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"Three Coffins and a Timepiece," © 2018 Brad Michael Moore



“Moments are Missed”

by Brad Michael Moore 04/01/2018

I just found a trace of who I am; it’s been a chase - for so long a time. There was a different me, another we, and you were she, and it all fell into place... Sunlight glowing upon a sunny space – but I was crying, and you were sighing, and it would be the last time I would see your face.

When I was a child, a little wild and blue, for sadly, I knew - what it was I could not have. Even at so young an age - my feet in the sand - I heard you’re crying – flat out upon your bed - just crying, and I had no words to say, to help you along your way...

As my life grew along – thoughts would come to me, but I could not hear how they would connect... It was a world of pain so easy to see - how deeply far, and inside, was a melody full and free – that never would rise to the surface – attention on deck!

So I kept moving along this frozen lake - seeking a crack from where you might escape. Wishing to hear those words so clear – the other part of me that could never be believed – if it didn’t come out and join upon my skin... Until then - I will not stop trying, so loudly, to grieve.

Throughout these decades, and years, I have lost both, so many friends, and fears. And, I connect with those old souls - who pass their hopes, and even prayers - that I might come to meet what they missed, and never saw; would I be so kind - to leave a little room, so they may take a peek?

So how does this all add up, where fair is clear, and far is near, and suddenly became such a long time ago? In Galactic terms – the future has past, and this present is going faster, for those keeping a float - are living pictures never truly seen – at our horizon’s edge...

So what it is - I say? I am not who I am, but what I still can see? You are just to the right of me, not really in clear air, but within a kaleidoscope of everyone I have known - who moved on - as I missed a step. And while, I did not fall - everyone else leapt...



"Yellow Orb Female Spider Less than One Hour After Making Her Egg Sac & Filling it" © BMM 2017




{Warning: If You upset by the notion suggested by this Title - Please - do not read, and scroll down to next selection... Thanks - Brad}



I, I hold on to this thread - this thread it tethers my soul.

My soul is clinging to air - air that is not really air,

but star stuff - the stuff made from stars, so old,

but not really old - old is more like a vacuum -

and a vacuum is so very cold, and cold - is so very old...

My soul - it hangs on by a thread.

This thread it cuts through a light,

This light - it falls into wave lengths,

mirroring each other - as both move along -

moving onward - the speed that light flows,

and light goes - every possible direction light knows…

But I, I still hold on to this thread,

and this thread - it still tethers my soul.

My soul, is clinging to air - air that - is not really air, so,

I, I am not really here - in truth - I am just an impression -

like a color - the color of blue - an impression of blue floating in air -

air that is hollow - so sound moves like it is following...

Least something gets in its way -

then, that sound - it diffuses at bay, but still - it resonates,

until - it is absorbed, or, otherwise - runs out of clear…

Still I hold, I hold on to this thread - a thread - at the end of a life -

moving away from the older end that is dead - like vacuum, that is as old as cold.

I fear am growing cold now... My thread, my thread I was to hold -

is being stolen, just stolen away - and I am growing older - older than cold.

Vacuum - my soul has come untethered - to follow, where light goes, forever and ever...







"The Cherokee in Me," © 2004 Brad Michael Moore


"Second Tree"  by Brad Michael Moore  20/Aug/2017


Does your mind ever fly, higher than you have flown before?

Do you dream of where you are bound? Have you you ever considered an alternate timeline?

If so, have you ever take some time - to resign to that notion - try to conjure up it’s memories?

Am I only a crime - who stole your heart, and filled your eyes with tears?


These precious days you travel with your tools, town to town - you are known around...

You fly the sky in private jets, they feed you well - for your sets of skills.

You deserve it all - you worked so hard, meant so well - twas your fairy tale!

I am at fault - for holding still, to see how I might stave on - to avoid these times...


On Our first date - you absorbed the day’s light, and brought stars out with night!

In that moment - there I knew - the awesome power of wings in flight.

You could move mountains if you tried, within your stride - an almighty pride!

I was outgunned from the start, with no bullets on my vest - no armor protecting my heart.


I found this one chance in my life, when - all the pieces in their places, fit just right - 

But be sure to shield your back from restless winds - 

They’ll burst in by surprise, and take leave of the candlelight of your sight -

And if there was a painting that was not dry - Then it is, “Oh my lord - my oh my!"


Those days of love have long since passed - My eyes have dried - watching seasons pass -

Long ago I settled down - to count my blessings, to look around,

I was searching to see how many more - there were souls like me - who dared to implore - 

But there are so few who end up this way - the difference is - they settled at a second tree - while, at the first, I stayed...












"On Wings in Flames" - by Brad Michael Moore


As another year’s experience

Comes to pass.

I take time to pause - reflect.


I can see it all clearly...

Or, so it would seem -

Reality - almost the same,

As I previously recollected.


Still, how easily I allow myself to stray…

From my work - I have learned where I must go.


Even when I don’t believe

A passion can be retrieved-

I still often reach for it,

Knowing I might be flying-

 On a wing in flames...


So goes this constant process,

Where I must remind myself,

[from time to time]

I can keep a finger

on my future.








© 2007 BMM



“Fallen Stranger” - by Brad Michael Moore


Darkness fell.


Quietly, he listened as dry leaves rustled over the tile rooftop, and against splintered

window panes.


Overwhelmed by thirst,

He now fears the wind's ever-growing voraciousness.


Worried, bleeding, he weakens, and envisions that power of sirens

searching for cracks and crevasses - even keyholes,

To reach to him, and -

Deplete him even of his tears.

fin - 20/11/99





'Walking Before Bambi' [Untitled] © 1983 Beyrl Striewski


“A Poem In Every Word” – by Brad Michael Moore


I stood my ground, I lost my frown, I closed my eyes to hear…
A promise comes - just once a’while that carries 'way my fear.


Now I question what I hear, like waters pushed by winds –
Like whispers through unfallen leaves, or rising cream unchurned…


My mind is made up - my time has turned out,

My heart’s open to reveal -
There’s a song here - it sings everywhere -
It is a poem in every word…


Now I love, and life is clear - it promises that way,
Rest my soul - a truth be told - tomorrow’s just as near.

Humm dadumm, rumahum dadumm - to carry to & fro is only sway.
Humm dadumm, rumahum dadumm - tarry where you are & you stay.


Here I am - naked as I came - like dust becomes seashells.
Time - it carries my soul along, forward, backwards, & now.


Answers contrast to starlight - like footprints in the sand -
Telling me from where I come, as well as - where I am…



Fin   23-1-2016




Texas Landscape # 15  © Brad Michael Moore 1971



"Freedom's Fare" / © 1967 by Brad Michael Moore


Oh, what a night to be -

This night of nights, I wish were me.

The moon shines iridescent, so I may see,

Soft blowing winds cradle my newborn leaves.


I am old & tried - yet still, I am King

Of this large green pasture I stand within.

But no one notices me, nothing seems to care...

How I wish I were tonight's wind - with its freedom's fare!


What a dream to perceive - to truly be free!

To seek out and find - all sights & sounds around.

To flow over hills, and whirl through towns...

Just to be free - no roots anchoring me,

To be what I give, no one truly sees.


Oh, what a night to be,

This night of nights, I wish were me.






"Imageing" 2013 © Brad Michael Moore



"So Long" - By Brad Michael Moore


So long, my heart's desire,

Fallen so many times –

Even were the sun tracing twice brightly as it trails,

So far, and too soon, it remnants are gone...


So long, thoughts betraying life’s dreams,

Bouncing through narrowing days –

Whose tasks remain unseen?

Such hopes sway - so many, too soon, sail away...


So long, temporal songs, echoing my soul,

Rhythms & rhymes melting into rainbow tones –

Tones that Nightingales may borrow,

Till glowingly comes - another dawn.






 "YoDome" © 1980 BMM


"The Wind" - By Brad Michael Moore

It may be poetic or even romantic to think of myself as a leaf blown here by a wind.

But every leaf finds it's resting place - it's little patch - where it knows it may never be

moved from again. 

There, it follows its course in nature to be reincarnated into another realm.

Now, here in this staying place I’ve found, I listen to where the wind blows,

and stand out in a path - to face its meaning in my life.

The wind.

How well it carries the many aspects of my existence.

Always seeking without taking rest.

Always remaining a metaphor to thoughts I place near my bedside.   

Unyielding motion.

The wind carries me along with its roam.

It carries me with its curiosity.

It carries me with its forever seeking - its sleeplessness, and its sometimes carelessness.

I too have traveled and taken satisfaction from my freedom.

Though never fully grasping this swirling natural force, I chase it.

I too am sometimes careless.

I reach for the wind’s coattails to steal me along in its adventures.

The wind sings through those elements it moves along its fluid path -

through gardened corridors,

ancient canyons, and human-made edifices.

I imagine its penetration of the smallest crevasses,

it’s travailing with heaven’s rain, ice and snow —

it’s white-capping the waters that surround this island to which I’m bound.

The wind ever changes the face of all things it meets.

It carves great arches in the sandstone of Utah. 

It turns 12 inches of snow into a 20-foot drift. 

It plants seeds it carries from afar to bring new life to a barren spot -

as it pilfers precious topsoil from crop fields poorly managed nearby.

The wind is a music maker, whether through quaking the leaves of Aspens -

over a Colorado mountainside, or Cottonwoods across the South –

or pushing waves upon a rocky beach in Cape Cod,

or caressing chimes dangling on the corner of someone’s front porch with a view.

The wind is a thief who captures balloons lost from the grasps of children at carnivals

— children who watch their colored gifts disappear into big blue and wonder -

how far their orbs may rise?

The wind moves moisture from oceans to heartlands,

and propels sailing vessels with its might.

In its greatest furry, it can carry birds from one continent to another,

or bury a toothpick - into the cambium of an oak tree.

The wind moves windmills that grind harvest grains,

or raises water from deep underground.

It generates electricity, and waves the flags of our allegiances.   

The wind guides the soaring of eagles and butterflies,

and all other voyagers of the sky...

The wind moves our lives as it moves our imagination. 

Any elements it carries along - are only being assisted -

in moving farther down their destiny’s trail.

While we’re always thinking of ways to harness the wind’s energy —

we can never - capture its spirit,

nor ride the true reins of its freedom...

When it’s too difficult to express myself anymore,

I just listen to what the wind has to say.







"Midnight Sun / Artic Circle / Norway" © 1982 BMM


"My Epitaph"


Frost on fallen leaves, glistens beneath bare trees,

 as break of dawn offers adieu - painting a blue sky anew.

Passing from place to place, revolving wind - full of grace.

Remembering not to repeat - a life once parsed, and now complete.


Fallen into this ground, a sleeping soul hears not a sound…

Even as water seeps, between crevasses up from the deep.

And from that spring to river run –

 A fullness of time, ebb, and flow,

A winding path, gains stature unto its end,

Finally, a discovered ocean, from salt beginning again.


No spoken words can bless so beautifully as ancient trees.

No memory was made to outlast Nature’s force of reprise.

I care not for when I’m gone, if my works shall tarry on -

For when my day is due - the rest of what I am relived of - 

Now, it is left to you!


And then you shall burden and light along, until your time has come and gone…

Afterwards, like me, and you too, our dust will turn into something with glue.

Cycles go, and rotations respin, time after time, and then time again…



Brad Michael Moore 11/25/2006







"Buns - One By Two" © 1984 BMM


"Contact" - By Brad Michael Moore