Third Poetry Post, Hopefully Getting Into The Swing of Things

[Cogari]

Hello I'm going for another one, another two poems I made, I hope that you like them or find them interesting:


(I made this after a very lovely time with a few close friends of mine. Most poems I think revolve around romantic love, but there aren't really as many dedicated to friends, and I feel that I managed to convey at least a little of my affection for people around me at the time pretty well)

Evening:

There is no silver tongue
Nor crimson shift, nor spice of life
No golden words, no rush of blood
Only a ruddy sky, and the sounds of sighs
A small day gone by, uneventful and lukewarm
But this is the ideal time
When there is no cold, no black at all
The greatest love is found in the most ordinary places
And I prefer to sit with a belly of microwavable food
Than in an overpriced restaurant with expectations tugging on my arms
No need to dream of days to come, when the evening is so sweet
Not spent in solitude, but with friends
Warm and familiar, like a strong leather shoe
More worth in present today than any “might be” or “may happen”
And Sheba herself would weep for want of the love I have in my heart


(I wrote this anticipating a lot of the changes and troubles that were to come, and this was always an off the cuff reflection of my thoughts at the time)

Gibbous Waning 22:43

Feel a burning ligament, straining the eye to spy two bronze candles
Told one’s a planet, know another’s the moon
The wisdom of a blasé burning mind older than mine, chanting wisdom
Wisdom of the ages
Wisdom told to tribes in the past
Watching the moon creep over the brick wall and the top of the estate
He’s right, it is moving constantly
I can see it better, tip toes on the doorway
While he’s perched on the tile with a cigarette and slippers
He says it rises because the world is rotating at the speed of a minute hand
And much like our conversation, I’m leaving the Earth and floating beyond
Feeling a chill setting in, real cold and cold realisation
The familiar comfort at being small
Wondering at who you are, and how you place into space, even that more complicated by time as well not sitting still
Wondering if the universe feels the same
As the wise man shares his knowledge of the unfolding Empyrean, I am floating from wonder to cold, the cold that occurs when we leave this world
Suddenly feeling very human chills in place of academic wonderment
And, because all philosophy becomes attracted and pulled to the minute details of a single observer and sight, I wonder how she is
Wishing she was with me
Knowing that she wouldn’t want to be
Feeling that the distance may as well be that gulf between the moon and its partner
Lost in time and space as another year dies, and more importantly, I become aware of the things to come
Lost in the terrifying size of objects pulled by impossibly powerful strings, energies that would fry everything I know
Surges and bursts, attraction and negation, things beyond humans that will always be
If only we were less linear, more lasting.

For a moment or many I pretend to be the Earth itself
Watching its satellite, unencumbered by fundamentals
The rising is constant, yet the moon is waning
No longer the chalky angel
The battered moon is signalling a new time to me, not to the Earth
My engagement is over.
I turn a new leaf in an hour.
And I don’t want to be the moon, fragmentary and forced
I’m bathed in bloodless light for a change, and feel the connection between me and what is greater
I want to capture the moment forever
Because men aren’t circular motions
We don’t go back in going forward
My old self is fading, and I hope
That the next year's man isn't waning.