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On the Second Day

On the second day,
The moth still sat, inert,
In the bowl of the urinal—
Still wedged between
The plastic of grating
Of the puck cover,
Still caressing
The deodorizing cake
That bakes in the warmth
Of several daily golden fountains:
In something personal.
By this time,
It had wings like wet,
Waxy tissue paper,
Folded to its body,
Which shribbled in
The humid, faux-sterile
Air.
The moth looked a paler shade,
Its skin warping to a half-way

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poem by Tim Stensloff
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The Moth-Signal (On Egdon Heath)

'What are you still, still thinking,
He asked in vague surmise,
'That you stare at the wick unblinking
With those great lost luminous eyes?'

'O, I see a poor moth burning
In the candle-flame,' said she,
'Its wings and legs are turning
To a cinder rapidly.'

'Moths fly in from the heather,'
He said, 'now the days decline.'
'I know,' said she. 'The weather,
I hope, will at last be fine.

'I think,' she added lightly,
'I'll look out at the door.
The ring the moon wears nightly,
May be visible now no more.

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poem by Thomas Hardy
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The Man-moth

        & nbsp; Here, above,
cracks in the buldings are filled with battered moonlight.
The whole shadow of Man is only as big as his hat.
It lies at his feet like a circle for a doll to stand on,
and he makes an inverted pin, the point magnetized to the moon.
He does not see the moon; he observes only her vast properties,
feeling the queer light on his hands, neither warm nor cold,
of a temperature impossible to records in thermometers.

    &nbs p;     But when the Man-Moth
pays his rare, although occasional, visits to the surface,
the moon looks rather different to him. He emerges
from an opening under the edge of one of the sidewalks
and nervously begins to scale the faces of the buildings.
He thinks the moon is a small hole at the top of the sky,
proving the sky quite useless for protection.
He trembles, but must investigate as high as he can climb.

       ;    Up the façades,
his shadow dragging like a photographer's cloth behind him

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poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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To Have And Not To Hold

To have and not to hold
So hot yet so cold
My heart is in your hand
And yet you never stand
Close enough for me
to have my way
To love but not to keep
To laugh not to weep
Your eyes they go right through
And yet you never do
Anything to make me want to stay
Like a moth to a flame
Only I am to blame
Ba ba da ba ba ba
What can I do
Ba ba da ba ba ba
I go straight to you
Ba ba da ba ba ba
I've been told
You're to have

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song performed by Madonna
Added by Lucian Velea
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Froggie Went A Courtin

1. frog went a-courtin, and he did ride, uh-huh,
Frog went a-courtin, and he did ride, uh-huh,
Frog went a-courtin, and he did ride.
With a sword and a pistol by his side, uh-huh.
2. well he rode up to miss mouseys door, uh-huh,
Well he rode up to miss mouseys door, uh-huh,
Well he rode up to miss mouseys door.
Gave three loud raps and a very big roar, uh-huh.
3. said, miss mouse, are you within? uh-huh,
Said he, miss mouse, are you within? uh-huh,
Said, miss mouse, are you within?
Yes, kind sir, I sit and spin, uh-huh.
4. he took miss mousey on his knee, uh-huh,
Took miss mousey on his knee, uh-huh,
Took miss mousey on his knee.
Said, miss mousey, will you marry me? uh-huh.
5. without my uncle rats consent, uh-huh
Without my uncle rats consent, uh-huh
Without my uncle rats consent.
I wouldnt marry the president, uh-huh

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song performed by Bob Dylan
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Fire-Caught

The gold moth did not love him
So, gorgeous, she flew away.
But the gray moth circled the flame
Until the break of day.
And then, with wings like a dead desire,
She fell, fire-caught, into the flame.

poem by Langston Hughes
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Maturity

Chrysalis to moth
The growth takes a walk

Moth to butterfly
The growth begins to fly

Butterfly to death
The growth withers

Death to immortality
It is freed.

©cyclopseven. All rights reserved 200708

poem by cyclopseven Ram
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Marriage is to bind.

A moth has no desire for the flower he had visited.
A man has less desire for the woman he had tasted.
A moth wants its nectar. A man wants discovery.
That is why he is tied to her by marriage.
20.03.2001, pmdi

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Moonlight Moth

When moonlight lit
Moth's light wings
It shone bit by bit
In deep silver strings

At moth's demise
Many moon lit swings
In well come improvise
It inverted things

It turned to grit
Silver wind disguise
And made moon a twilit
In its shining arise

poem by Pedro Cescon
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Desire

Resembling a moth around a burning paper
Is how I'm strained to you,
not capable of opposing your charm
There's not anything I can do,
and like that moth who flies too near
And sets its wing on fire,
I find I too have gone too near
because I'm burning with desire.

poem by Nikhil Chandwani
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