Wednesday, August 23, 2023

Diane Moore - Two Poems


Pearl, sealed tight in womb of dark mother

Who is whose mother?

Your mouth clammed shut.

Trickster man of Georgian Bay, Junk Yard Chakra.

Swath of Lapis blue.

Joy of clothes and matching purses. You my pretty thing.

My favorite mystery who fed me

You broke my heart that time you hit me.

Another Friday evening. Arms full.

It’s summer as you walk the walkway.

Hungry throng of smiling.

Cats, dogs. Rosey youth.

You smiled back at him not us. I didn’t notice then.

Car door slammed shut.

TV volume



I’m not afraid of the dark anymore

         of your secret ancient terms

I scramble close and kiss your tangled brow

          Your precious hands of sack cloth marbles

Too sleepy for embarrassment

Tip toe gratefully.

It must be right this waiting. Years of patience.

Leave it open (faintly speaking Pearl)

Just a crack

    the bedroom door


In subduing the yam, we chop a chunk and

with clean sharp knife carve into morning yellow

outer layer rough removed

bleeds brief and neat

In assuming the lotus tuber sting

back straight, eyes rolled back

relax the mass with good intentions

Breathe potato air

Birds sing through, clambering tractor trailer

In subduing mourning dove and strawberry dust

lifting strands of golden

We sweep a little

We pray

As cubes of willing yam

We don our gloves, dump them in a boiling pot

Husband sits saluting, crowning warm salt butter

Diane Moore’s poems are oft times lyrical and sometimes narrative.   Her subject matter and inspiration tend towards occurrences from the natural world including natural awkward exchanges within various cross sections spanning the human spectrum.  Ms. Moore’s fringe perspective offers a fresh bold look at those same societal fringe pockets and paradigms of which she is most familiar.  

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