The Moon Got Stolen

Jogger

Being chased by a ghost, the roots of his teeth
break with impact, joints tied together with string,
corpus filled with compressed breath.

He gasps stones, grit and smoke, an air maschine,
a wet, strained mask, the bottom of his lungs filled with silver.
His heart shakes like a shocked bird.

It is as if all things in the park have been stilled,

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