I stand at my back window near midnight. The night is cloudy, but still I’m hoping to catch a glimpse of the full October Hunter’s Moon.
I will not be using its light to search for my winter’s food store. So what am I seeking? What will nourish me in the coming months of short days and long nights?
tell me what I see–
moon appears complete, sudden,
clouds glowing colors
wings against golden black
catch omens, rise, then fly
Every two weeks The Ekphrastic Review has a writing challenge. I usually enter, and always plan to do a collage for the selected work and publish my poem, even if it isn’t chosen. Of course I don’t actually often have the time. But Jane Dougherty’s repetition of Dale Patterson’s artwork, with 3 of her poems, spurred me to do my collage and revise my poem, which I wasn’t satisfied with. It fit right into Frank Tassone’s “Hunter’s Moon” prompt. Were you lucky enough to see it?
You can see Jane’s poems here. And those selected by guest editor Jordan Trethewey, at The Ekphrastic Review, here.
night wears luminous
scales—I feel its pulses through
time resolves into kinship–
everything opened, laid bare
what has been follows
like a shadow, until it
too is discarded
stitched into shining patterns
ancient and always brand new
A double tanka in honor of August’s Sturgeon Moon for Colleen’s #TankaTuesday words, light and dark, and Frank Tassone’s #HaikiChallenge. Also called the Red Moon, perhaps the sky will clear enough tonight so I can see it.
As many have noted, the sturgeon is an ancient and endangered species. I was please to find we have our own Hudson River sturgeons, still hanging on. Fishing for them was banned in 1996.
The sky is a mist of blue ghosts rising from the sea. The sky is a blanket of sparkling light that appears suddenly as if conjured by the fading horizon. The sky is a layered curtain of shadow clouds that both disguise and reveal.
I sit without time, listening, watching. My body retreats from itself, my thoughts lose their words. I am lost, dispersed, nameless.
I become like the wind, seeking its reflection. I become like waves repeating their primal dance. I become like sand searching for the spaces between.
I float, a grain inside my eye.
I dreamt I was the moon, a sudden seizure of oceans traveling the spirals of shells. I dreamt I was a relic from the sea, worn away into a celebration of return. I became my ancestors, unburied and uncontained, released into the sanctuary of the cosmic coil.
Sarah at dVerse has given us the prosery prompt “I dreamt I was the moon”, from Alice Oswald’s “Full Moon”. I was lucky to be in North Carolina at the beach last week, where the moon was spectacular. 144 words and a few of my photos can’t even begin to capture the magic.