Leaves turning yellow
Wild geese ready to leave
But still the crickets
© 2018 Lothar M. Kirsch
The Night and the Sea
The night was a frightened
animal in the grove
Waiting between the velvety
shade of bushes and trees
To walk into the light of the
quarter moon on the sand
She would never lie on the
beach in sunlight
But the sea welcomed her with a
raoring surf
She walked further into the
surf until the sea
Embraced her with the wet grip
of death
In the darkness of the depth crystals
glittered
Far, far away, but getting
closer and closer
Until the night died in the sea
and morning light
© 2018 Lothar M. Kirsch
+Dario Menicucc published a
poem on _POETs The Original_ with the title _Il giorno e il mare_
Through the Night
The moon travels without hand
luggage
At the customs house, the walls
are shaking
Out of fog a horse is trotting
Watered in the forest with
shadows
The gate yells in a gust of
wind
The field is shrouded in
silence
Morning keeps sleeping all day
long
And dreams, he would be awake after
all
©
2018 Lothar M. Kirsch
Asters
But he burned his colors
The cooler days now
Licking the wounds of nature
Then the asters are blooming
But the cranes are still waiting
High up in the north
Until the asters fade
And then they also move
Way over the ashes of the asters
Southwards
And the snow in the north
Will shine in the aurora borealis
©
2018 Lothar M. Kirsch
The Dove-gray Night
The spent night in dove-gray
Has not yet squeezed herself
Into the tight-fitting corsage
She accompanies into the day
The regal pale madam moon
Who had utterly extended
herself
The fallow morning sun
Moaning with clammy limbs
Through landscapes, over rivers
Drills through the treetops’
foliage
And then dances outrageously
On a still empty marketplace
In the quiet, wondrous groves
In dark churches of silent
prayers
She too will exert herself
entirely
When the shadows become softer
then
Maiden moon will rise up
radiantly
And bewitch the night with
silver
©
2018 Lothar M. Kirsch
The Full Moon
The full moon only wears
Some shreds of clouds
Sneaks through the copse
Lurking in the cemetery
Tries light and shadow
At the castle ruins
Hangs around in the city
Ridicules the late returnees
And then he himself has to
Dip behind the horizon
© 2018 Lothar M. Kirsch
Rotting in the Reeds
The old bark rots in the reeds
Wind is practicing the howl of
autumn
Dead underwater plants cover
the ground
Year by year, layer by layer
The murdered woman is still at
the bottom
She cannot ascend, of corpse
Even her soul is not liberated
And the murderer has not been
found
How will it be next summer?
When a swimmer crosses high
above her
Will he carry an asphodele in his
mouth?
Will he sense with his heart
her lost soul
The old bark rots in the reeds
Wind is hissing and moves the
brown heads
Death is cold in the beclouded
water
And corpses cannot talk from
the bottom
Let us fill a new bark with
asphodels
And row it across the lake near
the reeds
Let us spread out lilies on the
surface
To liberate at least her
yearning soul
©
2018 Lothar M. Kirsch
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