Half-moon, it’s a big garlic clove in the sky
It bathes my room in dim blue
A shimmering star watches me in the eye
Gives me a sign that it’s you
Wouldn’t you stay for a while, darling love?
Wouldn’t you come for a chat?
“It’s only half-moon”, blows a breeze from above
“We need a full moon for that…
I must be clearly visible too
And it’s better be silence around
Then I can give you a ping, maybe two
Unless I’m obscured by cloud".
Soft as a marsh, the wave—
its homeland drifting far into the open sea,
should be heading for the shoulder of the horizon
the stars will soon erase.
Yet, drawn to the polishing
of an aura like yours, dusted with grains of sand,
it turns its back on the wind drunk with sunset
and rushes toward the shore.
Like the long scream of a half-moon
that the morning glow will sweep away,
the sun, swollen by evening light, cries out
that this is not the way.
The wave shuts out even the clouds
that once headed with it toward the old tree of home,
and cages the sun—now gaunt with worry—
on an island where its scolding can be put to sleep.
Jealous of the gulls beating their wings
on your shadow,
it rears itself like an enraged train
and rams toward the shore.
Whether it knows or not the weight
of its one-way devotion,
you mingle with other shadows,
building sandcastles.
For Brian Strand's Your Choice T Poetry Contest
4 June 2025
silver crescent high,
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half a pearl in velvet night,
whispers soft twilight.
1st Place
The pale half-moon,
like a swag of sheerest organdy,
adorns the sky...
an ornamental drape
on an ethereal window.
I stare toward the red half-moon,
I wonder if I will see you soon.
I am here gazing at tonight's ever-glowing half-moon,
Knowing that I will see you again, my love, very soon.
As always I am secretly wishing we shall reunite soon.
Sterling silver jewels
are pendolous on her ear-lobes
as she shakes her head,
as they sit by a river lit up
with a shimmer of man-made light.
Salmon with peach colors is a feast
for the sky above them;
yet her new diamond is tossed
into this dove tinted water,
with orange and deep yellows-
the celestial sphere
becomes an adorned queen;
she wears her crown of diamonds
as a half moon is punched
into this empyrean,
and a moonbow is tossed to them.
Tulips and lilies never smelled
so fragrantly inebriating
by the lake of the half-moon,
I sense the ineffable mystery
of an alluring and serene evening;
remote breezes so unforeseen
and unquestionably redolent
slightly touch the motionless surface
of the silvery and bluish lake so comely
and limpid while drowsy oaks and spruces
sway their long and thick branches...
as if silence were an act of reverence!
In the deserted town strangely
someone sits on the bend of the lake
of the half-moon as he stares
at the luminescent Northern Star
striking the strings of his guitar
with his skilled, young fingers...
suddenly everything harmonizes
with his beautifully played melody,
but he's so amazed by the splendor of the lake
of the half-moon that he doesn't hesitate
to join the invisible nightingales to praise
the indubitable presence of the Creator!
the half moon, content
with itself...though incomplete
it grins, nonetheless
high up in the cold
starless, pitch-black firmament
yet blithely smiling
Date written and posted: 05/04/2019
A slice of half moon is in the sky tonight
It shines upon the snow, as I want to take flight
If I could be above in the open skies so free
To sparkle with the stars, I could then see
Everything below and maybe answers sought
For stories without endings that are brought
To me in such unusual but continual ways
May the moon lead my flight in my life’s phase
Heidi Sands
Echoes in the night at Half Moon Bay
In the stillness of the night, I can still see fireflies dancing
in the shadow of firelight,
seems like they're dancing in time
with the rolling of the waves,
here in Half Moon Bay
I can still hear Grey Owls hooting,
and the loons crooning their tune
a nocturnal duet of night rangers,
calling out in the wild summer night
here in Half Moon Bay
It was 1974, we were young,
and wanted everything and more
we were eye witnesses ,to summers splendor
and participants in pleasures sweet surrender
Spending our summer days, swimming in Half Moon Bay
dancing in the sand with friends
wishing days and nights like this,
would never ever end
Listening to CCR, and Blood Sweat and Tears
I still remember those happy days,
and the echoes in the night
at Half Moon Bay...
after all these years.
John Derek Hamilton
March 28,2016
HALF MOON ... SAD CLOWN IN ACTION.
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Contest: Six Words
Sponsor: John Lawless
We follow the half-moon still drenched.
Our fused shadows--- eternity.
She breathes; inhaling our scent,
Embracing our glowed night…completely.
An immutable desire to see into the night blue-flower scented dawn,
The want to be within fixed proximity to you;
Skin touching; the aroma of a deity,
A Mexi flower emitting from your petals its royal perfume;
From this an inexperienced arousing blossoms.
The moments where,
Soft rouge lips rest, osculate against the skin,
Lips so warm-balmy,
Your petal scented hands pressing amongst my body;
And your sensitive touch I embrace; sensual, delicate.
The comfort of a half moon love,
Its crooked, Prussian - blue smile,
Emitting its rays through blossomed petals,
In the flower scented night,
Through her crescent lips,
And the burning of the stars in his eyes,
Witnessing her flowering spirit.
The efflorescence in a half moon love,
First is brave and courageous,
Its half bloomed crescent smile lightens you,
Carries you to its height and back,
With an aromatic love emitted from her,
And then when puckered, full moon lips embrace the very tips,
Of the souls voice.
Then when calls her kingdom of flowers,
-with her unique crooked smile,
Seals your lips,
And leaves you,
In her field of waving daffodils,
With a half moon love.
Parted by the cobbled stones
colonial brick patterned high,
baby boomer's and fragile bones
strolling under a watchful eye.
The dizziness continues to bustle
joined by beggars and thieves,
marveling at the persistent hustle
as the sun is setting to leave.
Cultures meet on the la Calzada
feet tapping to the drumming beat
scouring down an enchilada
escaping and lounging off their feet.
Shadows form and dimly lit,
pestered by hand carved craft,
horses chomping on their bit
slightest breeze provides a welcoming draft.
Soaring temperatures start to subside,
as people continue to stare,
the small procession of a blushing bride
her hopes for a future, laid bare.
(A Friday night under a cresent moon on La Calzada, Granada, Nicaragua)
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