Visits to my parents’ farm during New Moons have always been mystical. I like walking over land I cannot quite see. Beautiful blackness in all directions. Only the frail light of starlight millions of years old to guide my way (hell, that’s good, why isn’t that in the pome? haha).
I’m not satisfied with the last lines, but as I only started this an hour or so ago, I’m running out of time & will just have to let it stay as is for now.
i believe very little
but i truly believe
every human soul
true country dark
every 100 days, minimum
somewhere far from
a light polluted city
when the moon is in
recovery mode, & the earth
reflects back the black
birth of the universe
only alone in the vast absence
& endlessly reverberating silence
we find how much dark matters
This strange little poem grew out of the first three words which just popped into my head. The rest flowed out afterwards without much effort. Gotta have at least one poem about the moon or else it isn’t a real NaPoWriMo. Hope I haven’t done my dash by tossing it in so early in the month.
the moon & me
in violent light
holds head under
on the wall
through to the other
side of me
This began as a draft in January. I have redrafted, edited & posted it today for obvious reasons. It is the first poem this month not generated via Word Games.
we live in a world, where, when a beloved famousity
dies, social media bloodbaths into a whirlpool : wailing
wallowing, teethgnashing, pedastooling, & deifying —
alongside attacks, assassinations & ruthless debunking.
since we have capacity to celebrate celebrity demises
en masse, it has become de rigueur to do so : vehemently
& publicly with status updates & changed profile pics
alerting the indifferent world of your immense loss.
trolls rumble from caves, dragging into the light
their democratic right to demonise — reminding us :
fame isn’t bestowed solely on saints & that as much
darkness lurks under the skins of those we idolise.
meanwhile, the day-to-day tragedies go ever on, untweeted
— as do the friends, daughters, grandsons of those left …
I’m not too unhappy with this one, but likewise, I doubt it will have a life elsewhere (unless greatly tweaked), so it seems a solid one to share. As the heading suggests, the prompt was simply to use the title “before darkness”. The actual poem didn’t take long to arrive, but I had to think a long while (‘long’ being a relative term in this construct, ie about 35 minutes) about the best way to approach it, cos I found the prompt a little uninspiring TBH.
before darkness : the rush & bustle : the sirens : the tunnel vision : the tap tap tap of 10 million keyboards : the conferring media : spin cycles : PR exercises : racing rodents : the tabloid’s blood : the dog & pony show : the argy : the bargy : the win/lose polarity : the butting of heads : the calling of names : the inciting : the absence of morality : heat : sweat : steam
after darkness : sweet stillness : time for going deep : the slumber of shadows : the road of milk : the road of wonder : so many roads : spreading in all directions : the slowly descending silence : the chance to discover : catching thought : gossamer strings : self being mirrored unto itself : the beginnings of awareness : of everything : of which : you are unaware : cool breath
instead of fearing darkness : so much : we really should : question light
Sometimes the heaviest things we have to carry, are our thoughts.
sail boat cruise
anchor thrown overboard
the whole ocean
then darkness descends
the stars cannot
being worlds away