Post #31: Poetry In Motion…

I’ve been reading quite a bit of poetry recently, mainly the classics (Shakespeare, Poe, Tennyson etc.) but the last few nights i’ve had the pleasure of a crisp and clear night sky. That, combined with the closing stages of the moon (there’ll be a new moon very soon) means there were plenty of stars available for me to gorge my eyes upon.

The bioluminescence on a Maldive Beach. Stunning when combined with the backdrop of a starry night sky...
The bioluminescence on a Maldive Beach. Stunning when combined with the backdrop of a starry night sky…

I’ve not been for a walk recently and may change that on sunday. I may go for a walk down by the beach, if the weather is favourable, and soak up a few of the stars that will gleam over the rolling waves. Margate Beach is only a short 10 minute walk from my front door.

I’m actually looking forward to this so if the rain can hold off and there is a nice clear sky, I have myself a rather romantic self-date. Well there’s no girl in my life to take on such a walk but why should I miss out?

So back to the point of this post:

I’ve been reading poetry recently and whilst looking at the stars the past few days have wondered if there were any good poems about a starry night. I’m looking for a splash of inspiration for my own poem still.

Upon searching for such poems I came across one titled “The Starry Night” by Anne Sexton.

I’m not a poetry buff so I wont pretend to know anything about this poem or the author. I just wanted to share a poem that hit me and made me read it over and over… Hopefully you get something out of it as well…

Waikoloa Beach (Hawaii), I'd like to have seen the stars from beaches across the world. For now, I'll settle for the beach in my town, and the stars above my head...
Waikoloa Beach (Hawaii), I’d like to have seen the stars from beaches across the world. For now, I’ll settle for the beach in my town, and the stars above my head…

The Starry Night by Anne Sexton

That does not keep me from having a terrible need of—shall I say the word—religion. Then I go out at night to paint the stars.Vincent Van Gogh in a letter to his brother

The town does not exist

except where one black-haired tree slips

up like a drowned woman into the hot sky.

The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars.

Oh starry starry night! This is how

I want to die.

It moves. They are all alive.

Even the moon bulges in its orange irons

to push children, like a god, from its eye.

The old unseen serpent swallows up the stars.

Oh starry starry night! This is how

I want to die:

into that rushing beast of the night,

sucked up by that great dragon, to split

from my life with no flag,

no belly,

no cry.

This poem was taken from the Poetry Foundation’s website.
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