Tag Archives: Mary Moore

To the Ghost Of Humid Nights
by Mary Moore

You’re so light, sister bird-foot, you gust
and whistle up hill and down the side I
can’t quite see, where the ridges resurrect
the mist. Days, the woods gather
the warm and humid cool sets loose,
gray-blue pearls a girl might wear or be,
sway and drape, slow-dance the ridges mother.
Sister who was, then wasn’t, ghost story:
I’ve seen you haloed and pale
like the drowned, or blooded, flush
with energy, riding the woods’ luscious
scents, oak bark, humus, pine. Do you know
who whistled up the musk and gristle
we are? You’ve licked the light
off Four Pole Creek. If not flesh and bone,
gust in the mist. Earth is your mouth.

 

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 21, Issue 2.

Mary Moore 2019Mary B. Moore’s books include the full-length Flicker, winner of the 2016 Dogfish Head award, and Eating the Light, winner of Sable Books’ 2016 chapbook award. Cleveland U. published The Book Of Snow (1998). Amanda and the Man Soul (winner of EMRYS chapbook prize) is forthcoming in late 2017.

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Visit Mary Moore’s contributors page.

Cider Press Review Volume 19, Issue 3 is Now Online

Indulge in poems by Kelly Cressio-Moeller, Devon Miller-Duggan, Alice B. Fogel, Mary Moore, Tim Miller, Kelly Lenox, Kathryn Merwin, Simon Anton Niño Diego Baena, Katie Riley, Gail DiMaggio, Diana Gordon, Suzanne Langlois, Eve Linn, Elizabeth Paul, and Avery M. Guess. New book reviews of A Provisional Map of the Lost Continent, by Gregory Mahrer (reviewed by Gwynn O’Gara) and Illusion of an Overwhelm by Jon Amen, (reviewed by Erica Goss).

Cider Press Review Volume 19, Issue 3

To the Miscarried Child, Van Gogh’s “Irises” At Arles
by Mary Moore

The irises aren’t eyed, but tongued:
the three bearded sepals
droop, pant, loll among

the splayed jade-green blades,
while behind the jumble
of tilted flowers, a bud

like a bird’s head
with two white eye spots
eyes us, hybrid,

half plant, half animal,
like the foam-formed
almost human shapes we imagine

in Turner’s turbulent seas:
Poseidon, or something stymied,
unable quite to be,

like you, like me,
mon soeur, ma semblable?
Aping the brush’s flame

shape, a few buds even fuse
art and artist.
The one white iris

like a blind eye
tugs us into its cup, a boast,
an outlier, among the blues,

Made of all colors, white
looks like absence,
not plenitude to our dim sight.

And you, dear jilted ghost
of almost, veined iris-blue
in the dark womb water,

still porous, a skein
of eyelets and mouths,
gone before you’d grown

the skin of being human:
if you’d had the luck
to be born,

would Vincent’s irises
have awed you too?

The terrors his brush disclosed,
bad gods among the beauties.

 

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 19, Issue 3.

Mary MooreMary B. Moore’s books include the full-length Flicker, winner of the 2016 Dogfish Head award, and Eating the Light, winner of Sable Books’ 2016 chapbook award.  Cleveland U. published The Book Of Snow (1998).  Amanda and the Man Soul (winner of EMRYS chapbook prize) is forthcoming  in late 2017.

See all items about Mary Moore

Visit Mary Moore’s contributors page.