Sunday Night Moon

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If I could, how my body winds

down

inside a cavernous

dream

I might truly admit to feeling

down,

rather wish to imagine my life a

dream.

 

A Sunday night and here I go,

winding down

like the moisture in a culvert

draining toward

a bitter end,

and yet in a moment,

I glanced outside.

 

A moon, in its spectacular

Autumn rise,

A Hunter’s Moon,

to light the forest

so precious

is the moment

when the human condition,

might find life beyond

our own.

 

I watch the moon,

imagine

the world around us

we are all glancing in the same

direction,

hoping to find our eyes

have similar ideals,

sweet remains

our favorite

sky.

A Question of Authenticity

All my life,

a struggle has ensued,

when papering my walls with legal pad writings,

one after another after hours, after years,

until years later,

the wallpaper came down,

storage boxes collecting dust and shadows.

 

Someone said once,

who do you see,

what might you feel,

in a glance in the mirror

when the moment before,

you felt a single tear.

I wonder if we ever realize

when that day is near.

 

I glanced at the moon tonight,

it was profound in its full bounty,

the Hunter’s moon it is known,

to light our forests,

cause our hearts to gasp.

I wonder about this august,

seems to follow me,

on nights when

minds might

rather,

than

bay at the night sky,

feel a gasp in the wonder of

Nature.

 

I wonder about the moon and a clear night sky.

Once in a Savage Moon

It is in the city I live in, surrounded by neighbors I’d maybe wish to know better than I do, beyond the hellos, the waves, the talk of lawns and summer ending. Last night I imagined the moon and everything it brought to my mind. The rains were apparent, so I could not see it in its spectacular setting, instead, I visualized based upon the many moons I have witnessed in my life.

It matters little the overcast sky when we think about a moon, such full nature, such depth, when trying to wrap ourselves around why it is we seemingly exist on this planet, inside this solar system, our galaxy. I am not a scientist by any stretch, so I cannot speak much further than the simple analogy I learned in grade school when we all put together our own mobile solar system for Civics class in sixth grade. It might have been 1st grade, apparently matters as much to me today as it did way back when.

The absolute though is that fifty years later, I am still looking for the same moon, and counting on its appearance to let me once again wonder its spectacular vision. I have spent nights sitting on a bridge near my home watching the moon rise, and during such time wondered often what people might be doing with their lives at that very moment. I have a brother once caught me staring at a moon one evening out our family picture window. He said to me, ‘you stare at the moon too long, you become a lunatic, y’know, lunar and all that shit.’ He then walked out the room with a smile on his face. I closed the curtains. That comment haunted me for years afterward. i was twelve at the time, I didn’t know that day dreaming could be such a dangerous affliction in our lives.

But the moon always brought me back. There is no question the fascination, and what it truly does to our state of mind in the peak moments, weekend, couple of days it fills. I worked in mental health for many years, and knew the general impression a moon, without notice would have on our population, including the staff who often because they were designated as such, felt themselves better than the patients  own matter of being. I remember one day, seeing a patient of mine, discharged, walking down a city street near my home. I actually waved, and she waved back. There wasn’t this fear of revealing my private life to this person who struggled to such a point she needed other folks to help her find her way. i would imagine her take on the moon would often have a bearing on the confidence of her state of mind.

So last night, I listened to the weight of the moon. I wondered about life around me, and how people might be going about their own night, whether that globe in the sky would have any impact on how they thought about their own lives and those around them. I thought clearly i was comfortable, I had my dignity in the comfort of my own home, realizing not nearly everyone has that same luxury.

I went to bed around midnight, accepting the reality that my own Savage moon exists for everyone, far be it be only designed for my own benefit. Good night, moon.


© Thom Amundsen 2019

Reeling in Midnight’s Anxiety

Glance toward the sky

the mood,

the more I think about

the lunacy; the absurd

notions sweep

across mind’s eye

~

Guide me through the havoc,

let me at least

find a way to calm

an edgy hallowing urgency,

cross paths with my ego,

find the setting sun to be surreal.

~

Grant me one wish

while baying at the shadowed

illumination. Every participant,

each contribution

clouds, a steady breeze, night chill,

the lights of the city mean little to me tonight.

~

I felt the presence of a strange reality,

then the sky arose to speak of sanity.

Ancient Moon / Blood Moon

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We see the same

you and I,

years before

we stood today.

We wonder

similar paths

while away

our worried soul

yet out there

again

just the same

the blood red moon,

holds us all

we are together

once again,

like the time before,

and when we did,

wonder the same,

that other eon,

that passage of

rite of

historic event when

we reacted

quite the same,

miles away

in concept, dream,

hope, wonderment.

We always do

wonder with

wild abandon

when allowed

to think

beyond ourselves,

beyond an ancient moon,

a blood red moon

speaks to my soul,

your soul, theirs,

the time before,

when we would want

the same again.

Yet we still

look for more.

Tonight we did

begin again,

until the next one

asks the same,

sees the same,

wonders,

hopes,

dreams the same

under the moon.

Full Moon Solitude

There again,

distant indications

always aware above

all other aspects of reality.

Glance through windows,

presence has arrived

to perhaps cause shudder,

maybe another frame of mind,

before actually seeing the light itself.

Whole neighborhoods respond to your coming alive,

in the shadowy grace of cast marvels.

We all may wonder

as your trail wanders across the sky,

yet still when we remain and your light

travels further away,

could we recognize the same notion

exists many miles away,

as do others while the words measure on,

defining purpose again,

under the light of the moon.

Beauty’s Repose

© ester rogers

© ester rogers

***

In twilight hour

when moonlit streaks

in nighttime waves,

sudden urges mount

a heavy heart

to wonder when, maybe how,

in the brightness of day,

the change will be made.

Such round orb mentality

skewed resource of fragile

strength within the heart’s

own organic timing,

waits again for fear and indecision

purveyors of frailty.

As children our eyes

looked into the night sky

while idle threate

left themselves at our door

as magical monsters,

under our beds, safely odd.

Tonight in a lit sky

a future relevance

speaks more clearly

than a windswept morning

soon to drift past

the time of reckoned need.

The human mind,

once known as power,

now retreats home,

so we might allow

our soul to wander

quiet in beauty’s repose.