Poem of the Day

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Moon

 

Moon, I know

you’re rather fickle –

not long ago

you were thin as a sickle

 

but look at you now –

It’s night’s high noon

and you’re fat and full

as a blown balloon.

 

Moon, your face

is made of light

and you hang like hope

against the night,

 

waxing, waning,

sometimes gone,

always changing,

moving on.

 

©   Kate O’Neil
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #16

Poem of the Day

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Moonwatch

We’re studying the moon –

drawing it, remembering all the moons

we’ve ever seen.

 

Just now, through the window,

there’s a daylight-moon looking fragile,

egg-shell soft, pale white.

 

I’ve no plans to go up there

whizzing through the  blue,

landing on the pearly moon.

 

But I can’t stop thinking

about a blood-orange full moon

I saw inching up

 

into the summery sky.

It moved so slowly,

became a golden balloon

 

that never hurried.

I wanted to follow it,

catch it. But I never did.

 

© Katherine Gallagher

 

(Published in Read Me, (Macmillan, 2009, ed. Gaby Morgan)

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #3

poetry-prompt-3

 

Poem of the Day

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Today’s poem was runner up in the 13th Kathleen Julia Bates Memorial Writing Competition.

Looking at the Moon through Binoculars

 

Perfectly round

the moon comes into focus,

luminous, haloed,

almost close enough to touch.

In this lunar landscape

there are mountains, craters

highlands and valleys,

the Sea of Tranquility,

the Ocean of Storms.

Three days’ journey

catapulted through

the blackness of space

past comets, stars

and satellites to reach

my destination.

I’d land on the bright side

of the moon,

my boots sinking into

silvery dust, soft like snow,

I’d jump over moon rocks,

check for signs of life,

then I’d turn to face the earth,

blue and green and beautiful

and I would wave.

Vanessa Proctor