Colors recede into the waters fall,
casting the depths into shadow.
Singed fingers of sunlight
echo across the last faint reflections
settling into the corners of the day.
Twilight fills in and pushes past the horizon
until at last, the gleam of a silvered corona
is seen in the western sky,
floating in deepest celestial blue-
the quiet of the slender crescent
as she gently cradles the old moon in her arms.
*** a revision of a previously posted poem.
slim crescent of light
etched in the smooth blue canvas
of a january sky
waning pale
in the dark of early morning hours
to arise from the chrysalis of night
unfurling silver wings
for lunar flight
deep blue
the air is filled with the scent of sleet
and fallen stars
just another night
lit by moonshine
past participle
past tense of light
Gemini
Gaze on ancient brothers,
galaxy sky dancing,
graced by mythos and
gloried tales of old Rome.
Glistening twins, long dead,
guard our own nights sky and
gibbous October moon.
Orion
Onyx sky above us,
offering cold bright stars
opulent in their glory.
Only for us are these
obliged to sparkle-
ordered by heavens
own heroic hunter.
*** For dVerse Meeting the Bar prompt from Vandana Sharma. She brings us a new form “Pleiades” which was invented in 1999 by Craig Tigerman. It consists of seven lines, each line starting with the same letter as the title. The title is a single word.
She perches on the rail,
kicking her feet out over the water.
Smiling, she says
‘Sing to me a sad song.’
So I croon her a tune of Count Basie’s-
‘Don’t the moon look lonesome,
shining thru the trees.
Don’t the moon look lonesome,
when your baby packs up to leave.’
And in a fit of giggles, she almost lands in the river-
Steadying herself, she whispers
‘Look the buildings are sleeping.’
Standing quietly, arms folded and eyes shut tight,
they lean against each other for support
like old horses in a stable.
‘But the river never sleeps.’
‘No, she doesn’t – she holds each bank in her strong embrace,
and sings her own songs to the sleeping city.’
‘Now, its your turn to sing.’
“Moon river, wider than a mile…’
I perch on the railing, precariously between
wakefulness
and dreaming
‘I’m crossing her in style one day’
I drift into sleep,
listening to the moon
as she sings to the river
and their quiet laughter laps onto the shore.
*** The beautiful watercolor is ‘moon over basel’ by Claudia Schoenfeld, who has graciously allowed her artwork to be used as inspiration for this weeks dVerse Poetics prompt. Thank you , Claudia!
Up before wrensong,
the crescent moon and I whisper
so as not to wake the day.
She in her nightgown and I in mine,
we sit on the porch
in the cool air of early dawn.
And she listens.
I tell her of my fears-
numbering my inadequacies,
trembling in my regret,
tears flow freely
as the early morning dew.
With her sweet comforting smile,
she tells of her birth –
new moon to slim crescent,
waxing to full, rounded glory
to only wane past gibbous
into the palest slip of light
to be welcomed into the dark womb
of restful night.
Waxing and waning,
we each sigh
as the dawning sun
and the wren greet the day.
He brushed aside the crows feet, as the raven perched on his head,
sitting regally as a black swan.
The old man swatted it away -“Get off me, you ol’ chicken!”
“Your go – you said when you sat down here you were gonna play”
The small bat moved the pawn.
“No, no! We’re playing cards – deal those things!
“Are we playing gin again?”
“No, skat, you silly bat – but gin sounds perfect at a time like this.”
The small bat began to beat the rooks with the queen-
thwack ,thwack ,thwack with the constancy of a metronome.
“That queens gonna ice you good if you keep that up”
He sloshed gin from the old liquor bottle, into the teacup,
washing the faces of the painted orange flowers
and causing one nasturtium to hiccup quietly.
Rocking gently in the corner, the wheelbarrow creaked
as the long dragony tail of the crocodile kept time
with the blues man, his sax crying that black cat blues.
And the old man, grinning like a yellow toothed dog,
danced to the blues man’s tune
with Selene, her raven hair crowned with the crescent moon.
(Meanwhile, the raven and the bat played mumblety peg
with a needle in the haystack until the violinist played
last call.)
*** For dVerse Poetics, Claudia gave us a list to play with -Obelix, a dragon, a crocodile, an old tractor, a bat, a spaceship, Neptune, Superman, a greek god or godess, a chicken, a black swan, a nutcracker, a man who can’t stop clapping, a cup with orange flowers painted on it, a black cat, a dog with yellow teeth, a bluesman playing the saxophone, a violinist, Hänsel&Gretel, the Icequeen, an old liquor bottle, a wheelbarrow, a needle in a haystack, a raven, a blue car, a metronome…
Then an extra challenge, tell us about the old man, the moon and a little bat who meet at night here in the pub for a game of skat.
twilight lingers in the treetops
the dog and I try not to stare
as the bats give web wing into the beckoning air
such grace and sturdy stretch of flesh and bone
un-feathered bird and night masked soul
they blindly dance into the paths of stars
the dog and I walk the violet deepening path
lanterns of fireflies inflame the slim crescent moon
casting reflections of the once and future dawn
she is the mirror of the suns musings
choicest tomes are recited in her presence
while bashful boys make cow eyes at her pale face
and swear oaths to her silvered beauty
the dog and I loiter in the glimmering dusk
listening to the poetry of wing and moon
waxing and waning
as we slowly make our way home
in the darkling summer night
Ahhh, summer begins – and she arrived dressed in Queen Anne’s lace and wrapped in honeysuckle. Hope you have a beautiful season!
thecourseofourseasons 