The Moon And I.

Just sitting here at Starbucks by the fireplace, totally high on coffee, and thought I would post one of my original poems tonight.
It is a dark and stormy night outside... in fact, the power just went out in here, and then BLOOP, the lights all came on again. I guess we are now on generator power.
I had a good laugh because this Starbucks is part of the larger Chapters bookstore, and just over yonder is a trio of girls, blabbing like ninety. When the darkness struck, one of them yelled, (and yelled rather loudly in the immediate silence)... "Steal all that you can!"
I'm not kidding.
So when the lights flickered back on there I was, grinning at her, and then SHE laughed.
Then I took several books out of my backpack and put them back on the shelves....
Anyhoo, truly, tonight is a night that I cannot see the moon, but I do love nights when I can.
My many years of speaking to this wonderful orb has convinced me that the linguistic connection between the word "lunar" and "lunatic" is not coincidental.
In all seriousness now, I offer you this poem I wrote, many a year ago....

The Moon And I

A quarrel in the beginning?
A final punch that sent you spinning?
Your beaten face begs to tell.
Craters, so… umbilical
as though attached to unseen tethers
remember violent birth.

Sad moon.
Flung out by a determined Hand,
and sorrowing ever since.
Forever… a rejected friend
circling the offended
and longing to be forgiven.

Lonely moon.
You punctuate the heavens
attacking darkness with borrowed light
that dances with a million partners
on this water tonight…
while you can only watch.

Patient moon.
Racing, tumbling, yet motionless
on your pedestal, waiting…
You are ripe, and
suspended from a bending branch
like a grey orange unplucked.

Valiant moon.
Never once showing your back.
Choosing stealth over sword,
you quench the flaming disk
and muzzle volcanic ragings
by simply floating into place.

Sensuous moon.
Clad only in dust, twirling
on display, and unashamed…
causing the ocean to heave and toss
and arch her back like a lover
pulling sheets from the shoreline.

Peaceful moon.
Content atop your hill of nothing
you lodge no complaint
and manage a monthly smile,
that crescent grinning
like a lime wedge on the rim of a glass.

Friendly moon.
Do you mind me tonight?
Generous moon.
I’ve again shared your light.

And if you’d only speak
about the quarrel
(the fight)
I’m sure we’d compare punches
‘till all hours of this night…

But it’s silent, so silent
and I’m wondering,
wandering
through future and past,
the present obscure,
as though I were my own ghost
orbiting a life.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2005