this skimmed-milk faith
glowing a bit, a movie-god’s halo
(but blue-white, LED, not incandescent)
trembling near nightfall
under sudden river-ice
and the reason we want a plot
a cheer-heart resolution
to this hapless wandering
(eat, sleep, cry)—who is writing
your story with its cast of millions
cross-referenced, pronunciation guide
at the end?
when we stood, this close
to touching a beauty hauled round
up-horizon, the glow you would know
for all its pits and crags
until you woke again
and lost it
You think you can prepare
for sudden loss. The late call
all the what would I do if
and what will I do when…
Much like you pause in the dark doorway
before quick-crossing moonlit floor
launching into bed as if
the monster can’t reach his long hands
snatch your ankles, yank you under
for a walk to sunburned shoulders
at every compass point
the hard straight streets
same garage-box houses, pent-up
barking dogs, daffodils
trails to ponds and rivers of shopping
this afternoon privilege, having
diverted us from our childhood
revolution to a quest for happy
shoes: I am turned around
so that sitting, quiet, in the manicured yard
I am surprised to find the sun still at my back
moon still in my eyes, a single white butterfly
flitting like a dream and wanting still
to be in your arms
Prompt for NaPoWriMo Day 16 is an “Almanac Questionnaire.”
quarter-moon glows, cut
pasted on black
swept by cold-bright
breath of morning’s gift
An hourglass poem for Jane’s weekly challenge #20.
will chime will ring
our blood our pulse
like a bell will hum
all the way
to the moon
Where is your poem
sapphire disks river drops
A quirky little article about the MoonArk project is here.
I go first into frosted night, flinging charms—seven
words to fend the blizzard whole while moon
sinks into clouds, swallowed in gray velvet
I’ve armed myself in furs; you red-robed in velvet
singing fireside untired, one slight flame against seven
nights of breaking cold, failing moon
No cracks in river ice, unmelted hidden moon
though your steady voice, low velvet
calls the fire. Outside alone I count slowly, seven—
seven nights until moon cuts again through storm-velvet
Thanks to Nathan for the set of tritina words, and to Jenifer, from whose very different and beautiful poem I lifted the blizzard line.
dark hill’s door cracks
A Samhain Sept, for Jane.
and if rising seas
rivers of blood aren’t enough
bring on shadowed moon
There will be a total lunar eclipse next week, the fourth in a lunar tetrad, which has apparently brought out the doomsayers.
I am the child of root and air, the song
of limpid river, tumbled rocks;
my father feathered black, my mother brown
and pocket-faded, full of words.
I sing and shape the stumbles into spells
of love for Crone to honey-fill her jars,
for Wizard’s far-fetched flings at sun and moon.
Inspired by A Prompt Each Day’s midweek wordle, which sent me back to my Hiraeth-world.
No fear, here, of the long night
half a year, half a lifetime
away. We open and glow moon-
flowered, sigh with perfume
by pale stars bedewed
pity the wan, draggled dawn.
I am falling behind with my Family Poetry Project postings–but still writing every day! The kids are, too. We’re having a great time with it. The prompt for this was “Night” in 33 words or less, from A Prompt Each Day.