Full Moon at Sunrise
Poetry of the Heart
Full Moon at Sunrise is Mitch Ditkoff's third book of poetry.
Inspired by the message of
Prem Rawat, it honors the grand tradition of Rumi, Kabir, Hafiz, and countless unknown poets who gave voice to the unspeakable longing of the human heart.
No matter what path you walk,
Full Moon at Sunrise will delight, surprise, and inspire you.
Buy It
A sample of poems from the book
Testimonials
“Full Moon at Sunrise evokes a memory of the deepest longings of the soul. Reading Mitch's poetry reminds me of what I already know, but often forget.”
— Joan Apter
“Mitchell's words reveal that, hidden in our ordinary lives, exists a place of extraordinary beauty — known in silence by few, but available to all.”
— Stuart Hoffman
“Compelling, uplifting, a heartwarming treat. More delicious than chocolate!”
— David Passes
“Mitch Ditkoff is a modern-day ecstatic, seeking to tongue the unspoken in words. Drop everything. Read this book!”
— Jennifer Boire
There Is a Fabulous Underground Club
There is a fabulous underground club not far from you
where all the ecstatic musicians,
since the beginning of time,
are playing - eyes on fire.
They speak a thousand different languages,
yet understand each other completely,
having endured long winters — several times a day -
with no one near enough to listen or bring them tea.
None of this matters now.
Here in this cave of pure delight,
calling on muses spinning in great circles around them,
they are free, holding a high note, together,
in perfect harmony,
like the hand of God.
Radiant Being of Light
Radiant being of light,
vortex of love,
alchemist supreme,
magnifier of prayer,
the one I dream about
and the one
who wakes me from the dream,
why the dervish spins
and the earth,
teacher, teaching, and the taught,
first breath, last breath,
what lovers look for in each other,
but rarely find,
center around which everything revolves,
endless night of love
and the ecstatic aching
of a moon-howling heart
that does not want the morning to come.
Disguised as Myself
Disguised as myself,
nowhere to go,
I look into the mirror
of your perfect radiance
and there, disappear, once again
the mask I am, gone,
the journey done,
breath the lover
I've been searching for
all these many years.
This Thirst
There is an aching deep within my heart
that cannot be explained.
It wakes me in the middle of the night
and write these lines -
a kind of fishing in a great sea I cannot find by day.
This escapade is not the search for something new.
It is not the need to find -
more it is the being moved,
my being pulled by an unseen moon,
how small birds, when days get cold, make their way
across dark skies to the place where they were born,
how a feather falls to earth
and a child, finding it, looks up,
why dogs pace back and forth before a door
as their master turns for home.
Ah, this restlessness, this thirst, this ache,
this silent undertow inside
that takes me back to the hidden spring
where lions come to drink,
and snakes,
why birds sing when they are all alone
and the long ride home on an empty train
often feels like an arrival.
Reading Between the Lines
I just read this entire book of poetry
and was amazed to discover
that what I wanted to say
never actually made it to the page.
Odd.
I thought I had written it down.
I even have memories of it,
late at night, alone in my room
with only the moon
and a few wolves howling inside me,
but I couldn.t find it anywhere.
Gone. Completely gone.
Oh sure, there were lines,
but they were more like those you find in a bank,
lines that barely moved,
filled with fidgeting people.
I think somebody must have stolen them
when I was out to lunch.
The good lines were definitely gone,
though I did manage to find a few
interesting spaces in between the lines,
really good spaces, open spaces,
spaces that seemed as if
they were just about to be filled
with what I really wanted to say.
You know, the good stuff —
like the moment when your child,
thrilled you are home
runs headlong into your arms.
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