In The Garden Of The Moon


In the garden of the full moon
the pregnant moon
the mother-moon,
a silent copper bell rests its eyes.

Bronze from autumn evenings
gives the silent bell
a voice to pray with,
asters to sleep with, and deep red Malaga wine.

Outside the casement windows
which look out on the garden,
the Seasons argue
in voices poured from porcelain ewers.

Do you remember the crows
who ate the pears that hung 
dark and shy like lost children
in the garden of the Moon?

The mother-moon gathers them
with a thimble on her finger
stitching them into tomorrow and tomorrow
while the copper bell and the quarrelsome Seasons sleep.

The child we might have had,
is curled in the casement window
where crows bring silver stars from indigo nights
and a bell rings in prayer and sorrow.


  1. Oh have outdone yourself here!! This is one of the most lovely poems I have ever read! I love the layers that are so interconnected to Frida, the painting and for women. The questions are both magical and haunting and the whole poem comes together in such a way that you feel as if you have witnessed a miracle. That last stanza is both beautiful and deeply moving.

  2. I've always loved to hear crows in the distance, and now I know why,--they're gathering silver stars from the indigo night to bring me! What a lovely poem!

  3. This is a breathtaking poem, that leaves me speechless. Other than to wonder, as I have since I first began reading you, why you are not world-famous, as you so deserve to be. You have an imagination and a scope like no one else........

  4. Satisfying at the deepest level imaginable… as Sherry said, the world needs to know your poetry.

  5. You have the way of the words. Bravo

    Happy Sunday


  6. From the title on, this is pure genius, from the metaphor of the copper bell Frida's dress evokes to the way you ran with that to the lost child, it's just mesmerizing and so evocative of the inner world of soul and heart, longing and loss. Very fittingly, this echoes with the sadness and sweetness of Spanish language poetry, of that indefinable feeling called duende which is so strong in Lorca's and others' work. Every line builds on the last and supports the next. I know this must have taken a lot of painstaking editing and craft, but it reads effortlessly and flies like an arrow into the reader's psyche. One of your very best, Shay, and that is some of the best poetry ever written on this earth.

  7. I can only echo what others say above. You have crafted a wonderful poem . I felt a deep seam of sadness within this rich and evocative picture.

  8. You are the most beautiful, brilliant piece of art, Shay. I am so thankful to have known you and watched you produce one masterpiece after another these many years. You are a treasure to my soul.

  9. It seems to me the theme here is hunger. Where there was once plenty, now the dinner bell is still. This makes me picture a scene like in Gone With the Wind—the ghosts of the time of plenty lingering in a time of starvation and loss.

  10. Imbued with mysticism, magic, and sorrow, my favorite part is where the moon gathers the pears in a thimble <3

  11. Of course I can't find the right words to describe what this made me feel. "the Seasons argue
    in voices poured from porcelain ewers" just one line in the many, the whole poem I love. For some reason the Beatles Magical Mystery Tour is playing in my head.

  12. You may hope, maybe even try to be cantankerous Shay — but your heart betrays you. This is vividly beautiful, and spectacularly magical in depth and breadth of setting and spirit. Breathtaking in the literal sense. Mistressfully written.

  13. So haunting, Shay. And the music you chose is a perfect complement.

  14. Outstanding, Shay! It's sad, magical, and haunting.


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