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
Um, yeah. Well. It’s getting ridiculous now.
I’ve been playing round with a couple of pieces again today, & I just kept coming back to a phrase a friend messaged me after reading Saturday’s poem which was, er, about the moon. She said, “I really want to frame this.” Being the sort of person who takes praise well, I replied: “what the poem or the moon, uh-hahahaha?” “Both.”*
& so, this.
the woman who wanted to frame the moon
with mere admiration
through dark glass
in a shared over
she wanted it
all for her own
she could see
recompense for a life
too long lived
[legal disclaimer**: the only connection between my friend & the woman in this poem
is the jumping off point described above.
To my knowledge she does not desire lunar-ownership of any kind.
The rest, as they say, is licensed.]
**[legal disclaimer disclaimer: my friend is a lawyer so this only seems prudent]
Arrrggghhh! Can’t seem to shake this subject. Despite several poems worked on today, the two I was considering for today’s post somehow didn’t seem to stack up, so had to go for this fallback. New subject matter tomorrow, I promise (I hope).
the gifts of the luni
every night the moon leaves me gifts
like a cat depositing nightkill on my mat
this week on the wall by the back door
a rectangular jewel box, waiting to be buried
above the kitchen blind, a sliver of laser light
as i stumble out for an insomniacal glass
repainting the window in my bedroom
into a mirror which reflects undreamt dreams
on the drive home it rezones the countryside
into a dimension far beyond the fourth
even its gilding of the boxangular city
until it is almost beautiful enough
to star in its own fairy tale
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
Last night, dear friend & wonderful poet, Louise Nicholas, launched her first, very beautiful, full-length collection of poems, The List of Last Remaining through 5 Islands Press. It was a fabulous warm funny (mildly drunken) night.
Today, after dipping my way in & out of the collection, I have taken the last line of her poem, “How to scale a fish” & tweaked it to use as the title of today’s poem.
& so it’s come : to that time : of life : to once again : take out the tools of excavation : to dust off : my brooms & tiny brushes : sharpen my trowels : put pads on my ageing knees : & get down in the pit : in the dirt : dig down through the layers : the strata of my happiness : & my grief : to uncover the bones : & broken pottery : & terracotta floors : of true love : lost : of childhood : lost : of embryos : washed down drains : blood on thighs, over tiles, over everything : & to keep digging : until all that’s left to see : is an empty grave : a soul shaped hole : a silver wash : of moon : light : & salt
Last line: “as if unearthed in moonlight”
Today was about recuperation. I didn’t realise how stressed I’d become, so most of it was spent reading & catching up on some binge tv.
About 10 o’clock, the dawg & I went for a moonlit beach walk. Once we got home, this came out. & although it’s not strictly one of the Word Games (do I even have to use them now my Residency is finished?) weirdly, last week I read several chapters of Sand: A Journey through Science & the Imagination by Michael Welland, so there is a tentative link.
love : taking sand … into the house … on my soles … fugue of beach … summer counterpoint … on this cool … autumn moonlight : the thought … of this sandalful … of golden grain … an ankledust’s worth … of microscopic rocks … fleeing the sea … to shipwreck … on my carpet … makes me feel … more connected : to everything