Archive for the ‘Moon’ Category

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Three Poems of Lunar Musing

July 20, 2009

Poem 1

Walking on the Moon*

Tell me, are there many heavens above the moon? — Marlowe

God wept fire.
the devil spat out the moon.
Angels and demons, and you

toss a bit of silver into the plate. You
know the saints swallowed fire.
You know sinners walked on the moon.

You know the pearl in the Virgin’s ear
is the moon. She knows angels and demons
know you. And you know the taste of fire.

She walks with you across the moon. Through God’s fire
angels and demons and you,
spin and stumble and swoon.

Poem 2

The Pull

The galleons rise, prows moonward; buoyant bodies
sway in the sanguine waters with each contraction
of the heart. In every vessel, a captain

unrolls charts, calculates the distance
between us. The light from their lamps
threads through the portals, links mooring

ship to ship. The constellations they draw
differ from person to person: the howling
woman, the man of glass, the laughing dog.

The tide turns inside each of us.
Anchors raised, the ships drift from shore.

Poem 3

Phases of the Moon

plate of light
search light slowly
panning the night sky criminal
intentions
hiding behind the dark side

*

woman’s ovum
distant secret silent
astronauts like sperm flying
trying to get there first
to plant their flag

*

cold coin of commerce
magnified by urban atmospheres

in the mountains much less valuable
than the North Star

*

dog’s howl carved
out of rock
thrown into the firmament like a frisbee
dog’s can’t jump
that high

*

mother’s left breast
grey-white and nippleless
perfectly round Picasso tit
ran out of milk
before we were born

*

pearl from the necklace
your lover broke

the one bead
you couldn’t find

*

pale baby face
newly born out of warm wet darkness

the sun the exultant parent
pride too bright

for tender infant eyes
better to keep them shut

*

New moon is no moon.

How can there be no moon?
Moon is the period
at the end of every thought.

*

cold and spherical as the snowball
hitting you in the back of the head

*

world’s pet chameleon
changing colors to better blend in
with our dreams

*

grain of sand
to Earth’s sand flea

planet crawling with life
can’t live without water

moon’ll still be the same
after oceans evaporate
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* Previously published in The Moon, Vol.2, Issue 5, May 2004

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Three Poems from a Previous Life: Canada, circa 1993

May 13, 2009

Poem 1

The Narwhal
Markham Museum, Markham, Ontario

you’re not real        you’re
fiberglass and paint        whale-song-moaning
through climate-controlled museum air
filling empty bottles and shells
with the silt of history        your spiraled tusk
as lethal as the knight’s lance        as legend
as the unicorn’s horn         unreal
your great needle slid through the fabric
of frigid waters        burst through the broad nets
of incredulous fishermen        skewered any and all
disbelief in        God and sea monsters

Poem 2

The galleons rise,

prows moonward; buoyant bodies
sway in the sanguine waters with each contraction
of the heart. In every vessel, a captain

unrolls charts, calculates the distance
between us. The light from their lamps
threads through the portals, links mooring

ship to ship. The constellations they draw
differ from person to person: the howling
woman, the man of glass, the laughing dog.

The tide turns inside each of us.
Anchors raised, the ships drift from shore.

Poem 3

The Egg Illuminates*

In the midnight of the kitchen, the egg illuminates.
From an open box, a pearly radiance
billows; through an open window, the light

blankets fields sown dark with cricket song,
unrolls onward only to break
over the rim of insomnious cities.

warm the egg in the basket of your hands.

in the silence between breaths, heed
the tiny claw scratching against the shell, the fainest
of heartbeats beneath wet feathers.

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*This poem appeared previously in the Midwest Quarterly, Autumn 1996, Vol.XXXVIII, No.1

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Three Poems for a Cold December Morning

December 9, 2008

Poem 1
The Red Tent*

the needle spins
there is no direction
here the polar wind blows
from everywhere all wind
is born here

on the white continent
no leafy bowers no wise serpents
no fiery saints
a halo of stars
pierces the horizon
fist-sized angels

punch from our mouths words
are white flags torn
in this boreal land
we pitch our tents
driving our stakes
as deep as we can

Poem 2
Winter Storm Warning

high today of sixty
with winds rising
late afternoon

but the forecast
maintains
a precipitous drop

in equatorial words
and interpersonal warmth
by the weekend

Poem 3
Full Moon in December

cold and spherical as the snowball
hitting you in the back of the head

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* Previously appeared in Poem, November 1989, No.62

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Three Poems About the Moon for Late October

October 29, 2008

He Does Not Care for This Movie

he won’t say “I love you” or “go to Hell”
though each might apply equally
when she has become the full moon
hiding behind clouds        the Gothic sky
and he is cast as the open book
full of demonic engravings
pages flipping in the wind
he does not care for this movie
twisted shadows gypsy music prophetic poetry
he waits for the book to slam shut         coughing dust
the clouds to slide away like mercury
the moon silver light to rain like bullets
shooting through wayward wolves
the lovers who’ve forgotten
they have been cast aside
the same cursed curs
who scratched at the door
waking the dreamer before she could swallow
the cure

Walking on the Moon*
Tell me, are there many heavens above the moon? — Marlowe

God wept fire.
The Devil spat out the moon.
Angels and demons, and you

toss a bit of silver onto the plate.  You
know the saints swallowed fire.
You know sinners walked on the moon.

You know the pearl in the Virgin’s ear is the moon.
She knows angels and demons
know you.  And you know

the taste of fire.  She walks with you
across the moon.  Through God’s fire
angels and demons and you

spin and stumble and swoon.

Moon**
Every night the moon is mine — Natalie Imbruglia

you lie
suspended in the black vacuum
of the heart your light bleached
and unoriginal
O dull mirror        every lover’s conceit
how the practitioners cherish you
the single pearl saved
from the broken necklace
O false sun        that you would blind me
just once        that you would hide me
cloudshadow crossing mountains
that you would turn your eye         away
so that I might see for myself         open        in your cold light
your mouth against my ear        the thunder’s prophecy
the cold rain        your secret places
your unspeakable names revealed
O haunted lover        promiscuous satellite
acknowledge me         initiate me
tell me         you are mine

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*This poem originally appeared in The Blue Moon, Volume, 2, Issue 5, May 2004
**This poem originally appeared in The Moon, Volume 2, Issue 6, June 2004