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The rising moon and setting sun
share the sky this summer eve
as doves' mourning has just begun.
Just like them I also grieve.

Wisps of ground fog begin to rise
over the close trimmed dark green grass
while the bull frogs start their cries
beside the pond as smooth as glass

And here I stand quiet and still
watching rows of precise shadows
fading on this gentle hill
while the fog and darkness grows.

In the fog I hear the memories.
Silently they tell their tales.
"listen....listen" they all tease
as the last of daylight pales.

The full moon illuminates the stones
in their rows of pristine white
each of which guards heroes' bones
in Arlington this moonlit night.

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content


tranquil & atmospheric piece. Just what I needed since everything so far this morning has gone wrong...all i needed to chill was a scribbler poem...thank you. I'm so chilled now I'm horizontal.



"with all that I am & all that I could be, I walk this earth, yet nobody sees me"

Don't worry things didn't go wrong they went just as they were meant to go lol. Of course that might not be what you preferred.
So don't worry everything happens for a reason although that reason might not be clear for a long time. Regarless I'm pleased my scribble brought you some peace of mind

author comment

your title suggests peace and wonderment which is delivered. I like to take these quiet walks with you. I loved your surprise ending. I thought of a poem I wrote, titled: "Gardens Of Stone" your poem is much better. my favorite lines are:

The full moon illuminates the stones
in their rows of pristine white
each of which guards heroes' bones
in Arlington this moonlit night.

I have no suggestions...perfect!
*hugs, Cat

When someone reads your work
And responds, please be courteous
And reply in kind, thanks.

I am pleased I manage to come up with something good once in a while. Thanks for the visit.....stan

author comment

[that you provided], in my brain; a scene in which the rows of victims of war, lie silently. A calm and peaceful scene,unlike the circumstances of their deaths. You have made a powerful statement here. My only thought of change is in the line of "Watching rows of precise shadows". I think that if you used the word [sharp] shadows, or some other single syllable word as close to precise as possible, it would make the line fall in with the rest of the smooth and precise cadence that the poem exhibits. Other than that, I wouldn't change a thing! Beautiful work! ~ Geez.

There is value to commenting and critique, tell us how you feel about our work.
This must be the place, 'cause there ain't no place like this place anywhere near this place.

thanks for dropping by. precise is exact in my intended meaning but sharp would add alliteration so I need to decide if meaning or poetic device should rule......I'll let it stew a few days

author comment

I liked the way the rhyming pattern falls: ABAB
I'm inspired to pick one phrase from any of the lines and write about a different idea. It's very beautiful poem, with soft rhythmic flow of sound. Meters alternating in a particular order.

Nice job!

"By virtue of creativity, my literary genre is poetry".


The ABAB rhyme scheme has somehow become my favorite one to use. I appreciate your kind words

author comment

Only thing, "Grass" and "Bass" Don't really rhyhm. I mean they do, but for me, Bass is a fish, not a frog's call!
Or maybe that's just me.

Good stuff man, keep it coming.

Respectfully, Race

"Laws and Rules don't kill freedom: narrow-minded intolerance does" - Race-9togo

You are correct about bass which is pronounced Base. indeed there is a phrase for words which should rhyme due to spelling but don't. I knew when I posted that this is a weak point in this poem and hope to eventually fix this

author comment

This poem brings fond memories of my childhood when kids gather together, under the moonlight, to listen to stories, often fairytales by an elder in the family. The rhyme schemes evokes feelings of songs and this beautifies the poem.

I always enjoy your poems.

Always good to have you drop by. Moonlight can evoke a Lot of emotion when accompanying imagery is used right and apparently I stumbled up on doing it right in this one.

author comment

I read this and I could see the scene set out before me in its glorious wonder. You have a true gift for bringing nature to life in words. You always have had. I'm going to send my muse to annoy yours into writing, such talent sometimes needs to be awoken.

Nudge nudge lol

Absolutely gorgeous work.


Love Always Sis xxx

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” — W.B. Yeats

been doing some minor editing lately. Now as to a new write.....I am a retired builder so I'm used to deadlines. So I'm going to put a deadline on myself .I promise to assault you with a new poem no later than this Saturday. You have been warned lol

author comment

Yay!!! I can't wait maybe that's what's been needed you've been in that mindset all your life maybe if you adopt it to your poetry you can go looking for the poems and not sit back and wait for your muse to supply.

My favourite Uncle is a builder. His name is Snow. His family originated in the States and his mother named him for her beloved winter. She never got to see Snow again which is incredibly sad. But she brought up 15 kids here in Australia. I found out recently I have family in the US living family. Some in the south and some up around CT and Ohio.

Oops I rambled... I can't wait for Sunday my time to read your new poem

Love Sis

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” — W.B. Yeats

The smart families of your American folks are now in the south lol

author comment

Mine are in Nth and Sth Carolina. Some in Tennessee and others are scattered all over the south. Lol

Hugs xxx

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” — W.B. Yeats

Southern born
southern bred
when I die I'll be southern dead. Roll me in corn meal and throw me in oil I'll be southern fried lol

author comment
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