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False Poets Oct 2017
does the moon get tired?

~for the children who never tire of moon gazing upon the dock,
by the light of the fireflies,
till the angels are dispatched by Nana,
to sprinkle sleepy dust in their eyelashes so long and fine~

while walking the dog I no longer have,
a happenstance glanceable up over the River East,
there you were, mr. moon, in all your fulsomeness ,
surrounded by a potpourri of courtier clouds,
all deferentially bowing, waving,
passing past you at a demure royal speed on their way
to Rebecca's northern London,
of was it south to grace of  v V v's Texas^,
in any event,
the cloudy ladies, all bustling and curvaceous,  
all high stepping in recognition of your exalted place,
Master of the Night Sky

the word careless, poets excessive,
sometimes called silly poppies, old men,
left footed, still crazy after many years,
most assuredly poets false all of us,
without a proper prior organized thought train,
bludgeon blurted,
an inquiry preposterous and strange,
strait directed to the sombre face,
to mister moon himself!

tell me moon, do you ever tire?*

the obeisant clouds shocked
as that face we all uniform know,
unchanged anywhere you might go  to gaze, be looking upon it,
watched the moon's face turn askew.

He looking down at our rude puzzlement,
with a Most Parisian askance,
a look of French ahem moustacheoed disbelief,
while we watched as the moon cherubic cheeks
filled with airy atmosphere,
then he sighed

so windy winding, was it,
so mountain high and river deep,
that those chubby clouds were blown off course,
from a starless NYC sky
all the way past Victoria Station,
only to stop at Pradip and Bala's
mysterious land of
bolly-dancing India,
on their way to Sally's Bay of Manila,
magic places all!

Mr. Moon looked down at this one tremulous fool representative  
(me) and in a voice
basso beaming and starry sonorous,
befitting its stellar positioning,
squinting to get a closer look at the
who in whom
dare address him in such an emboldened manner!

Mmmmm, recognize you, you are among those
who use my presence, steal my lighted beams, my silver aura,
my supermoon powered light, borrow my eclipses,
reveal my changeling shaped mystery without permission,
only mine to give, you tiny borrowers who write that thing,
p o e t r y

head and kneed, bowed and bent,
I confessed
(on y'alls behalf)

we take your luminosity and don't spare you
even a tuppence, a lonely rupee, no royalties paid
to you-up-so-highness,
and we hereby apologize for all the poets
without exception,
especially those moon besotted,
only love poem writing,
vraiment misbegotten scoundrels....

with another sigh equality powerful,
mr moon pushed those clouds across the Pacifica,
all the way to the  US's West Coast,
up to Colorado,
where moon-takings from the lake's reflecting light
so perfect for rhyming, kayaking,
and moonlight overthrowing,
once more, the moon taken and begotten,
as heaven- freely-granted

yes, I tire
and though  here I am much beloved,
usually admired though sometimes even blackened cursed,
seen in every school child's drawing,
in Nasa's calculations,
of my influential gravitational pull,
moving human hearts
to love and giving Leonard a musical compositional hint,
and while this admirable devotion is most delighting,
would it upset some vast eternal plan,
if but one of you once asked,
you fiddler scribblers
my prior permission,
even by just, a lowly
mesmerizing evening tide's tenderizing glance?

yes, I tire,
even though my cycles are variable,
my shape shifting unique, my names so at variance
in all your many musical sing-song dialectical languages,
my sway, my tidal currents so powerful a deterrence,
unlike my boring older sunny cousine  who just cannot get over
how hot looking she is,
I,  so more personally interesting,
yet you use me as if I were a fixture,
on and off with
a tug of the chain string,
never failing to appear,
even when feeling pale yellow and orange wan,
and worse,
mocked as an amore pizza pie,
do you ever ask how I am doing?

yes, I tire,
of my constant circuitous route that changes ever so slowly,
but yet, too fast for me to make some nice human acquaintances, especially those young adoring children
who give me their morn pleasurable squeals when they awake and my presence still there,
a shining ghost of a guardianship protector still
watching over them

how oft in life do we presume,
take for granted
grants so extra-ordinary
that we forget to remember
the extra
and see only the ordinary

how oft in life do we assume,
the every day is always every,
until it is not,
only an only
a now and then,
till then,
is no longer a

oh moon, oh moon,
our richest apologies
we hereby tender and surrender,
our arrogance beyond belief,
what can we offer in relief?

silence heard loud and clear,
mr. moon was gone,
a satellite in motion,
so our words burnt up in the atmosphere

we did not weep
nor huff and puff,
blow those clouds back to us,
for we knew
the extraordinary
would return tomorrow,
we will be ready,
better another day,
to prepare
a lunar composition,
a psalm of hallelujah praise,
for mr. moon
of which
mr moon will never tire,
for filled with the perma-warmth
of our affection
for the one we call mr.moon
False Poets is a collective of different poets who write here, in a single voice,
hence the confusing interchangeable switching of the pronouns.    sorry bout that.

^ HP - give them back the claimed  V name!
Looking up at the full Moon
the closest it comes this year
out on my deck after work
through my childhood telescope.

A full Moon through a telescope is really something to behold;
Especially when the Moon appears
up to 14% larger and 30% brighter
than it does on the dimmest of full Moons.
T'ai Chi basking in the Moonbath;
The Sky dimly fluoresces in chilled Air
as Landscape glows with moonlit Auras;
This is truly a magical near-annual moment.
(Supermoons happen about every 14 full Moons)

I thank you; Moon and Night.
I thank you; Khonsu and Nephthys.
I thank you; Selene and  Nyx.
I thank you; Luna and Nox

Happy Supermoon 2013.
Khonsu and Nephthys are the Egyptian god of the Moon and goddess Night, respectively.
Selene and Nyx are the Greek equivalent goddesses.
Luna and Nox are the Roman equivalent goddessess.
Debanjana Saha Jan 2018
I wondered how the moon
Was superbly beautiful.
Taking chances to climb up high
And more higher than usual reach,
Just to admire it more than ever.

I spoke with a girl of age 8,
Explaining her about the supermoon
She asked supermoon?
After understanding it
She said wait, wait.
Let's go to the terrace
And admire it together.
A bond formed talking about the moon and how she can relate to it more as her mom used to tell her stories about moon when she was a child.
Emma  Nov 2016
Emma Nov 2016
In my shining spotlight the rabbit scampers
Across the fields, its bright white eyes, and stops
Crouching in the dewy grass of a foggy night
In the pale-faced cold wind of winter

In the light of the supermoon
In the light rain fog of November
And what is fog?
In the darkness
Something that I remember

The glowing leaves pile up in my pockets
Yellow ones burn like lemon flames, green like pears
They all find their way someday between the pages
Of my stained petal books

And I always find my way
Into the Moon's light,
Where blue sea laps softly on smooth stones
Of the shore
Of the skin
And the silence
Of the night
Amidst the fallen stone green-grown
And through the crumbling arch,
The sunken mere of yesteryear
Has mirrored this scene in March

The sky meeting land in glory grand
Sparks fly where heaven meets earth;
The sea rolls in from where it’s been
And ships rise from their berth

The pearl of the moon rises soon
Lifted in the bowl of the sky;
Its size greater, every crater
Gleams brightly, the heavenly eye

Forgotten, as a rule, mirrored in the pool
The largest moon earth will see
The castle yard by cent’ries scarred
Lies the only witness to the scene.
Pranav Hegde  Nov 2016
Pranav Hegde Nov 2016
Standing on my balcony
I am gazing at the skies
The stars wink at me
But the bright moon fills my eyes

A mellifluous zephyr
Glides over my face
It brings a distant voice
That whispers you’re in a near by place

I wonder how the murky clouds
Try to shut off the cosmic lights
I want the southern winds to blow
And bring you back to sight

Cuz darling, tonight is the night
You fill my space before it’s late
The moon is the closest tonight
Since nineteen forty eight

-Pranav Hegde
Jack Aylward Sep 2015
Pink caress
Your lips
To kiss
Upon mine.

©Jack Aylward,
I wrote this after drinking Isla Negra wine and playing 'Pink Moon' by Nick Drake, softly in the background whilst also watching the supermoon eclipse, tonight, turn a subtle pink!
Cristina Quebral Nov 2016
There is always a story in thee,
Thy face is a beautiful tragedy
Thy ring of light that whispers mystery
Tonight thy enchantress, a perigee.
AJ  Sep 2015
Raise / Supermoon
AJ Sep 2015
Raise me up, atop the river of oceans,
And baptize me under the wings of the stars;
Soak me in the still waters
Of boundless transience,
And bathe me in the blood of the waning moon.

Raise me up, above this bed of earth
And make me drift above the pillow-like clouds
That trail the skies of black and blue,
And wait for them to fade,
Just as the darkness will,
When the day runs its course.

Raise me up, above the chains of time,
And drop me on the face of everlasting feeling,
Of infinite tides that crash upon the shores
Of fading memories, of translucent pasts,
And let me drink the water filled with
Certainty and guileless candor, pray
That I'll remain here forever,
That the beach I lay atop won't
Clump and fall and sway and tumble
Into the empty pits of
Forgotten promises and unsaid words.

Raise me up, against my will,
Above the plains of grass and roses
Of black and red, steal me away
And tap my eyes with the lucid
Dreams of my seething impermanence,
And sting me with the daggers of
Regret and redemption, of
Begging to remain for just another moment.

Raise me up, and let me soar
Atop the summit of banished wishes,
And let me cast my body away, let it
Fumble down the rocks and pebbles and boulders
On the slopes of passing instants,
But let me, my unbreakable soul,
Stay right there, frozen in the midst of
Feeble remembrances and sprinting clocks,
And let me know, just this once,
That I haven't lived until I've been lost.
G Oct 2016
The faux dark
In the shade
Of your heart
I sense troubles
Being played

Loud enough
To disturb
My dreams.
Sounds off,
The full moon beams

The silence
Of the horizon
My surrounding swayed
Loosing balance
Bursting my emotions

Love transpires
As a winner
No matter the moment
Fueling smiles,
From spring to winter
Of nature’s endowment.
Alive, well and sleepless 10-15-2016
Jonathan Witte Nov 2016
In theory the moon
is a terrible dancer.

But tonight, waltzing
alone in an open field

I feel her graces
on my shoulder,

her moon rhythms
measuring time
against my neck,

a delicate crater punched
into the small of my back.

She has never
been this close

to me

so I am unashamed
to be dancing with her

like this

for the first time,
a solitary partner

casting shadows
on frosted grass,

spinning over furrows,
long scarf precariously

close to my clomping boots
keeping three-quarter time,

pausing only when she
whispers the word lunatic

in my ear,

a bewitching farm girl
from her stratosphere
far away.

— The End —