Original Poetry

An economy of transparent eddies
supports your lift,
flitting evanescent,
you vanish
before I can cry out
for another witness.
Matthew Dwight Moore



This poem was published in a poetry journal called “Prometheus Dreaming.: Here’s the link: https://www.prometheusdreaming.com/cosmos

It’s like that moment when you know
a pile of books is going to fall
and all that knowledge
will spill out almost willfully.
That’s when a tiny box inside you
opens up to reveal
that what’s within
is much, much wider
than what’s out—
a kind of private sky
that’s been tucked and folded
achingly away
and can’t be private anymore
because now a new sun shines
through your smile.

Matthew Dwight Moore

Some sorrows
slide over words
like desperate rain
trying to hold
the surface of an
impenetrable sphere,
some darker angel
than fear keeping
its wall of silence.

Matthew Dwight Moore

My heart grieves for words like
kind, fond, lovely, and delightful.
Every day they’re vibed out of cyberspace
by the likes of swag, twerk, selfie, and un-friend.
But what of words such as
chaosing, ensouled, helpiest, or joysorrow?
For you are my helpiest joysorrow
and now my ensouled heart is chaosing
for you.
Matthew Dwight Moore


I am an ocean lost in another ocean.
Let me float along these syllables,
pulsing with terrible joys
along the curve of a brittle vastness.
A double tornado in the cosmos,
a trove of estuaries,
low and tremendous.
Matthew Dwight Moore

You might collect your chaos
in a customized cup
to sip a kind of now
that tastes of forever.
But what brief circumference
can contain such an ocean
better than a fluid smile
whose horizon starts at yes
and ends at us?

Matthew Dwight Moore



The rain’s ecstasy
is found in solitude,
and scatters into countless tears
following a dim trajectory.
Even though it sings of falling
always from a heaven,
we have felt its enigmatic coursings
where our two spaces meet.
Matthew Dwight Moore



a little is a lot
and what I’ve got
I give to you
to do or to keep
or to make the leap
to give
to help another live
a little
or a lot
Matthew Dwight Moore


Grief blooms in richer shades than black—
the colors too diverse to guess—
its petals only mirror back
the sun of others’ happiness.
All through the summer it has grown
and roots push deeper with each day—
its seeds fall off as if they’re sown
but never does it waste away.
Yet as it stretches out its leaf
and reaches further than before
it touches someone else’s grief
and then— perhaps— will grow no more.
Matthew Dwight Moore



the secret god
too small to see
too heavy to carry alone
gardens in silence—
its eternal signature
is written in the
falling of a tree—
we worship
as eloquently as if cut
with the blade of our
unspoken grief

Matthew Dwight Moore