Shine on, O moon of summer. Shine to the leaves of grass, catalpa and oak, All silver under your rain to-night.
An Italian boy is sending songs to you to-night from an accordion. A Polish boy is out with his best girl; they marry next month; to-night they are throwing you kisses.
An old man next door is dreaming over a sheen that sits in a cherry tree in his back yard.
The clocks say I must go—I stay here sitting on the back porch drinking white thoughts you rain down.
Shine on, O moon, Shake out more and more silver changes.
I remember teaching my own order of adjectives lesson in the Czech Republic.
Adjectives of Order by Alexandra Teague
That summer, she had a student who was obsessed with the order of adjectives. A soldier in the South Vietnamese army, he had been taken prisoner when
Saigon fell. He wanted to know why the order could not be altered. The sweltering city streets shook with rockets and helicopters. The city sweltering
streets. On the dusty brown field of the chalkboard, she wrote: The mother took warm homemade bread from the oven. City is essential to streets as homemade
is essential to bread . He copied this down, but he wanted to know if his brothers were lost before older, if he worked security at a twenty-story modern
downtown bank or downtown twenty-story modern. When he first arrived, he did not know enough English to order a sandwich. He asked her to explain each part
of Lovely big rectangular old red English Catholic leather Bible. Evaluation before size. Age before color. Nationality before religion. Time before length. Adding
and, one could determine if two adjectives were equal. After Saigon fell, he had survived nine long years of torture. Nine and long. He knew no other way to say this.
if there are any heavens my mother will (all by herself) have one. It will not be a pansy heaven nor a fragile heaven of lilies-of-the-valley but it will be a heaven of blackred roses.
my father will be (deep like a rose tall like a rose)
standing near my (swaying over her silent) with eyes which are really petals and see
nothing with the face of a poet really which is a flower and not a face with hands which whisper This is my beloved my
If There Is Something To Desire, 9, 17, 18 by Vera Pavlova
9
I broke your heart. Now barefoot I tread on shards.
17
Why is the word yes so brief? It should be the longest, the hardest, so that you could not decide in an instant to say it, so that upon reflection you could stop in the middle of saying it.
18
—Sing me The Song of Songs. —Don't know the words. —Then sing the notes. —Don't know the notes. —Then simply hum. —Forgot the tune. —Then press my ear to your ear and sing what you hear.
