The Writers Voice
The World's Favourite Literary Website

One Night


Rusty Broadspear

The full moon stopped rolling
And sat atop
The solitary megalith,
To a backcloth, sewn with sequins.
And bats
From a crippled barn nearby,
Flew in circles
In a feeding frenzy.
And a jet scribe
Clearly chalked the sky.
Insects jabbered the night away.
Badgers played
At the base of the monument,
As if,
They knew its secrets and
As if,
It knew theirs.
Warm air and so still.
Scattered lights, oil lamps,
At the edges of the distant loch,
Far below,
Glowed a welcome
Across the space of scented ambience.
I had no thoughts,
I was a receptor,
Harvesting glowing tendrils,
From a spot on Earth,
That was surely Heaven.
As the moon fell from the megalith
In slomo,
A slight breeze from nowhere,
Swept invisible exultation
Into the marrow of my bones.

As I strolled leisurely
Down to the loch
With blank paper, ink and quills,
A piper wailed an isolated welcome.
My heart pumped wonder
My mind spun webs,
I needed sleep,
For the morrow,
Would surely be busy.

The future awaits to behold
And 'tis a story that will be told.

Critique this work

Click on the book to leave a comment about this work

All Authors (hi-speed)    All Authors (dialup)    Children    Columnists    Contact    Drama    Fiction    Grammar    Guest Book    Home    Humour    Links    Narratives    Novels    Poems    Published Authors    Reviews    September 11    Short Stories    Teen Writings    Submission Guidelines

Be sure to have a look at our Discussion Forum today to see what's
happening on The World's Favourite Literary Website.