Leslie Philibert Poems
|322.||A Cup Of Tea After Dad`s Death||9/19/2012|
|323.||The Earth And Earth||7/12/2012|
|324.||A Short Primer Of Stones||7/3/2013|
|327.||A Better World||11/3/2012|
|329.||A Funeral In Winter||1/5/2013|
|330.||The Secret Life Of Stones||8/10/2012|
|331.||A Summer Poem||7/28/2013|
|333.||A Dry-Stone Wall Near Coleraine (For Seamus Heaney)||9/4/2013|
|334.||The Night The Moon Got Stolen||8/17/2012|
Comments about 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.
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,