Tuesday 24 May 2011

New Poetry in shadow

Ron Koppelberger
Deepest Night
Chuckles and grins gone askew in gardens of
Ghostly reverence and clutches of secret
Daisy, a blameless burst of echoing asylum
Given unto the wont of dark eyed lashes and tidings
Of quiet discovery, an amusing address by the stars of
                                                                              Deepest night.




Ron Koppelberger
Dark Nightmares
Sulfur wash and gray sparrows flittering
Near the far edge of a twilight-tide horizon,
The prevailing desire of forgotten youth and aged sufferance
Unto the will of fated dreams and dark nightmares
Gone to seed, a rare energy to continue on toward the
                                                                        Dust of paths untrod.


Ron Koppelberger
Night-Shade Song
In earthen chambers of silence,
the needing moon slivered in spears
Of candent lattice, by the secret discoveries we hold to
Our bosoms, in sated breaths of mist and
Fearful heartbeats pulsing
In rhythm to the night-shade song of wild
Beasts and hidden charms.



Ron Koppelberger
Evening Murmurs
Enjoyment and quiet dreams of cause, borne by the chosen
Weeds and roses of late belief and wine drunk by the edge of a
Sleeping sun, an applause in pale
Mysteries of enchantment, by ranting thrush and crickets loving
                                                               The sky and evening murmurs.



Ron Koppelberger
Soul in Shadow
Immediately coy by the call to dark eyed
Tears and apt affairs of shadowy apparition,
The word joined by whispers of ancient
Parchment and magic’s in caste and cure, the sorrow of
A tender kiss bought by the love of a soul in
                                                                                Shadow.


Monday 9 May 2011

Becoming The Night

Ron Koppelberger
Becoming The Night
Modesty faced the depth, the level of dreaming consistency unto the realms of shadow and clever excuse; he wore an excuse for an evening-tide penance, the wish of eternal darkness, borne in dark tomorrows and sightless dawns. He was becoming the night in slow stages of evolution, the light a bit less than gray, and he was in thrall at the prospect of raven’s eyes and ancient owls roosting in night shadow, waiting for the hunt, the silhouette of arcane direction and wizened intrigue,
An awareness stole his attentions and in that moment of heightened divinity he saw the sky, velvet, soft, coy in caresses of bequeathed affection. He was becoming the night, by the wont of sleeping wolves and shape shifting convenience, he was becoming the dream, the careful pull at blameless beauty and twilight boarders, the beseeching brandy sipped in intoxicating wills of ecstasy, by bliss and nocturnal guard he was and he wonted the promise, the allness of midnight and summer echo’s of acquiescent essence, ethereal and vast, he was becoming the night.