Tim Tipton

Moon

It’s a pitch dark night.
I lay awake for hours.
The moon is big and swollen
like a belly full of blood.
Sleep doesn’t come too easy
and the moon swells more on this sleepless night.
My bones are restless, ill at ease.
I lay for hours
listening to the moon speak my name.
I feel it’s threads of silver light across
my body, marking time.
I want to grow toward it,
to drift up and away from where I belong,
become brilliance.
To travel where nothing ever ends, as if
There were nothing, as if I could see
nothing that is not what is:
the limit of summer, a pale sky, the ripe
warmth of your skin against mine.


Radio land

It was a slow and quiet Saturday night
I listened to the radio for a time
When I climbed into bed
I realized I left it on
I was too tired, in need of sleep
So I closed my eyes
Night swallowed me whole
the house sailed west on a wave of dreams
When I woke up
I felt a kinship to the voices
After that night, I slept with the
Radio, talked to the radio,
Disagreed with the radio
I believed in a far-a-way
Radio land that I would never
Find, doomed to only prowl the
Air waves forever, ever seeking
Some magic channel
For now I would have to settle
For just listening.

Bedroom Window At Dawn

Stay awake nights
See the moonlight spread across the grass lawn
as the nocturnal sky refuses to take shape
Feel the fresh air
Observe the wind waves steadily off the ocean
and the leaves on the wet barked trees shake

Be a

wake to watch the sunset
Observe the colors of the land appear
from nowhere: pale orange, chocolate
topsoil and pale blue like a tear
Have your bed ready for slumber
for a vast libraries of dreams

are awaiting to stir inside you.


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Artwork by Ken Wienchus

One Night

The nights are serene here,
the moon is full and
the light that illuminates us in this room
covers our bodies equally.
Even our arms around each other
throw no shadows.
Saturated with light,
we will soon grow
Heavy and shake
Ourselves awake.
With each other,
Cool and weary, as strangers.
But for now, fingers rest on glistening hip and thigh.
Faces nests inside loosened hair.
In this light there is no hesitation.

Metropolitan Tide

The strange fragrance of modern buildings
Hot street lights dazzle larger than most stars
Purple silent moon looms over jungle traffic
Sounds of strong edges of people and urban clamor
To be in beautiful soft neighborhoods at night
The city in my hand
The night will leave at dawn but the feeling won’t
Casual pain of anxious thought of longing to be
out there with you in the dark.

tt

Tim Tipton was first seduced by the craft of poetry when he read the “Panther” by Rainer Marie Rilke.. Tim is a graduate of California State University of Northridge where he received a Bachelor of Science in Sociology.
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