haru tsuki kanshi nemuri suzume
spring moon guarding sleeping sparrows
Copyright © Michael Spangle | Year Posted 2016
Summer sunshine in her hair
The Autumn moon in her eyes
Winter’s promise buried there
Hints of Spring therein lies
The Autumn moon in her eyes
Winter’s snow upon her skin
The seeds of Spring wait to rise
To field the Summer once again
Winter’s snow upon her skin
Spring flowers to grace her face
Summer’s vow to come again
Until Autumn takes its place
Spring flowers to grace her face
Summer’s sunshine in her hair
Autumn hints leave bare a trace
That Winter’s cold will follow there
Copyright © James Burns | Year Posted 2010
Relishing the breeze
Next to you on my barefoot
Moonlit night, I'm here
Copyright © Ryo Matsuda | Year Posted 2015
Love was as hot as a red moon.
Passion was on fire and was soothed.
A total lunar eclipse occurred on April 15.
The moon was coopery red.
The warmth of her blood was astrologically aligned.
Mother Earth was with her Sun God.
She stood majestically in his eyes.
The core of his being was a deep arousal of desire.
Oblivion Dark Sunshine
Sought the Red Moon via telescope,
a ritualized ceremony.
Sponsor: Dave Wood
Contest Name: RED MOON
Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014
Written July 29, 2013
The wind blows the rainbows down
Turns your frown upside down
Then spins it back around
The sun hides the moon
Underneath its coat in bloom
The flowers came late this June
The rain in a teardrop
Falls like dew from a leaf
When she looks at me
See that look upon her face
Used to take her to the stars
Now she's headed back from Mars
Now that Venus loves her more
Wouldn't throw her to the floor
Copyright © Brandon Carter | Year Posted 2013
Maelstrom, O thou devil
Slither past last March then unto April
Into the eves and ides of May
Thou cannot hide, but thou wilt try
To disguise thy age old blackness
Forsake what once were brighter skies
Stranglehold; sane extraction
And the spills of night
A new tone deafness
Burning oil; sentiment molasses
Bringing storms that cloud minds human and fragile
Spheres of moonlit halos
Become, no more than serpent spies
Peeking through faultlines of life
Dancing about to the madness limbo
One lost soul...
Shipwrecks against a sea
And there too does the twist of tango
Eyes of the deep; tentacles, touching me
Elsewhere, the raven flies repetition
Into glass windows
Blood stains upon a faceless mask
Drowns out the cries and the conscience
Of feathers blacker that lie strewn
Are the questions I have asked
And the answers I cannot have
Let slip feigned breath of man beneath
A gargle from the cold tunnel brine
What's left surrenders alter to its evil
And nothing is, to evermore survive
And the eves and ides of May
Are Saran gas upon a mass of land
Men of desparation hunger
Eating flesh of man much meeker
And thou wilst not again
Glimpse thy rival sun
Nor when it comes, goes
Or finality, when it finds its done
Inspired by the madness of Poe
That which is locked within us all
Copyright © Michael Smith | Year Posted 2013
I was born on July 20, 1958.
Being one of seven children and having a mid-summer birthday, even as a young boy, it was
not uncommon for my birthdays to come and go without much fanfare.
In the winter of my Fifth Grade year at school, we had an assignment to write a short-story.
I was already in love with writing way back then. My short story was on a topic that was
very much in the news at that time and a very interesting and exciting theme for a young
boy. I wrote a short story about me being the youngest astronaut in the space program and
being selected to be the first astronaut to walk on the moon. I was aware at the time, that
the US and USSR were in a Cold War race to be the first country to achieve that lofty goal
and I knew it was bound to happen soon. To make my story even more special, I wrote that
this wonderful event would take place over the coming summer, on my birthday!
Well, lo and behold, as the winter turned to spring and spring turned into summer the Apollo
11 space mission launched from Cape Canaveral carrying three astronauts, two of whom
were targeted to walk on the moon.
As my 11th birthday approached, without any notice from anyone else, I watched in awe as
the Apollo 11 made its way to the moon. On July 20th, 1969, the lunar landing module,
Eagle, set down on the moon! I remember expectantly waiting for the astronauts to be given
permission to exit the Eagle and step foot on the moon’s surface as the hours of my birthday
It was about 10:00 pm eastern time when my parents finally sent us all to bed on the news
that Mission Control made the decision to wait until the next day to send Neil Armstrong out
of the lunar module. With tears in my eyes, I went to bed thinking that I missed my chance
to share my birthday with history and to have had my short story prognostication come true.
At a few minutes before 11:00 my parents woke all of us up to come watch as Neil
Armstrong could wait no longer and talked Mission Control into letting him walk on the moon
without further delay.
So, at about 11:00 pm, on my 11th birthday, the men from Apollo 11 walked on the moon for
the first time in history. One small step for man and one giant link to history for one small
boy in Charleston, West Virginia.
And, that is when 11 became my favorite number.
Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2010
as new life flowers equal illumination meager changing clothes * ** the sun the moon draws warming hearts and minds amply a new leaf to turn
Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2014
I Looked up and witness Gods tears caught in the night sky
as they dance around the moon which mocks me;
For like the the moon tonight, i am half full
And like that half moon i will circle the Earth until i find my light.
The light which reveals the essence of who i am and why i am.
The light, whose looking for me,
....She is my Sun
And so be the will of God for i and her to meet?
Then let our hearts paint the skies
And our love guide the way
Towards our new found lives creates
A night within a day
Copyright © Rayshawn Fisher | Year Posted 2011
as the moonlight flushes
the white plum-tree blossoms
down the night-black bark arms
like snowflakes softly landing
on the calloused ground
without a sound
a mirror image of a petaled sky
star blossoms and fragrance
deep and high
whirling around the moon
cold and distant
yet pouring out
its cold love like
a symphony of
ah, the moon, the moon
casting shadows black and deep
as the blossoms go to sleep
Copyright © Daniel Human | Year Posted 2014
One spring night,
Just for fun,
I rode the crescent moon.
Then left her below to gaze on me,
As I soared miles high
In the still starlit laughing
Copyright © Sharon Swenson | Year Posted 2013
It's after midnight,and I walk unhurriedly
on a well-lit road flanked by orchids;
a casual squirrel crosses fearfully
as I listen to the soft sounds of crickets,
turning repeatedly to both sides
so curious to know where they hide...
The early spring sings to the moon,
a spotted face looking solemnly happy
while the friendly stars smile on:
to hear the whispers they exchange sweetly;
and before the nightgales retrieve at dawn
in rosy tree tops, they'll be gone...
I spot patches of dark blue,
like the lake below,peaking through
the huge branches of oaks and pine trees;
the soft moon's gleams paint them in silver,
and how lovely they seem in that glimmer,
enough to give them the sembiance of a magical forest
within a sweltering city in need of a cool breeze,
capable of bringing relief from the hazy mist...
The early springs sings to the moon,
the merry notes float on the scented breeze
to reach a distance I cannot achieve;
my contemplation will end soon...
I go past the yellow and purple daffodils;
are they ever tired of standing on their stems,
of giving their pollen to the eager butterflies?
What a joy and beauty they'll take away from us!
The early spring sings to the new moon,
I am a vagrant in this nature's wondrous spectacle;
like life going through short days: bright or dull,
I passing through to live and die soon...
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2005
From the white citadel on the hill
Subtle and suffused glory
The light of freedom fountains spill
In streets muddy and gory
And the rain of seeded clouds aloft
By torrent floods wet the land
Old roots are tumbled out, and no raft
Carries the stones that make the sand.
Obdurate mountains like empires gone
The street dancing tonight likr dawn
The stag watches the still trembling fawn
The winds bring fertile seeds to spawn
And I from afar smell spring afresh
The old climate for planting
And the cyclic reaping of the flesh
And flowers bloom for sniffing
Let nature plant and the hills shall want
Nothing for the free harvest
Of fall. O but beauty still grows scant
Among the gathering of pest
And the old eyes that read the blank stars
Tell by the moon the new change
Is only fireflies in crystal jars
The moon is sad, and so sadly strange.
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012