Day 05 – the moon (& too much travel)

05b BluMoon cropped

Another one of those last minute ring-ins (it is one of the blessings of NaPoWriMo — firing up the creative cogs after something of a lull).

After pottering round with two others pomes for varying parts of the day, this one roared at me about 45 minutes to midnight. There are other myths/folklores I would have like to have worked in but I stopped tweaking at midnight.

NOTE: the formatting may be a bit out of whack: Wordpress doesn’t cope too well with unusually spaced lines. That said, it is meant to be staggered, messy, abstract.


the many things we see in the moon

over millennia in the long night darkness
human eyes, seeking patterns, discover them:

a weaving woman;
                                 clusters of laurel trees;
an elephant jumping off a cliff;
                                                        a girl
with a basket on her back;
                                               many rabbits:
one working a mortar & pestle;
                                                   two fiery,
      one self-sacrificing,
                            & one thrown into a sun;
          yet one more carried by a crane;
innumerable frogs & toads:
                                             an immortal
goddess hiding
                         in the likeness of a toad,
another hiding
                         from a wolf,
                                             a marriage
broker for a Sky Maiden …

but of course it’s none of these
— it’s the Man in the Moon
sometimes carrying a bundle of wood
sometimes just his face (though many
Pacific Islander peoples see a woman)

the real mystery is comprehending how
others could see such bizarre things
when our interpretation is clearly correct



BONUS POEM: April 5, 2018

Mine haven’t arrived yet, but I’m sure we won’t be like this. Probably needs a good edit which I don’t have time for (sorry for long pome, I didn’t have time to write a short one 😁 NOTE: this incarnation, edited)


Pax Familia

visiting endless iterations
of the long dead past
taxes the best of us
today I touristed more
   tears, tantrums & hissy fits
   pleas to be carried
   how much longer whines
   and demands to go home
   or archaeological knick-knacks

despite non fluency in your tongue
I get you are
tense annoyed fully aggro
or just plain over it

such is the beauty
of traveling solo
no one to blame
for arriving late
getting lost
taking too long to decide

no, I never do those things
have never done  anything  so foolish

05 Crowds

Day 16 – some music for you, as we start on the downhill run home

Not the poem I was planning to work on today (though it was on the NaPoWriMoToDoList), but a line which has been substantially altered, barrelled into my book-reading this morning insisting to be heard. So I got up, & 2 hours later …



we assemble in a darkened
room, which we proceed to fill
with the singing of hollow wood.
we prefer the hallowed. & we prefer
the new. for centuries they’ve carried
their bias beneath the veneer,
mixed with years of sweat, love
& complicated accumulated hubris.
we can’t quantify a subjective quality
like sound cry the one-eyed critics
clamouring to be heard over the still
reverberating air — nevertheless
ranking was what we are
in the dark room to do.

we understand, you don’t
always get what you pay for
but know this also love is blind
so, the Italians momentarily
lost their glamour, the hum
of their hubris, briefly dulled
but the mystique, the mythos,
the belief in the brand name,
remain, without, in any way,
diminishing the price tag.