Wednesday, August 31, 2011

The house is dark.
I go out to seek light.
Only orange scratches
on the black, isolated
white flashes. Where
is the moon?

Rosemary says 'she'
is growing, going about
the business of accretion.
What is a lump of rock
we refer to as 'her'?
What is the moon?

I call him my 'sonshine'.
His light blazes and fires
and lights upon her.
Yet in his absence
she glows from within.
Is she a moon?

Tied yet independent.
Perpetual motion, and still.
Two-dimensional, sphere.
Harvester and harvest.
Expressionless, romantic.
So distant, so familiar, moon.



  1. Great wordplay and visuals you evoke with this piece. Really liked the last stanza, nicely done!

  2. smiles. wonderful play on the moon...quite the distant yet casts such forces upon his absence she glows...i like...

  3. I'm deifying 'her' in the poem you refer to.

    I love the verse abou your 'sonshine' etc.!

  4. A great play on words and creative way to describe the moon. I like these lines:

    Harvester and harvest.
    Expressionless, romantic.
    So distant, so familiar, moon.

    Nice to meet you~

  5. Hi - i love your form and content but combined and then with a little of something unique added you awarded me the pleasure of a moment of stillness and glow... for that i say thankyou.

  6. Love the many moons you've described so beautifully and how the ending pulls it together.


  7. I worship her and bow to her, waxing or waning...her energy resonates in my bones, and if she has the power to control the tides, then she certainly has power enough to hold sway over me. Loved the write!

  8. Very creative and love the way your described the moon

  9. Thank you everybody. I am humbled by your many generosities.