Biography of moon batchelder
too many twists and turns to mention here....
not sure if either is the true url...but you can always simple go to
www.starlitepoetry.com and search by poet name moon spirit..
my biography is my poetry...
i write my life..
love to share antique or obscur poetry...
poetry i find on sites like this..
and that i have collected shopping
my shelves are full!
i share these at
don't know what else to say
moon batchelder's Works:
published in anthologies...only
in 'Muse Whispers'
moon batchelder Poems
! Take Me!
take me! reclaim me! o earth that has made me! govern my being compleat til you tame me,
(dreams Or) Gather Them, Gather Them
gather them, gather them into your hand, year after year like some great pile of sand,
not his lover - but his angel. he wasn't made - for her. but heaven - had arranged it so that she - his needs preferred
(13 X 2) Shine
shine! moon's light also borrows from stars be who you are!
! If Only!
if only my poetry soothed like a balm if only the verses rehearsd in my mind
A Thousand Lines Of Poetry
a thousand lines of poetry a thousand reasons to believe in such a thing as muses singing touching deepest part.
Faeries Tell Me Things
i hear spirits! dare i say it? faeries tell me things... whispering like misty mornings
What Trust Is Not...And Is...
trust is not like sword delaying somewhere overhead (of damocles or other, praying for release from dread.)
Lady Of The Lake...
lady of the lake am i, a watcher in the wood; a restless spirit glowering, depending on the mood;
Love Out Of Time
like Ruth and Boaz, they were he was rich beyond her meager kenning.
Only That Thou Art
there is no such a thing as me. that is - if God be infinite, it seems a blatant blaspheme
The Place Where Poetry Resides
the place where poetry resides what mortal soul can tell? 'twere easier to say whence comes a dream. what course the wind of heaven rides,
they touch not deep enough to feel. their love, a show of lust.
Dark And Light
the light invaded darkness once that was. its brightness lay to waste the perfect night, and blackness stained, blood seeping through the gauze which hides a wound, while crimson rose on white
A Life Well Lived
a life well lived is fraught with stains.
some are forever set,
and last beyond remembrance of their cause.
like grassy green on favorite jeans
or crimson wine on linen
or carpet marked by muddied puppy's paws.
so many cherished moments bind
themselves unto a stain.