Not Another Poem About The Moon

astronomy crater dark moon
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Not Another Poem About The Moon
On its way to wax and wane
Reigning over night, sometimes day
Shares a celestial crown with the sun
A gentleman, that moon
In the tension of here and there and hiding
Doubles when shining over the sea
We dance a pas-de-deux
The moon and you and me
Dramatic monopolylogue, you as man, you as moon,
You as director of the tides
Performed nightly in your starring roles
Hands down best performance under the sun
Go, go, go
Into the night
Chase after the moon
Stand under the weighted ebony canvas
Pinned to the sky by asterisms
Plant your feet
By the thousand year old oak, narcissus bulb,
Or alone in farmer’s fallow field
And stand
Stillness becomes you, drenched in moon glow
Spilled to earth from cratered and chiseled full moon
Blushing with humility, pink becomes you, your best color yet
Every once in a blue moon
I see the silhouette of your face
And grin wide and wide-eyed
As the child in me meets the man in you
You saw me looking up, and seemed to wink
Accolades for the star, the moon
Transformer of the heavens
From crescent into
King and Blood and Blue and Harvest too
The Oscar goes to
The man in the moon
Best in Everything
Go into the night and day
Day and night
Singing every moon song you ever knew, anew

Beauty blinds, heals us
Fly me there
On a wing and prayer
Oh how do you memorize your lines, performed perfectly every time?
Bow, we applaud you
And the bovine who leapt over you too

We are simply fools to think
We don’t need another poem about the moon

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Lord Have Mercy – The Commingling of Joy and Grief

 

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Lord Have Mercy  – The Commingling of Grief and Joy

Full, bloated with beauty. A half a century plus eight years of looking up, I wonder again how the crevices, shadows, and craters, and chunks— wholly, holy cheese (a poet’s words not an astronomer’s terms)— are visible from Earth. I wondered how it seemed to have swallowed up all the light. Every glint and glimmer of the sun’s beams, transformed them into moon beams. In that blink.

The one between the set and rise, the pas deux of earth and sky.

Physicists and psalmists and poets and God knows on this one thing we can surely agree. We’ve never stop looking up at the blinding moon, man or no man.

Achingly we hold on to all it sends our way.

Night on night, the singleness of its trajectory appears to be aimed right at my broken heart.

This journey through my window pane, via crossbars in the crosshairs on a violent night here on Mother Earth. Full bloated with pain.

The explanation was Google-able. But I needed only magic and mystery. No explanation would console me, no explanation for the orb’s blinding grace would soothe me into understanding.

Radiant beauty that blinded me the night the evil rained down in Vegas was bound for Earth, a long forever, ago. And will be forever more.

Two unexplainable facts. Beauty, moving me to tears. One eye cried tears from the beautiful. One eye cried from the pain.

Lord have mercy on the ones. Whose soul windows are bloated with commingled saline tears. Blessed are the ones whose cheeks were tear stained.

The night the bullets rained down in Vegas, Lord have mercy on that night.

That night the moon refused to refuse to shine.

My eyes, my spirit, that night, as blue as a pair of full blue moons. Every once in awhile the tears run rapid down the cheeks, a race to the finish line.

The point where grief heals all wounds, mends all things, bears all things. Love.

And still.

The world is bloated.

With beauty.

Just One More

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Just One More

Is there room for one more

In a world of crowded words and broken hearts

Why tell another story of the fiery nighttime light

Am I right

Or am I wrong to write another

Poem about the moon
Many will not remain to hear

Captivated
by his winsome wooing,
he carried me from the warmth that was my night

In the quiet of our home
in the quiet of my heart, I heard him speak in muted tones

Many married, many longer, many sit
hip to hip
shouldered
by the night

And we
belie our age with our posture
Heads of every shade of grey
more akin to two
retiring into

Their final moonlit night

Of life

We

Seek nothing loftier
Than the
Fullness of our moon

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And so if I fail
To write this poem, to which the world may not respond

One more word gift, packaged by a poet’s bow
that the world
may not want, nor read nor need

About the moon and me

And you

Then it is I who die a little as I live

Let fizzle out
the gift

That was your whispered words

Let them fall into a world, cold and dark

Burn out like every other love that lost its fire

Flame extinguished  by
cruel ignorance
of the simple needs of love

++++++

Just one more
maybe just for me

A poem about the moon and you

And how you spoke
gently

Into our love
on one bliss-filled winter’s night

The poets cannot stay away

From subjects on the moon and love

But neither can the moon

Good company, I am in

When I am held so sweetly
by both the moon

and you

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I may never know

If I was right or I was wrong

But I will know
that I was

Simply, loved by you
In the winter
Of our love

Once more

Waiting On The Super Moon

 

Blue Moon HMM

 

 

Waiting On A Super Moon

She came at the dark like
A mad woman
Chasing it with a frenzied pent up
Mother bear
Mother hen
Don’t mess with me
Mad at the thief
Who steals the light

Righteous indignation

Weary from her spinning round
She stopped to catch her breath
And caught a glimpse of
Heaven
For
In the end

It was there
She rested in the Truth

In reminders
Of Creation’s dazzling
Strength
Super Moons and super Hope
And raging alone in darkness
Would be
No more

The brightest Light could douse the flames
Lapping at her feet
Would drown the darkness
And the thief

The dark could never win
And she could finally sleep
Rest

Until the next time
She would come at the dark
Like a mad woman
Chasing it with a frenzied pent up …

By the Light of the Moon