La Lune se Lève

At first shyly, quietly
it lets slip a golden
sliver above the trees.

Seeing the sun retreat,
it continues to rise,
gracefully lifting itself aloft.

Reflecting the final rays of sunset,
it is a swollen pumpkin,
sporting a mottled jack-o-lantern face.

As the sky darkens, the vibrant
colors fade, replaced by a glowing orb,
climbing higher in the sky.

Now shining like a search light,
it casts a shimmering, silver path
across the water, leading lovers by the hand.

Photo and Poem © 2016 DM Shepherd

Saturdays with Pop

My Mother liked to go shopping,
my sister, delighted to go with,
to me it was pain worse than death,
so I spent Saturdays with Pop.

Sometimes we went fishing
in a rowboat on the lake.
It didn’t matter what we caught,
just being there was the gift.

There were bugs that danced
atop the water, dragonflies
flitting to and fro, tackle box
full of lures, worms looped onto hooks.

Sandwiches wrapped in paper
were what we had for lunch.
Sun dappled afternoons led to
naps in the bow of the boat.

If it rained we’d take cover
in a shack up onshore,
waited for the showers to stop,
then we’d fish some more.

I learned so much on those
Saturdays, far more than
I can tell. It was our time spent
together, that meant the most to me.


© 2016 DM Shepherd

Insomnia

Is it late at night
or early in the morning?
When sleep evades,
it's hard to tell.

Fog blankets the street,
a neon sign flickers,
blues and static from a cheap radio
leak through the door of an all night cafe.

The usual collection of phantoms
and specters line the counter,
nursing a cup of joe
or glass of flat ale.

It's always the same at this grey hour,
somewhere between gaiety and sorrow,
souls waiting to be saved
by dawn's first light.