I caught a ride
On a beam from the moon
Left early May
Came back in late June
Would have stayed longer
But there's nothing to do
On the surface of Venus
If I can't do it with you

I had conversations
With the planets and stars
Kind of got blue
When I talked with red Mars
Said he was lonely
And asked where you were
What he wouldn't give
For the love of a girl

Mermaids swam and they splashed
In the Milky Way
When they came down
From Neptune for the day
The thing about Mermaids
Is they love to play
In the bubbly streams
Of the Milky Way

I've kissed constellations
Been warmed by their Suns
Nothing compares
To the time we spend alone
So I'm taking my moonbeam
And heading back home
To the galaxy
In which I belong

The next time I catch a ride
On a moonbeam
Going to make sure that you're
Right there with me
Oh pretty baby the sights
We both will see
Just the two of us
On our moonbeam

I don't know what it feels like in space.
What the astronauts feel as they float and look out the window
and see a colossal Earth
As they look out the window and see a glimmering light,
an auratic moon and a vast emptiness
It must be pretty
But I doubt it is anything like swinging in the dawn
As I swing, my black and ***** hair is blown back and forth as it kisses the air
With every swing I take I leave behind my melancholies

I've been hearing the birds sing for the past two hours,
and the sun is not yet visible.
If I swing a few more minutes
and the cloudy skies clear,
it'll wake from its daily nap,
from behind my back.
Maybe I can see its reflection through the water in the pool
that sits a few meters from me.

Oh, how the wind is cool.
It blows away those dandelion flower seeds that hit my skin.
When I swing and glide through the wind,
it becomes the closest thing to flying or anything akin.
It does not oppose
Instead, it pushes me higher, closer to the sky
as if I could fly, giving me wings, like the birds that sing.



If I could go to space or wake up early one day,
I would choose to stay.
Here I can swing and kick the air,
hear the birds’ serenade,
and smell the freshness of the moist earth in the air.
This beauty cannot be compared.
I rather swing and observe the forming of this beauty here
Like I do the early Thursday morning .

I came across a strange man
while walking on my land
perched upon a rock
at me he waved his hand
as I approached him
offering this ,he said
"I have arrived here on this rock
at this present time"
"I am here to meet a fellow
traveler of time"

I stared at him agog
not believing what I heard
He said that on this spot
his arrival had been planned
I thought he asked what time it was
so I produced my watch
he slowly shook his head
and slyly ,he mocked
" What precisely is the year?"
he asked
as he sat back on the rock

I started to relay
an answer to the man
the year is 2768
that we are standing in

His eyes grew large
his face turned white
the blood just drained away
grasping at my shoulders
he asked
"What year did you say?"
again I told him the year
in which he had arrived
He screamed aloud and clutched his head
"why oh why oh why?"

"Why have I arrived here
so badly misplaced in time?"
"all that I have known
is now dust,just left behind"
"700 years ago my counterpart was here"
"I wonder how long he waited"
and did he remain here?"

I asked him the name
of this counterpart of his
I laughed aloud
as he relayed a name
that I knew well
he rattled off the name
of my ancestor and me

Our family had arrived here
oh so long ago
but it never was explained
just how this spot was chose
it seems clear enough
now that he is standing here
the man standing before me
was responsible it appears
for our people to have arose
from the very dust
of this tiny lonely rock
floating through the dusk

As I explained these facts
the man began to grin
"It looks as though our meeting
Has .. Finally... Happened

I often stare into the sky at shadows on the moon,
with my attention fullest on the days of the full moon.

Discerning craters, mountains on its dusty pockmarked face,
that glows when sun stares winking flares upon the blushing moon.

I squint to find the waveless flag, the rover parked somewhere,
discarded by the shiny humans come to greet the moon.

Her light gives sight so subtle as to soothe and not disturb
circadians whose radians are rhythms of the moon.

Tree silhouettes' slow pirouettes sway by the summer breeze,
bathed in the sun's own afterglow under the watchful moon.

Imagining the lunacy of werewolves in the night
who, bathed in glow, to dogs they go a howling at the moon.

While all around the nightsong sounds in symphony they croon
the ballades of the wonder of the lighted sky queen moon.

(C)2013, Christos Rigakos