Is there anything more beautiful than a clear cool night? What else could be more lyrical or suggestive for a poet? Yes, it’s time for some metaphors …
These are all original poems written about the night, and you can read them only here at Shadow of Iris. May the darkness, along with these short ballads, help conjure up in you imaginative, tentative thoughts that lead you to all new dreams and visions.
Nocturnal Echoes, a poem
by Dustin Down
Echoes of time —
all my fears welled up inside of me,
the determination that I can’t write,
that no matter what I do,
this poem will never come out just right.
I’m left with nocturnal echoes
knocking around in my head
some where deep down there in the dark.
I want to do anything but write—
and that’s how it works, isn’t it?
When you’re scared?
Don’t you get scared anymore?
Or did you grow out of that—
and isn’t that a shame?
We’re all too scared to let go.
We’re all too scared to turn inward
and to try and see what might be there—
is it no wonder that we fear, the night?
Kiss Me in the Night, a poem
by Justin Thyme
She liked vampires.
She liked zombies.
She liked old musty books
full of gothic poems
that no one read anymore.
The night was her time, she said,
the time when she felt herself,
so that she could come out of her shell
and be who she wanted to be.
She was so pale, with thin ruby lips,
that quivered when you neared her,
and she had the biggest darkest eyes
that you ever would see.
Once, when she let me near enough,
I confided my secret to her—
I told her that I loved her,
that I always had,
and that I wanted to be with her.
She let me kiss her briefly,
and she returned the favor
with small brushes over my cheeks.
Her lips were almost wispy,
but warm, soft, and velvety.
Then she leaned in close
and told she was sorry
but she could never be with me
because the moon was her lover
and would be jealous
if she ever found another.
Brighten the Night, a poem
by Rob Burr
The moon is a yellow crescent set against a black sky
the ground is a shimmering white, cold with snow,
constellations in the sky come alive and dance —
shadows move here and there, people hurrying home,
a lonely bird pipes into the night, some sad song.
You’ve come all the way out here to me meet me
even though you know what it means, if you are caught.
From you mouth a warm mist rises and falls
as you catch your breath —
and come near to me.
Your smile grips my heart,
as the moon light fills your entire face.
You fall into my arms a warm fresh bundle of love,
your presence great enough to brighten any night.
Night Watch, a poem
by Amanda Lynn
When you were eleven months old
you took up a bad cough that frightened me so.
We lived in that cold drafty house,
and as best I could, I’d bundle you up,
and I dared not sleep—
I had to watch over you every minute,
for fear you might stop breathing …
And then what would I have done,
I can’t say — I knew so long as I watched you
and held your tiny hand from time to time,
that you’d be okay.
Your grandmother, too, she was there,
she refused to leave me alone,
so she kept the vigil me,
and while I read book of poems by candle light,
she held her rosary constantly,
whispering small prayers, each one for you.
Now and then, I have to admit,
we’d nod off —
from the corners of our eyes
the long quivering shadows of the night
would catch and startle us,
so that one or the other would gasp in surprise,
then we’d both wake up and resume our careful watch.
To see you so big, and so strong now,
it makes me wonder,
how you could have ever been so fragile
and I so worried —
and while then I watched over you,
I find it’s now you who watch over me.
Images of the Night
by Eclectic Minstrel
Hush, the evening comes
and you must prepare
for the night.
A glowing cat spirit
the shimmering outline
of it’s form in pale white
set against the black of midnight
its eyes, the color of sapphire, glow.
City lights stream by,
lonely cars with shadow drivers
pass by dance clubs
where the parking is is full
and you can feel the desperation
even from faraway.
Angels move in subterranean dreams
they move through the night
entering into your subconscious
and finding in you a means to an end.
Night is when the spirits come out to play.
The day frightens them,
there is too much living activity,
they see this all as quite the frivolity.
The night was wide, and furnished scant
With but a single star,
That often as a cloud it met
Blew out itself for fear.
— Emily Dickinson
We hope you really enjoyed these poems conjured up in the night! Don’t fear the dark, but look deep within, and there’ll you’ll find all new truths.
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