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 Poetry By Teresa White
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The Moon/ The Blue Heron

All of us write about heaven's cold house
and the blue heron stalks our lines
in clumsy grace while our lives fall apart.

What matters more than our inaccuracies?
Truth is knee-deep in the morning river
and we rush to write it down.

The moon has so many faces that I run out
of paper: lunatic, old man rowing harvest gold,
crescent sickle, tide mover.

I want nothing more than the moon
hung in the sky, radiant,
mealy-faced above a blue bird--
for not wanting is the beginning
of the end of this craft.

 

© Teresa White 2002

More Poetry:
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Bio: Born and raised in Seattle, Teresa now lives in eastern Washington with her husband. During the past three years, she has had over 150 poems published online and in print including: The Best of Melic anthology, Grasslimb, Rattle, Snow Monkey, Blue Moon Review, Poet's Canvas, Octavo, Eclectica, In Posse Review, Eye Dialect, Stirring and Artemis. She was nominated for a Pushcart in 1999 by the Melic Review.