moonlight mends by stitching together the torn edge of the wor.d
a pencil eyes the moonlight
wishing its lead could glow like that~
dreaming of drawing silver arcs
longing for brightness
moon sipping teacups~
night folds itself into wings
and forgets the sky
moon sipping teacups~
night folds itself into wings
and forgets the sky
Don't think they will stop this creative writing spree.
But they are free to keep the sunshine for themselves;
I’d rather continue being best friends with the moon.
In the stillness of night
hides abeyance ...
Our souls no longer trapped
in the prison of their form
Where the moon sets us free
to escape from ourselves
And wander in its glow
along the beach until dawn
But like the hermit crab
recalled to its dungeon
We crawl back with the suns
mourning knell
To return to those cages
awaiting
Disappearing inside of
— our shells
(Dreamsleep: July, 2026)
Here is a memento from the other day
Who knows wherever the moon will go?
I just know that I’m here to stay
*While reading this poem, please imagine a sunset with a full moon shining brightly overhead. It's intended to be read from the perspective of someone in this specific setting who is thinking fondly of their long distance internet friends (that they don't always talk to). This was originally posted on Tumblr on June 5th, 2026, but it took a bit for me to cross post it here.
Written: June 6, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Brian Strand
********************
LUNAR MACHINERY
cold
gears
rotate
silent
calculation
of the UNSEEN
orbital
precision
and the palpable
clink
closely
witnessed
with CLOCKWORK RIGOR
strangely
assembled
bronze
perpetual
reverberations
Oh, how I love staring up at the ethereal radiance of the moon,
resting against the endless onyx-black sky.
Her magical and mystical pearlescent glow is cast upon me,
I am delivered from my darkness—
I am shielded from my shadows.
The moon‘s celestial veil captivates me,
enticing me with her enchanting aura;
Her enigmatic beauty and powerful magnetism mesmerizes me.
When she is in her full-phase, so large and luminous, she appears nearby,
as if there is only a short distance keeping her and I apart.
Oh, how I wish it was possible to journey to the moon,
and walk lingeringly among the cratered rocky debris and gray powdery dust.
I would cherish the utter silence and serenity of space around me,
while forgetting all the desolation and ruination of the world I had left behind.
For every wayfarer,
Who gazes through
A veil of gloom.
Those who seek their name
In the countless
Distant points of white
In the firmament.
Leaving behind those bound by their names—
And those who descend
Into the glow of others.
Unable to face
Obscurity
Without closing their eyes.
"Why do wayfarers march
Across trampled grass?"
Reflecting my ignorance
As I continue on my path—
Cutting through the weeds,
Against an insistent wind
A part of me refuses to give in,
Only to crawl back.
A lingering memory calls out—
Unlike the moon,
Whose rays bless
An entire world
This star
Shines only upon me.
Beneath moon's pearly milk-white might,
the Sidhe dance in silver light.
Their laughter lingers, laced with lore,
whispered wish, a phantom door.
The harvest hinges on their hand,
they bless barley, blight the land.
A chalice filled with honeyed mead,
sway their favor, sate their greed.
The moon, a mother, mounts the sky,
her phases flicker and fall.
She marks the time for tilling true,
and paints the dusk in pearled dew.
Áine treads on the treetops tall,
her lunar glow engulfs all.
The Sidhe arise in robes of air,
claim the night, to rule, to dare.
A man once met them, mad with moon,
their melody now his tune.
They stole his shadow, spared his sight,
left him hollow, husked by night.
Beware the wane, the waxing glow,
Sidhe will reap what mortals sow.
A crust of bread, a cup of wine~
or lose self to their design.
They ride moons rays, they weave the wind,
their realm starts where ours has thinned.
The moon, their mirror, masks their might,
bridge of bone, a path of light.
So leave them milk and lock your gate,
Sidhe choose fate to bequeath.
The moon may grant, the moon may take~
dawn breaks; hearts will ache beneath.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the moon pours silver
over the earth,
softly speaking
to roots
and
restless wings.
she tugs the tides
like threads
from a hem,
undoing
daylight's seams.
under her
reflected
light
even stones
remember
how
to dream.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The moon spills silver
into hollows
where shadows sleep~
a slow,
luminous transfusion.
She whispers
in the language
of
unlocked doors,
turning bones
to quartz,
thoughts
to mercury.
IN LUNAR FULLFILLMENT
Seemingly, hanging in place,
As the nightly world turns,
The smiling fingernail
Crescent moon looks
Down at her
Companion,
Little Venus:-
Both confidently shining in self-assurance
Of the coming canvassing of the crescent
Into its full mooning of the full ebon night:-
Oh, if only I could find a wet word-brush
To canvass this celestial performance
Whose cosmic beauty the evening
Ebon beauty is quietly reflecting:-
However, mere lexical letters
Can’t mirror this sky-beauty:-
However, praise be,
Our eyes’ mind can
Mirror this beauty
Of night’s sky
Canvassing
Glory to us:
This share
From me
To you:-
crimson bloody rays
glass the dark water surface ~
minds in moral flames?
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