moon batchelder Poems

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,
...

there is
no such a thing as me.
that is - if God be infinite,
it seems a blatant blaspheme
...

they touch
not deep enough to feel.
their love,
a show of lust.
...

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
...

consider the wind;
it's soft caress,
the subtle scents it wears...
consider the lulls
...

god resides in simple things;
the fragrance of rain on the wind

the dazzles of dew drops
...

i'm sure i've never been a deer;
not buck, nor fawn, nor yearling doe.
i may have been a cat, perhaps,
but nothing quite so tame as that
...

soft, warm, grey wool drawn across the skies,
a comforter that morning snuggled under,
snoring low, while waiting for sunrise;
horizons westward billowing with thunder.
...

let there be light!
let there be poetry!
let there be muses each soul to inspire!
let there be night!
...

six kittens play at chase;
a frantic, frenzied game of tag.
they tear across the floor
as tho their tails
...