It’s after cats but before owls.
The moon fills its pockets and hangs
Out behind the house next door.
Like the sky’s a comfortable side street
You can ride a skateboard or bike along
And find a new favorite skipping stone
You’ll hold onto until the next time
At the creek, which will be days from now
And you think of the curve of her shoulder
As she threw and the water was too
Respectful to swallow the stone, the
Three steps it took on the water and the click
Of it coming to rest on the other bank
And like that you’re rising, full of someone
Else’s light, up above the neighborhood
And the whole world can see you now,
Like the sun on her shoulder,
The whole world can see.
January 1, 9:24 PM (Wolf Moon) [#fullmoonsocial]
In the wolf’s eye is the guile of the sun:
I turned my back on the sinking day
To find it’s still staring at me, placid
spurned communion wafer
[#fullmoonsocial] Waiting for the moon to rise over the power lines behind the fields by the old school for the deaf and the blind
Home of the cardinals.
The train sound twins as it passes through
Echoing off unresponsive brick and glass
Over the darkening grass. It’s like there are two
Trains, the past casting an echo of the future
And then it’s gone, both of them
And still no moon.
The moon has not yet quite risen here in Virginia. Gaze, glance, glare at that moon and write something. Then tag it #fullmoonsocial so we can all join in. Whether you see it in a quiet rural place or a blurry suburban parking lot, it’s up there. Which means there’s the stuff of poetry out there for you to grab.
I’ll reblog what I see throughout the night…
September moon song
The mist blows across the moon
And makes the low sound of time
That you hear in your bones and eye-sockets,
That old houses hear. The floor boards
Remember when they were part of something bigger
But when they sing to the moon it sounds
Flat, like uncertain foot-falls in a dark hallway.
The screech owl in the backyard
Is like someone who laughs before they have told
The joke and then had no reason to tell it.
And the two voices talking about a dream
One had, up at maple leaf level; they fade
And drift, like a moon across a window pane,
Or the impression on the grass of a possum’s pink feet.
Many of you have joined in our full moon socials over the last few years. Whether you are in the path of totality or not (here in Virginia we’re not but will still see quite a sight) the solar eclipse is another moment in which the moon plays no small part. But what part does it play, for poets? for photographers? artists and prose writers?
On Monday August 21st, I invite you to experience the solar eclipse and join in a social gathering — on WordPress, Facebook, Twitter — and use the hashtag #pathoftotality … I’ll re-blog and re-tweet everything I see.
No special glasses required… unless the poetry is so bad that blackout glasses are required… but I would not bet on that…
Monday, August 21st. Whadda ya say?
Looking to the ground on an overcast full moon evening and seeing the sky
And on waking we move from the month
of vines to the month of ivy.
our own growth relies on support to sensing
and a path we create by ascending.