Bounty Poem by Leon Moon

Sunlight sows

A new grave

For tomorrow's cove

In my brain

As morning grows

The past is slain

Sunlight sows

A new grove



As blind as a shadow

Flung into night

Eclipsed by the sparrow

Casting out light

In love with sorrow

Immune to flight

As blind as a shadow

No one in side



To whom do I speak, divinities

Am what I think, synchronicities

Won't forget what ya said -

I'm there when you're dead

They cut out their eye,

Only laugh when they cry.

I won't abide to such a hideous lie

Reach beyond the sky, find true life

Earth's mind's a dome

And it ain't just mine...



Never a break

It's all too soon

Lost in vibration

Cosmic monsoon

Every breath I take

In all that I consume



How should it be,



Overflowing like measures of minuses merging the morning to a sum, a new vortex emanates, humming from the interior of my skull;

Small plastic eggs configure a mottle swamp amongst wooden rattles and small brown haired rabbits, the footpath chambers enlightening echoes to life in the sun.

The cue to surprise dead poets...

How should it be, now that you're further ahead? The breeze recedes tipsily, as if these

words were misspelt in my head.

My jaw is a bench, or a waterfall; where-ever I stand chasm's motion is the drought that follows, slewing the obscene shepards dissecting the pride of shadows.



The audience digest the vanity of suicide, the nakedness of his tide which is never seemingly self-contrived. The whole ordeal, ironically worthless, was gulped down rapidly.

Valuing speed, you have no idea where to go -

How should it be, now that you're ahead?

The people who are numbers, convinced they're not pretending;

You are their chandelier, disregarded but massively praised; you are their capturer, discarded but recharging the saved, discovered in the simplicity of dawn.

It doesn't matter the porridge doesn't have sugar, the ripped paper is your equivocal tyranny; cut short, cliche or first copy -

all that is here is you.