The yellow moon

orphaned begins her conversations

without nightfall.


Nordic gods hammer me

before sleep.

Lapland stories

of women hunters in the belly of

the whale cries to my soul.


Days on the move travelling

sometimes drunk and sometimes

illuminated like some mad Russian

poet looking for his mother.


Everything is gone;

orphaned I arrived with a belly

full of vodka and a million stories

not told.


I had visions of Rimbaud

under the northern lights,

a poet I hoped to be.




copyright 2014 black dog press.

from an anthology on the poet

Arthur Rimbaud published by

Blind Dog Press

One thought on “Brilliances

  1. Reblogged this on MorgEn Bailey's Writing Blog and commented:
    I normally bring you guest poetry on a Monday but I don’t have any in hand (see for my guidelines) so I went on where you can see other bloggers’ posts (by various topics) and this poem was the ‘freshest’ one in. Other than needing a space between ‘a poetI hoped’, I really liked it. The blogger behind tangerinedream12 blog posted this “for my friends” – maybe he / she will make new ones by me sharing this. šŸ™‚


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