Two Poems By Greg Hill

Dawn of the Purple Moon 	

Dawn of the purple moon—
poets and lovers swoon

to glimpse her through black lines—
tall shadows, eastern pines.

With bright round coins for eyes,
we stare as in surprise

and watch her slow ascent
into the firmament.

The vestments she’s put on
turn crimson, then saffron

although she sheds such dyes
concurrent with her rise.

Apace, she fades her hue
as Nature’s wont to do,

turns pallid, wan and cold—
a trifle to behold—

and, too familiar, soon
she’s nothing but the moon.	

Poets, no more to say,
set pads and pens away,

and lovers, lost of charms,
slip from each other’s arms.
Riddled Heart

Begun from sparks, a flame as high
as seabirds painted on the sky

was something that could never be,
a lesson learned—unhappily

because, for all the world, so few
could solve my riddled heart as you.

But our paths differ, and we knew
sound hearts alone can’t see us through.

Believe me, none feel bad as I
to hold you once, then say goodbye.

Greg Hill is a poet and adjunct professor of English in West Hartford, Connecticut. His work has appeared in Pioneertown, Cheap Pop, Six Sentences, Atlas and Alice, and elsewhere and he has an MFA in Writing from Vermont College of Fine Arts. In the free time afforded to a father of three young girls, he experiments with composing music for piano using cryptographic constraints. Twitter: @PrimeArepo. Website: https://www.gregjhill.com.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s