New Moon

Hey everybody! Things are finally starting to level out for me again.  I've been lurking around, dropping in on some of the other blogs (see sidebar →) once in a while.  I can't wait to go through the backlog and binge-read all the posts I've missed.  

Tonight is the last New Moon of 2023.  It marks a time of renewal and fresh starts!  For me, it marks the end of a very stressful (and very long) period of time. And boy am I ready for a clean slate.

I want to give another huge "thank you" to everyone who reads the blog and supports me and my work! I hope your post-Halloween season has been less stressful than mine!

Here's to fresh starts!

At Close of Day, by Maxfield Parrish, circa 1941

Moonache

This chamber feels most familiar
When it's shadow-clad and hollow.
I have such space to feel and fear,
And fearlessly may wallow.

Assuredly, the Moon is out.
Her heavy song my ears do bear
From pallid lips. I have no doubt:
Celestial is the song I hear.

While luminous her words may be,
(Though spoken by some delphic tongue)
Her visage is obscured from me
And no light hath she brung

Might brumous vapors cloud my view?
Or is my blindness nothing less
Than benighted beating sinew
About to fray from passion's stress?

Yet though I miss the lunar beams
That once so nobly split the dark,
Succor flows anew from dreams
Where moonlight is afraid to lurk

A Yorkshire Lane in November, by John Atkinson Grimshaw, 1873

I wrote this poem last night during a thunderstorm.  Inspiration struck unexpectedly (insert lightning-metaphor here) and I'm quite proud of the result.  

Thank you for reading 🖤

Listening to: rises the moon

Days seem sometimes as if they'll never end

Sun digs its heels to taunt you

But after sunlit days, one thing stays the same

Rises the moon

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Remeniscence

"Man, I love Halloween.  It's the most incredible and bizarre holiday.  Strangers visit strangers for candy, and hopefully a scare.  We mock death by putting out fake tombstones and corpses.  We hang ghosts and witches and fake spider webs.  We hollow out pumpkins to greet our guests with flickering features.  We create tiny worlds on our lawns and porches.  And we laugh when we hear the screams.  And the screams always turn into laughs."

-Pumpkinrot

Wschód Księżyca (Moonrise)

Stanisław Masłowski, oil on canvas, 1884

Image courtesy of Wikipedia Commons