Daniel Chamberlin
In silence the owl
Regards the mouse
Affectionately musing
How fine the little diner is
That dances for me
Before the feast
It’s the moon, you fool
It’s fat and rotting
Hanging in the sky
Full of bloat
It’s the moon, I tell you
Stalking you softly
Leering and hungry
The eye of the goat!
Sometimes people talk about the darkness between stars. Foolishness. There is no darkness between stars, there’s nothing there to make shadows. Only endless and eternal blinding freezing illumination, as stars throw light at other stars across a fathomless void. Space is Hell,
as described by Dante: eternal, freezing and the prison of light.
He left his heart
Strewn across their conversations
A storm of leaves
Across a babbling brook
What if your skin was made of autumn leaves
Your hair made up of Japanese maple and sycamore
And you danced and swirled on the chill cold wind
And smiled splinters of icy rime
Across the drifting pond
Hush you whisper
And I am quiet
Hush you whisper
Nipping at my ear
Hush you whisper
And I shiver as you drawn near.
Daniel lives in the mountains, hopes to die near the sea and can’t walk a mile without seeing something worth writing about. He is fat and jolly and full of mirth, he is hungry and savage and full of rage, yet let no one fear, he is full of good humor and hope for the future.