As far as poetics goes, it seems the moon
has exhausted us, and we’ve exhausted the moon.
Whose name, some say, should never be named again.
But if so, if we are not to mention
the moon from this poem forward,
then someone needs to remove the moon
from the sky. Or better, build a lattice
about its face, and in its place chisel the body
of a sphinx…
Rising and revolving about the Earth.
Portending great disasters and great
good fortune. Bountiful wind-blown
harvests and vast wrenching floods.
Immortal nights, mythic nights, unending
nights. Sagas and odes. Aubades and
all that is poorly composed. Millenia
of metered rhyme.
Until such time, as such time will come, when
someone will say, Please, for the love of god, no more.
And it will once again be put to the poets
to raise their eye to the evening sky,
to climb the lattice of what lies in their mind,
and raise their hammer to the moon.
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Read additional poems and book reviews by Ken Holland on Lightwood.
Ken Holland is an award-winning poet whose work has been widely published in such journals as Rattle, Southwest Review, The Cortland Review and Poetry East. Most recently in The Carolina Quarterly, Wisconsin Review, and Stillwater Review, with poetry forthcoming in The Chariton Review, The American Journal of Poetry, and Confrontation.. A Pushcart nominee, he placed first in the 2019 Stephen DiBiase competition, and third in the 2020 Naugatuck River Review contest. His poems have also been featured in a number of anthologies. He resides in Fishkill, New York, and reads throughout the Hudson Valley or wherever Zoom will take him.
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