These three poems were part of a pandemic sanity project. There is a very old, very large tree outside my window. The moon was prominent April 6-8, 2020.
Transfiguration
Moon Mother, guardian of night’s mystery,
Softly awaits dawn’s transfiguring glory.
Recasting despair into light, languor into curiosity,
Moon Mother entices a metamorphosis.
Barren branches become a web of celestial magic.
Angry Tree’s big boned branches reach high into the heavens,
Catching the holy spirit of a newborn Warrior Tree,
At last, donning his coat of verdant spring finery,
He guards the pregnant pines below, while
Tree maidens swish flowery skirts upon the breeze.
Pas de deux
In a bold pas de deux,
Mother Moon spiritedly counters Warrior Tree,
Their dance emboldens dawn’s rising,
Cloaking them in a halo of golden-white mist,
In time of trial, Mother Moon waits in the predawn
Pointing the wayward soul seekers home.
Dark clouds threaten to obscure her brightness,
But surrender to Her rise and move away.
Halos of light diffuse outward becoming mere wisps.
She counters and slips lower into the western sky.
As her brother rises on the eastern horizon,
The Universe transposes the Moon’s song into Sun.
Waning
Power Moon rises freely in the sky,
challenging the sun in its brightness.
Cool breezes presage hot days.
Birds twitter, salmon clouds hover where earth and sky meet.
Energy waning, she dances among wisps of rose and gray.
Day is borne into a full, new-dawn blush.