Today’s poem, written this morning, was inspired by the eponymous sculpture by Henry Moore, contemplated during a visit to Tate Britain in Pimlico last Sunday. This relatively small piece, dating from 1964 and cast in bronze, is one of Moore’s most intimate and expressive sculptures. Its eloquent, wordless beauty, like that of any true classic, is inexhaustible.

Moon Head

The face has phases
       that ebb and flow
with the tides of time
       the soft sensuous bronze
of your face
       illuminated at the eyes
and the mouth :
       the smoothness of your skin
the modest inclination
       of the head poised
on the erect neck

The face has phases
       of intimate conversation
is locked in endless
       dialogue and through
a series of discreet whispers
       conveys confidentially
the irreducible delicacies of love
       Tough love
with its wisdoms that will outlive
       the futility of day-to-day
depradations

Here is a honeyed kiss
       cast in bronze
here at the point
       where lip and face
and panting breath
       interlock tenderly
here where beauty lies in
       the arms of the beholder

John Lyons