Today’s prompt (which you can read here) was to write about the moon. Just that. Nothing more, nothing less.
My lovely friend Anne in Ireland sent me a Moon Diary this year. It tells the old names for each month’s moon through the year. I used them to make a poem – which not surprisingly has twelve couplets.
Old moon, Quiet moon, shoulder us through;
show us how to hear the cold world waxing new.
Snow moon, Hunger moon, teach us to wait,
suck slow on thin pickings till we reach the sprung gate.
Sap moon, Worm moon, show us how to rise;
your sickle smile selects the child who dares lift their eyes.
to seek the Egg moon, Pink moon, believe in technicolour days,
plunged and dipped in blossom, ewe’s almond bellies sway.
Milk moon, Hare moon, relish birth of earth’s yields,
box for joy; commit to buck’s brave dash across the fields.
Strawberry moon, Honey moon, every day can be a feast;
all familiarity with fallow forgotten, each fruit squeezed.
Hay moon, Mead moon, spliced sweetness in the air
that plaits silk into our breath at last; we bottle-snare our cares.
Grain moon, Thunder moon, corn as tall as tall can fold
if stormed; tell us, urgently, will we grow the land gold?
Harvest moon, Fruit moon, sore arms, full barns and jars;
pain and pleasure of preparedness, creating stores and wares.
Badger’s moon, Blackberry moon, dark syrups to collect;
the day draws the short straw, beasts burrow; we need to make our nests.
Frost moon, Dark moon, nights eye is wide from four;
roll paper in the cracks, pin up tapestries on the door.
Cold moon, Oak moon, you shiver round again;
lay us down to dreamless sleep to wait the new year in again.