Tag Archives: moon

Shy in the Sky

Oh pale moon, where are you tonight?
I am ever the child in your eyes,
Longing to curl up in your dim
Reflection of light, a surprise,
A moment to remember,
Hidden in antique delight.

My moon, since my tiny fingers
Traced out your rounded shape
I named you, perhaps you did the same,
And here I linger while your landscape
Rolls on out of frame,
Your presence missing stirs

The empty black.


God of My Life

You wait like the moon,
Reflecting what we can bear to see,
Patient, but soon
Sunlight will break over all these things
As You have said in calm and thunder,
So You will do,
And I watch in quiet wonder
The breathless spin of the moon.

You burn like the sun,
In splendor and unapproachable glory
Distant and near, our constant One.
Distant not to burn, near enough for me
To see and be warmed.
Revolving around You, but unable
To look into Your heart unharmed,
But in Your light, my world looks stable.

Every piece of heaven and earth
Unworthy of Your holy habitation,
Deepest oceans aren’t vast enough to birth
An accommodating station
But You came in the waters of a woman,
Wrapped snug in the flesh of men,
The Unreachable as touchable human,
The Impeccable amongst our sin,

Our flaws, our frailties, our treason,
Weaving a brand new thing
The true God lifting our reason
To the heights of wonder to sing
To the God of the moon and sun,
And all mankind,
So we may see, yearn, run,
And seek, and find

The God of the distant constellation,
And near as our own flesh,
Who weaves our dear salvation
From the torn shreds of His own death
And enters our rebellion,
Our gnashing teeth and blindness,
To drink our cup of hell and
Rescue us in lovingkindness.

Wrap Your shawl of wonder
Around my feeble soul,
Oh God of heat and thunder
Whom every age extols,
Lift my humble view,
And direct my blinded roam,
To look alone to You
Until You bring me home.

Psalms 42:7-8

Deep calls to deep at the sound of Your waterfalls;
All Your breakers and Your waves have rolled over me.
The Lord will command His lovingkindness in the daytime;
And His song will be with me in the night,
A prayer to the God of my life.


Mr. Moon

I never speak to you anymore,
Or anyone,
But I see you large in my sky,
So far away,
And I love you in the distance
My constant friend.

I don’t tell you my troubles
In silent chrysalis,
I let the dead sleep,
And also that which will live
When these nights give birth
To the ever-changing sun.


Inkulpable

I’m no guiltier than the moon,
Credited with shining white
And causing howls, or lovers’ swoons,
But possessing no inherent light
Merely collecting forgotten rays strewn
On the lost side of the dark of night.

I’m no guiltier than the mirror clear,
Silver-backed, silver-tongued,
Reflecting all you hate, you fear,
All you adore now lost among
The wrinkles and smears
Depleting the memory of the young
You once wore here.

I’m no guiltier than the pen,
Or the fingers clutching tightly:
A marital dance, twirling again,
Ever swirling sprightly
Through the aged den
Of the unavoidable and the unlikely
Colliding into truth when
I speak in verse; I speak rightly.


Revolve

Great round moon
Circling my days,
Like a mother peeking at her sleeping children.

In the dark
I search your black sky
To dispel with your light what the night wants to paint.

Smiling face
Ever stalwart friend,
Showering on me from the safety of our companionship.


Bricolage

There is a wildness in me
An ocean in a bottle
With a moist cork, I see
I stand a suppressed model
Of practicality,
Revving for full throttle
But for the wake of brutality
And all forgot, all
Sacrificed to creativity,

But there is something wild in me
And still it grows, and still I thirst
For open fields, and free
Paints, and notes, and words
And time and space to feed
What be the best or worst
Or wildest escapee-
All unheard, and all unversed,
La Pensée Sauvage will be.


Evaporating

I’ve howled at the moon
Rising and shining and twirling
A pale dancer on a dark stage
I’ve embraced the swoon.

I ingested the bay
Travelling many miles
To drink its Atlantic mother,
To live the crash and sway

I belong in the sand,
In the violence and beauty
And severity of her coiled arms
And crested hands.

Am I dying of drought
The rain weeps
In ocean fragments
They runoff devout

And they’ll make it home before me.