summer moonlight


She’s like a smiling rose


by the summer moonlight


And come the dark wing

of midnight,

she becomes the moon itself


And when the Silhouette

of the moon

is ripe

upon the satin


I feel

the heat of her heals


into my brain









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S74rw4rd's picture

Patricia's response to this

Patricia's response to this poem is so appropriate and well expressed that my own words have nothing that can be added to it.  I will say, however, that I applaud how much movement or process you have choreographed into the brevity of this poem.  There is the likening to a rose illuminated in moonlight; then a becoming, becoming the moon itself; then a ripening of moonlight upon some satis texture (satin on a bed, perhaps?), and then the effect of her heels' heat upon the speaker's brain.  The poem's apparent brevity reminds me of the placid surface of a substantial body of water---say, for example, a rural lake.  The surface impression (in this case, the poem's brevity) does not disclose the profound depths of meaning it contains, until it has been read---and multiple readings reveal a deeper connectedness to some of the finest Poetry of all time:  how many of our great Poets have written of rose, moonlight, and impressions burned into the mind.  Spinoza's poem connects with all of them, while remaining---independently and impressively---itself.  

Starward becoming J-Called

Spinoza's picture

Thanks again


Thanks again for your kind words and support.

patriciajj's picture

The first stanza births

The first stanza births picturesque and luminous imagery, the second blossoms into a majestic metaphor and the rest . . . Wow! It enters into some truly ethereal and elevated territory that interweaves sensuality with the sublime.


A praise-worthy creation I could read again and again and revel in as much as the first time.




Spinoza's picture

thank you


I’ve always been fond of Moonlight in the right setting. Glad you enjoyed it.