Though they said it was full there was no sign of the moon behind the clouds. The dog’s muzzle started to go white, we just noticed. We asked one another if they’d seen the same thing or it just happened…. Read More ›
moon poetry
The month’s last Saturday’s gift is gray
Oh for these last gray days and new moons. For Orion’s belt in the north, in the night. For our yard leaning on its side and the papery brown fronds hanging down. For the milky sun and messy watercolor blues,… Read More ›
The January moon will never be full again
Cruel slant of a moon that could be a fang or a hook, a nail, or a cat’s claw stuck to the sky, pulling it down gloating, feeding until it’s full— but the moon looks empty, full like it wants… Read More ›
Falling asleep with the candles on
Back in Germany, Eberhard was like a floor warden in his vest he was so anal about my mom burning candles in the house. The place is 500 years old and all wood, there is that, and because it gets… Read More ›
I lost myself in the craters of the moon in Scotland last November
We were always with the moon cycle it seemed. When we landed in Germany at the end of July it was a blue moon, when we left Amsterdam by ferry to Newcastle it was full again, and on our last… Read More ›
Early autumn mixer
In the morning the moon was a hook and we sat under it going down. Lily and I went birthday shopping for Charlotte intent on a guitar and a bake set but came out with a $120 giraffe. No one… Read More ›
How it looks from the inside of an Edinburgh flat while reading
The owner comes in to take measurements of the sofa bed that’s broken, apologises, says he assumed we’d be out at the museums on a day like this or seeing the town but we’re not; we’ve come all this way… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 