If I could say goodbye to yesterday,
My eyes would blink and tomorrow would grow.
'Twas trees that tilted torward a backward way,
Falling its feathers forward a frantic flow.
My mind below the moon moved from the sun,
On pebbles of the past upon a pond.
After the moon and sun eclipsed as one,
Winds of the world waved like a magic wond.
Minutes massaged my mind inside of glass,
Bottled in skies bright blue as the wind blew.
Slow seconds seasoned time present to past,
And I knew not of that new day I knew.
Surfing the past atop her salted sea,
Past shall not pass, her waves are all I see.
Soon the sun will set and the moon will rise.
Stay safe and stay here or he will find you.
Sleek silver hunter with red rabid eyes
The sun starts to set. The moon starts to rise.
He growls lupine rage. This predator spies
his victim, alone. He leaps straight and true.
The sun disappears. The moon is your eyes.
Stay safe and stay here or he will find you.
I plucked the moon out of a blackened sky
To save it from the music of Orion's wrath
The universe, now without its lover
Played its tune among the stars
Adapted from
Moonsong by Deb Guzzi
The moon sat, plunked in a cobalt sky
punctuating the stratus
a wane full note on a blank scale
resonating, pulsating, pregnant in it’s fullness
and the string was plucked.
Swift moon owl
There, she boldly glides,
So far and wide
Against the boundless
Ocean tides
Thus, hearing the
Trident call of
The ambient moon
Swooping down,
Upon her prey
The Moon wears this
Red scarf and black heels
The moon is a mistress
Let her turn this wheel
There the moon suckled on a dram of mist,
bringing illustrious pomp to cardboard mountains,
who cut like a sickle, horizons sincerity,
and I could taste trouble, spoon fed
from darkness that sprinted towards completion.
Something crawled from the canal,
a gaseous presence like a primordial phantom;
opalescence in peek-a-boo stars.
Incantations stirred in the attic of my mind,
spectres of remembrance copulating
in karma sutra melee,
and the night, so coffin quiet,
swallowing moon dust in a cascade of neon pollen.
What resilience could sate this voluptuous whore,
who cooed like a dove while twisting
the garrot ever tighter,
nothing but the birth of dawn.