This past week, we had experienced the phenomenon of what’s called the Supermoon/Blood Moon. Moon gazers came out to try and witness Mother Nature’s show. And we were all looking up at the same moon. In a sense we were connected.

This week we’re writing to the moon and back. Actually, we’re writing with the title “UNDER THE MOON OF_________________”. Fill in the blank and write it!

Give the moon qualities related to something or someone else. Some examples: Under the Moon of Capricorn, Under the Moon of Reason, Under the Moon Pie Sky, Under the Moon of Chocolate Confections… You get it. So give it a go and shoot the moon!


Beneath the Moon of God’s Choosing

In the midst of war
(and there is always a war)
lies grim misjudging.
Fear of difference.
Insatiable greed for land.
Resolute loathing.
Dire false impressions.
Grave miscommunications.

And a common moon.

And beneath that moon,
in God’s perfect alignment,
is home to us all.
We’ve food and water
(if only we’d gladly share),
great plains and mountains,
celebrated seas
with unfathomably large
communal mammals.
With microscopic
yet astoundingly complex
sentient beings.
Sands God has numbered
stay in place as our home spins,
not spilling a drop
of the vast waters
that both adorn and provide,
beautify and quench.

And though we do not
tend to her needs (let alone
the needs of “others”),
God gave us this home
brilliantly placed beneath the
moon of His choosing,
populated with
children He chooses to love.
(There are no “others.”}

© Marie Elena Good, 2021



I can see you in the distance
and I take the chance to dance 
with you in silhouette without regret.
The moonlight illuminates, it waits
for you to take your stance
in these arms of tender caress.
No need to confess our intent,
we have sent it packing 
for it was lacking any fault of misdeed.
This could lead to something more.
What the evening holds is the dream
of me holding you again, and then
I will lean in close and on the heated breath
of longing, breathe sweet somethings or nothings,
anything that will make you return to my arms
nightly. In the sight of the stars, you will quiver,
and I will deliver every nuance in advance. 
They can see us in the distance,
taking this chance to do our dance
under the moon of whispered desires.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2021

270 thoughts on “PROMPT #336 – UNDER THE MOON

  1. I love love love the moon.. I Loved your take on the moon… you are individually marvelous…


    There’s only one exalted moon,
    but there are many years.

    Their extent resides in the midst
    of elongated wrinkled flesh.

    Through the lengthy tunnel of life,
    folded over and over again.

    As if in an constant turn,
    agitating, rotating within a washing machine.

    That purifies clean precious moments
    from the foreign particles of dross.

    Many attempt to wash away
    the precious furrows in their life.

    Those who do not mourn
    the loss of calculated time.

    In a poor attempt to strip away
    the undesirable for a sense of vain beauty.

    But they don’t yet understand,
    the duty—of the folds.

    For they hold the key of time,
    the carriage of the experience of life.

    For they greatly exemplify
    the wisdom of one’s living.

    It is the slow accumulation—
    giving us wise years over time.

    That resonate in the manifold
    furrows of wrinkled majesty.

    Like the glorious tasting
    of vintage aged wines.

    They are the wrinkles of time
    spent here on the earth.

    Some bear them in shame—
    like old dishonorable worthless rags.

    Others embrace the esteemed dress,
    as a sign of being blessed in high dignity.

    For the yoke of time tends to folds in on itself,
    over and over and over again.

    For no one can genuinely win the race,
    or outpace the one called—Father Time.

    Yet the savor of folds and wrinkles,
    exhibit how many years we’ve been running.

    Benjamin Thomas

  3. Under the Moon of My Youth

    Carefree days,
    nights with no worries.
    We danced with
    while the moon kept watch over
    innocence of youth.

  4. Hallmark Love

    We’re growing older, as we should,
    married more than 50 years now,
    but it doesn’t mean in geezerhood
    we’ve lost any of our amazing wow.
    We’ve seen too many tropical moons,
    experienced several sleepy lagoons,
    yet there’s no less love, none that we lack,
    and we still love each other to the moon and back.


    I watched the waves come from the sea
    as though enticing me
    to spend the balance of my days
    among hulas and leis
    beneath the palms and on the sands
    while lovely hula hands
    tell stories of the evermore
    when grace meant Dorothy Lamour.

    Some might like to hear this:

  6. Marie, your piece is wonderful, and the last line recalls for me a spiritual, “The Gospel Train,” in which one line is “no difference in the fare.”

  7. Walt, your poem again shows that you’re peerless in your ability to use internal rhyming to create images.


    Under the moon of a clean crystal sky,
    lie the lives of men, women, and child.

    Moving, roving about, to and fro,
    back and forth, but what they do not know—
    is that they’re lives are under the observation
    of the one that created them.

    Him who dwells far above the crystal expanse.
    The one who is seeking to romance fallen humanity.
    The one who bought them at the price of his own blood.

    His eyes descend down below to observe
    the lives of men, women, and child.

    To observe the wild, haughtiness of the nations,
    to rule those who rule as lords among men.

    His eyes are running to and fro, back and forth,
    roving about seeking the lost.

    Benjamin Thomas

  9. Under the Moon of Poetry

    Amidst the meter and the rhyme
    Amidst the lines and the verses
    Amongst the poets of our time
    Come the blessing and the curses
    From the cradles to the hearses
    Stirred up in creativity
    Some wonderment it disperses
    Under the moon of poetry

    Those who marvel in mere wording
    Unite together with intrigue
    Spotting wonders like they’re birding
    Cheering each other in their league
    Somehow erasing all fatigue
    Fervent fans of hyperbole
    Enthusiastic for the gig
    Under the moon of poetry

    Tears and laughter they are sharing
    Tribulations, wisdom and grace
    Persevering not despairing
    Painting with words at their own pace
    Life complexities face to face
    With honesty the master key
    Attune to person, time and place
    Under the moon of poetry

    Poeming for challenge and for fun
    Gathered in mutuality
    In this, they feel that they have won
    Under the moon of poetry


  10. Under the Moon I Lay…

    My vision was deficient;
    I learned early to fake the eye tests
    The school gave each year…
    I saw few stars.
    Barely could read the blackboard,
    But I didn’t want glasses.
    I was twelve when I got them…

    But when I was eight, we lived on a river.
    At night when I went to bed,
    I opened the window,
    When the moon was out,
    And pulled my pillow
    Out to watch the moon
    Even when the snow laid
    Crisp on the ground
    And glowed in its light.
    I would fall asleep,
    Watching the moon
    To the lullaby sung by the river.
    In the morning I would be warm in my bed,
    And the window would be closed.
    No one ever told me not to do it…
    They let me fall asleep to the moon…

    Years later after my father was gone,
    I found something he wrote
    About how he slept when they lived in tents…
    When he was eight, and
    Pulled his cot out on moonlit nights
    To watch the moon
    Follow its ancient path
    Across the sky…
    And missed again
    How much we were alike.

    I always felt it was him
    That put me back properly
    Into my bed…
    And told my mother not to fuss,
    For he watched the moon,
    When he was a boy of eight, and
    Probably smiled that his daughter
    Had did the same.

    If I could have a house
    Any where I wanted,
    It would be in a hollow,
    Where a brook came babbling down,
    And the moon took its path,
    Over where I would sleep,
    And I would watch it again,
    And have the water lull me to sleep.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    May 30, 2021


    It never seems to be a bore;
    between the open expanse of rampant skies,
    and the tumultuous counterpart of sizzling seas.

    Her endearing winds flow and tease, disheveled
    waves—his crazed moods a maze crashing about.

    She persistently prays to understand
    the erratic manner of his changing tides.

    But she doesn’t realize his need to skate the surface,
    knowing his depths run into the abyss.

    Yet she’d be remiss if she didn’t confess—
    her need to kiss the swell of seas.

    Craving to possess the rising crest of teal lips,
    and seize a flurry of teal blue kisses.

    He feels the hawking condemnation
    of not being completely transparent waters.

    The shallowness of his reluctance,
    from the breaking of waves to his sunken treasures.

    He seeks to gauge the displeasure of her flaky countenance,
    to know the flow of her cumulus clouds.

    To absorb the radiant warmth of her valiance of sun,
    and take the brunt of her cold, grey shoulder.

    But his love for her is without measure,
    for she is the azure wonder of the ocean of the sky.

    For the conversation is never over,
    the twin-teal titans of the sea and sky—
    continue under the curious guidance of the moon.

    Benjamin Thomas

  12. Under the Misunderstood Moon

    Can you imagine if the moon you see
    For too long it’ll give you lunacy
    What total bunk this has proven to be
    ‘Cause lunacy comes naturally to me

    And what’s this about a ball of cheese
    Just what kind of cheese would the moon be
    Swiss, Blue Cheese, Pepper Jack or Brie
    In truth, it’s all just bunk to me

    Blue moon, blood moon, pink, white or red
    And that face that makes it look like a head
    So many weird things ‘bout the moon has been said
    It’s just a moon, so don’t be mislead

    We’ve been there you know more than a few
    One after another the Apollo crews flew
    ‘Cept for 13, ‘cause an oxygen line blew
    How I wish we’d send up a moon return crew

  13. Under the Moon of a Friend

    We’d watch the moon travel across the sky,
    making wishes on stars scatted across the night,
    singing the songs of teenage angst played on the radio.
    It was the age of Aquarius and we were left behind
    sitting on a porch in our small hometown.
    But our dreams were the same as the girls we’d never met,
    And our hopes were the universal hopes of youth.
    Tonight I look up at the moon, large and clear, shining
    on each of us, in different places, uniting us forever from a distance.

  14. Under the Moon of Dreams Come True

    Under the moon of dreams come true
    you can stand when the moon is full.
    Gaze ’til a face appears to you,
    under the moon of dreams come true.
    If you chance upon one that’s blue
    your dreams will happen on schedule.
    Under the moon of dreams come true
    you can stand when the moon is full.

  15. Under the Super Flower-Blood Moon

    She meets up again over violets and orchids
    bathed in fragrance and rose gold light
    the three of them huddled by the French doors
    where she has a standing reservation
    opening onto tiers of shelves holding plants
    more stepping down the outside staircase
    aglow with this borrowed light from
    a long-set sun shining now over Africa
    its waving savannahs, sparkling on canals
    in Venice, dimpling Egypt’s Nile

    music washes over her notes spilling from throats
    of dueling mockingbirds as she watches
    the play of moonbeams patterning her bare feet
    reaches out as if to gather the shafts of light
    into her blue veined hands almost translucent
    now even her body grown thin through
    so many nights spent on these two a.m.’s
    when she awakens out of habit to hold forth
    in this companionable silence even as she presses
    her fingers against the glass before touching
    them to her lips tasting sun flower blood moon
    in a single drop holding the tang of ocean
    that surprises her night after night when
    she knows again the salt of it all and tells herself
    it can’t have been a tear.


    The ascension of the night-glow of the moon
    teases a yawning and blushing sun.

    Her tender light trickles have begun—
    a lingering sunset.

    She only pretends to slumber,
    yet never forgets—to rise another day.

    The evening shift of moonlight is strewn,
    and displayed across sunset teases.

    Enlivening the grey-born shadows
    that lay tricks before betraying eyes.

    The night creatures praise and rise,
    stalk in disguise of another light.

    A horde of bats and fowl of the night
    roam freely teasing the friends of the day.

    A gathering symphony of crickets
    strike the silence with resilient song.

    The creeping things creep,
    all night long— along with slithering kind.

    But they all keep in mind, this one thing;
    that all the teases and tricks will come to an end.

    Benjamin Thomas

  17. Walking on the Dark Side of the Moon…

    When the new moon floats in the sky…
    I see a shadow of where it is…
    Just like I am standing on its dark side…

    Been walking on the dark side of the moon…
    My heart is leaden and the weight
    Keeps me from the light side of the moon.

    There is nothing I can do,
    But keep walking towards my grave…
    Just knowing I make it to the light side.

    They say it is not my burden,
    But love says that it is,
    All I have is my prayers and the steps I make…

    I am walking on the dark side of the moon,
    And my tears blind me, and I stumbled,
    But I keep on walking and praying.

    Too many people walking here with me.
    I pass them all the time, and
    Their hearts are carrying chains binding them.

    Too many people think this life is all we got.
    Too many people think they have a right…
    The only right we have here is to give more than we get.

    I look up at the new moon,
    A shadow in the sky,
    But that light will come again.

    But until then I will keep on walking,
    Saying my prayers
    While on the dark side of the moon.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    May 30, 2021


    Under the moon of an arresting peace,
    things lie at ease. Under the steady blast
    of silver linked lights.

    They brutally fight off the rolling darkness
    of draining moods, and dank cellar-thoughts

    The neighboring stars
    bear witness to the testimony
    of her calming faithfulness.

    The neighboring stars
    join in—and offer their light
    from afar.

    Benjamin Thomas

  19. This is dedicated to those who lost their lives in the Tulsa massacre 100 years ago. R.I.P.


    The night lamp hung tight;
    the yellowy vibrant glow
    of suspended moon-rock
    riding the night skies—

    Casts no light of its own,
    yet it owns the sure fire ways
    of blazing sun.

    Its shining is resolute,
    bearing witness to and exposing
    the sins of those who shed blood.

    She tearfully remembers—
    the dark deeds of those
    are written on her eyes.

    Her moonlit tears,
    streaming down are wet with grief;
    pondering the voices of those
    who cry out to her.

    She knows them by name,
    their escaping last sighs, and the heart wrenching
    cries of orphaned lost children.

    Her light danced across
    their little faces—but they would no longer
    see the faces of loved ones.

    But of strangers,
    they would come to know
    the face of bitterness,
    and the countenance of death.

    The night-lamp held her breath,
    taking in the harrowing
    account of lives lost.

    She always sees—
    the nightseer, and always delivers
    the hushed misdeeds of the spoken night.

    Because there’s still,
    an inflamed material witness
    when they turn their back
    on the way of the light.

    Even though they may move
    about in the darkness—
    no one can escape the revealing eye
    of the open moon.

    Benjamin Thomas


    I wagered my money on a ramble,
    but the gambol
    proved that I, like other poor sods,
    couldn’t beat odds
    stacked against me in massed array;
    in my dismay
    and anger I bet the farm, and hence,
    I had no pence.


    Comes a path to the sea,
    Its as if the trees, part
    Except for their perfected silhouettes
    As the full moon’s subtle demands
    Take her shine out of the shadows,
    Showing the world her heavenly show
    Even the black crabs,
    Standing still on black lava rocks,
    Have no place to hide,
    Lovers cannot escape her glow,
    As they come out in droves,
    Basking in her romantic light,
    A sight only they savor just so,
    Children playing hide and seek,
    Don’t need to peek,
    She will guide their find,
    Even the tides,
    Will rise and fall,
    As is their frothy call,
    And if there is something we cannot see,
    Just give her time,
    She’ll reveal it all,
    A pulse,
    A vibration,
    A secret love,
    Not quite out in the open yet,
    Clearly on their way,
    We must,
    Trust her shine,
    She knows the path forward,
    And the way back,
    Her cycles speak of life,
    They are the way,
    We track our own cycles,
    All her phases are ours, too,
    When she shines,
    As she shines,
    We should not hesitate,
    With our light,
    Because it is never too late,
    To illuminate,
    Emerging out of the shadows,
    Becoming whole and full,
    Like the moon of illumination,
    Once more

    (c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2021


    There once was a bee named Bea,
    Obvious how her name came to be,
    She flew through the flowers,
    For many, many hours,
    The true Bea buzz there was to see.


    There once was a bug named June,
    She wondered outside too soon,
    Looking for a certain guy,
    Not planning to be shy,
    Just wanting a warm sand dune.


    There once was a wandering firefly,
    Whose light would not let him fly,
    Way too heavy to carry,
    Bugs made fun of Larry,
    But at night, his light lit the sky.


    There once was an intelligent grasshopper,
    Who was an incredibly wise food shopper,
    He knew just what to select,
    And what to quickly reject,
    When his sister took over, he’d bop her!


    There once was a leggy, black spider,
    Whose given birth name was Synder,
    As the days got colder,
    He became much bolder,
    Instead of crawling, he became a glider,


    There once was a beetle named Honey,
    She hardly ever found anything funny,
    Until she found a beetle mate,
    A handsome youngster named Nate,
    Whose nature was light and sunny!

    (c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2021

  23. Under the Moon Lit Sky

    Under the moon lit sky
    Row upon row of marble slabs stand
    Each bearing the name of one fallen
    Lost in the defense of our great land

    Under the moon lit sky
    Each night after the gates are locked tight
    I wonder if these souls wander about
    Exchanging stories of their final fight

    Under the moon lit sky
    Shining down on the places they lay
    They lived and they died for freedom
    We owe them all a debt we can’t pay


    Angels come to watch
    two whom love had made a match,
    under the moon in their celestial sky.
    They would spy with their Angel eyes
    to see what true love does to hearts
    from the beginning when the loving starts.
    The two, unaware the night was watching
    kept matching each other kiss for kiss,
    embrace for each heated embrace.
    And in case they didn’t see, the two
    were you and me and together we came
    to this spot on the hot sand,
    a grand and passionate time.
    And I’m sure you could feel it from over there,
    to share that moment, that closeness
    happily ever after despite tears
    and laughter, our hearts will know
    as it has all ways known under the moon
    in the celestial sky!

  25. Under the Winter Moon…

    The young man was taken from his home,
    And tied behind a horse to follow the men in white
    To the hanging tree. His mother screamed out his name,
    And he clung to that sound, wanting her voice
    To be the last thought in his mind…
    As they reached the top of the hill…
    She wailed to the full moon,
    “Oh, Lord, don’t let them kill my son.”
    Those men, who thought they were right,
    Those men, who felt only hate,
    Those men didn’t listen to her pain
    Because to do such a deed
    Their hearts had to be hard
    As granite rocks used for tombstones.

    What was his sin,
    The young man did not know.
    He wondered if it was when he helped
    The young white woman change her tire,
    Or was it when he spoke without looking down.
    It was hard to keep the rules straight,
    When they changed all the time.
    It must have been the time he drank
    From the white’s only water fountain
    But that was last summer
    When he was warned when he was thrashed.
    He knew his family would not come to rescue him.
    No white person either, because if they did that
    They would be outcast because the men in white
    Kept tabs on everyone. His family would come
    And cut him down, and bury him in the church graveyard.

    They stopped beneath the hanging tree
    For he wasn’t the first hung here.
    He looked up at the winter moon
    Against the cold dark sky,
    He felt the air was heavy
    And knew a snow was coming.
    He hoped his little brother
    Would bring wood into the house
    For their Mama to use in her cook stove.
    He kept his eyes on that moon,
    And wondered if he would see it up close
    As he made his way to heaven.
    The men roughly put him on the horse,
    And one man read out what he had done.
    It was a kind act of changing a tire,
    For that white girl, and telling her,
    Which way to the main road.
    The rope itched his neck,
    And he just kept looking at the winter moon.
    He felt his body jerk, and
    As he left, he kept the sight of that winter moon
    With him, and whispered to the air,
    “Mama, I am going home.”

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    May 31, 2021


    Two hearts afloat upon love’s endless sea,
    bobbing free in currents of emotion.
    There is no lake or ocean can compare
    to the freedom there. Two hearts float in love.

    Above is an endless sky moonlit and clear.
    Hearts navigate by their chart position,
    a condition driven by the love shared.
    They are spared rough tides; they ride the current.

    The rough torrent cannot put them under,
    it’s a wonder love keeps their heads above
    water. They ought to thank their lucky stars,
    a rising tide raises all ships.

    Hearts at sea are free to be. Their journey
    can lead them to distant shores and much more!

  27. Under the Summer Moon

    When the world seemed young and new,
    We would gather to play tag
    Under the summer moon that guarded us…

    We would catch lightening bugs,
    Put them in a jar just to watch their magic,
    And when we fell asleep my mother would set them free.

    Our dreams would be laughing,
    Under the summer sun…
    And I would wake up grouchy.

    But as the sky turned from blue
    To twilight lavender, we would
    Wait for the kids to gather, and play tag…

    It was an old-fashion kind of life.
    Television was for dancing to Lawrence Welk music,
    For I was taught to polka when I was small.

    As I gaze at the summer moon,
    I wait for the first glimpse of lightening bugs,
    And know that once those nights were enchanted.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    June 1, 2021


    Under the moon…

    The heir of night escapades—the watchman,
    are gathered jeweled moments most precious.

    The black and white avenues, the evening
    dishes of moonlight; serving up a dimmed brillance, a torrid hunger lies for a partial covering.

    The enticing brisk touches from the night-light of the lensman—freelancing in the twilight.

    The night captures with artful skill—
    frame by frame, still images of the most intimate moments.

    Frozen, and captured timeless—
    lathered in the spirit moon bright beams.

    We see life as what it seems—to be
    under the seeking aspirations of the light,
    and subtle variation of cunning shadows.

    But nothing is completely shadowed
    under the night tresses.

    For it addresses a partial revelation
    of things concealed.

    The precious still moments,
    are always revealed—to the lensman.

    Benjamin Thomas

  29. Under the Spring Moon…

    The morning had a light rain,
    And the earth still smelled fresh,
    And the new leaves were still soft cloth
    And light green…and as the evening passed
    Into the night with the flowers were blooming.
    The honeysuckle filled the air with incense;
    The magnolia’s bombed the air with their fragrant lace,
    For the moths to find their flowers.
    The moon sauntered through the dark night
    Shedding her light on the land,
    And the light green leaves became black lace
    Against a deep purple sky.
    The owl called to his lady
    To come out and share dinner with him,
    And I looked at the moon
    That shined over those I love,
    And I prayed they felt the peace
    Which flooded me this night.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    June 2, 2021

  30. Under the Autumn Moon…

    As I walk through the last of my autumn days,
    I know what I want to be.

    I want to look to the moon,
    And gaze in wonder as I did as a child…

    I want to be crisp as the air is on an autumn night
    And brilliant as the stars that glow in that sky.

    I want to be colorful like the leaves are
    Before they fall to their grave.

    I want to dance as the leaves
    Fall in the breeze on under the autumn moon.

    I want my dresses to rustle
    As the wind does when dressed in autumn’s leaves.

    I want to walk under the autumn moon
    In deep wonder with someone I fancy.

    I want to laugh with the creatures
    Who wander this earth.

    I want to be who I am now,
    And not the person I was in the Spring days of my life.

    For despite what the world says,
    These as the best days of my life.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    June 2, 2021

  31. I want to apologize…I got some heartbreaking news the end of last week, and have been trying to figure out how I can help, and the answer was only to pray, but because of this… I have not had the emotional energy to read what I know is lovely poetry… I will try to read it tomorrow…


    The great symphony of sound can be heard;
    the gentle cast moonlight of the night conductor
    is underway.

    The invisible smooth swaying of wayward winds,
    the constant roil and toil of blue sea waters.

    There is a grand symphony at the open sea,
    whose wind instruments never stay silent.

    The slow rustle and bustle of leaves through the trees,
    leaves the impression of a company of skilled violinists.

    Whose dapper sound cuts through the military green forest,
    an army of trees standing at attention, or standing ovation.

    The nocturnal symphony of coconut brown barred owl,
    the varied howl and yipping of bands of coyote.

    The delightful sounds skipping and leaping upon the hills,
    bowing and rolling deep into the valley.

    The steady stream of cricket’s mating song,
    a stately sound of brass instruments in their courtship call.

    There is a grand symphony held in the open land,
    its harmonic sound is the timely demand—
    of the night conductor.

    Benjamin Thomas


    sun and moon
    meet at midnight ~
    star-crossed love

    ** I’ll post to my blog later with the photo that inspired this one.

  34. Under the Moon Did He Wonder as He Wandered…

    I have read His life story
    In red and in black…
    I have studied it
    And debated the meaning
    Of the words He said…
    But no where does it speak
    Of how He wondered.

    I see many things still in wonder
    Like a child seeing the earth fresh new.
    Sixty-nine years ago, I was soon to begin
    But not yet born,
    And yet I still see the wonder
    In the stars, and the moon,
    And want to take more roads
    I haven’t yet taken.
    And I wonder about Him
    Who reached into the raging storm
    Of the sea that was my life,
    And pulled me out of that surging,
    Turbulent, ship-cracking waves
    To place me on dry but rocky ground.

    I wonder if when He was sleeping
    With a rock for a pillow
    As He wander this earth,
    Did he get up in the night and
    Glance in wonder at the moon
    His father’s hands had created?
    He could have given His son a palace,
    But knew that the souls within human beings
    Would have worship the wealth,
    And danced in abandon
    Wanting to sell Him
    The things he already owned.
    His father wanted them to see those souls,
    And to see how far into darkness
    They had fallen. Into a night
    That has no stars or moon
    For light doesn’t exist there.
    His Father knew His Son
    Had to walk this earth homeless,
    And had to be broken
    For them to see beyond their vanity.

    But still I wonder,
    Did He look at the moon,
    In wonder at the mysterious moon?
    The rock that floats in atmosphere
    Caught between our earth’s gravity, and
    The pull of the sun…
    Which makes the tides
    Ebb and flow upon the many shores
    Of the earth that He walked.
    Did those late night moments
    Of communion with His Father
    Give Him strength to face the next day?
    Did He pray that night he cursed the fig tree,
    And to say that His anger got away from Him?
    Did His Father empathize that it was a lesson
    We all need to understand?
    Did He understand? For I am still
    Mulling over that one thing
    And under the moon when it is a crescent
    I have asked, why was that important
    For us to know.

    I wonder also because I am a lover of the night,
    If when I cross through the veil
    Will the moon be even more glorious, and
    The stars shine in colors we have not seen
    While we walk upon this earth.

    I like to think that late at night,
    When the others had fallen asleep
    He had quiet talks with His Father
    And told Him that the moon
    Which does nothing but make the night
    Filled with exquisite light
    To make all those human souls
    Look in wonder at some small moment
    In their life and knowing that a big round rock
    Can be more if light is shown upon it.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    June 3, 2021

      • Benjamin, back in 2008- 2009 I lost 12 very important people and one very favorite cat… I had trouble grieving all those people… so starting in 2010 I put together a book I call, “the Time I did not Dance” but it is not purely poetry… it is also essays… and it is my journey thru the stages of grief…it it how I began to get back to my life…It is about 90 pages long…

  35. Pingback: Under the Moon of Summer Solstice | echoes from the silence

  36. Under the Moon of Wonder

    We have stood in the dark
    searching for Mr. Moon.
    Young hand in old,
    and truth be told,
    You were looking to delay,
    and I was searching for a way
    to share a bedtime ritual.

    I know the years go by too fast.
    These precious moments can not last.
    Time can not stand still.
    It never will,
    despite one’s fondest wish.

    So now,
    when I see the moon,
    that shining sphere,
    I wonder
    will I still be here
    after I’m gone,
    at that hour long before dawn,
    residing in your eyes
    as you gaze up at dark skies
    to find Mr. Moon.

  37. Under the Moon Rode Stormy Soldiers….

    The moon smoothly moves in near stillness
    Across the sky, and there is peace
    Surrounding it, but blocking its light
    Is the stormy soldiers bombing the air
    With sound of thunder and
    Casting its fire power to the earth,
    And I cannot see the moon…

    I see only the storm,
    Surrounding my home, and threatening me.
    I don’t take the threats seriously,
    Which must make the storm troopers angry,
    For the blast the night again and again.

    But I know the moon is out there-
    Just like I know the sun is shining on the other side
    From where I am standing.
    They do not disappear
    Because I cannot see them.
    It is faith in the knowledge
    That they are there.

    There are storms raging in my life.
    I wish they would quieten,
    But they are here, and I am weary…
    Until I travel beyond the storms
    And reach that place of stillness
    And simply have faith
    That what many deny
    Is there deep in the stillness
    Calming the waters,
    And stilling the storm
    Until it breaks,
    And there is the moon’s gentle moonbeams
    Floating in the vapors of the storm to the forest floor.

    For now, I see only the storms,
    But I know the moon exists,
    And I know I will see it again.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    June 3, 2021


    The presence of the moon
    is the same throughout the ages of men.

    It stands tall regardless of circumstance,
    over and over again.

    Withstanding epic battles of bloodshed,
    of hostile nations taking up the sword.

    Enduring the pain of natural disasters,
    hearing the slow ache of earth over the years.

    Recording the dreadful fears of dying men,
    of soldiers and peasants, knights and kings.

    If it could speak its mind or testify the truth,
    what verse or stanza would it sing?

    The presence of the moon
    remains the same throughout the pages of men.

    It is the land’s greatest and brightest historian,
    writing over and over again.

    Benjamin Thomas


    An anxious moon dripped night
    upon the landscape.

    Pouring a disarming shade of moonlight,
    known only to its evening guests.

    Serving up the best red auburn wines—
    of the lunar blood moon.

    Benjamin Thomas


    Peeking over the horizon.
    Squinting at parting sunset.
    A slow reveal of cratered moon.
    His dimples were on full display.
    The rock finally comes out to play.

    Dipping in and out of clouds.
    His shy light was never too loud,
    but inviting and soft,
    offering the gift of night.

    Benjamin Thomas

  41. Under a Wishful Moon

    Sun sinks on
    distant horizon,
    crickets chirp
    The dreams of today rest be-
    neath a wishful moon.

    **This will be posted on my blog with the photo that inspired it.

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  43. Under the Moon…

    We walked many a mile
    Through Due West…
    The place our college was located.

    We would go to the library and
    Take our books back to the dorm,
    And then go shoot pool,

    But we still had an hour or two
    Left to discuss
    The great issues of the day…

    Who had caught our eye, or
    What exam worried us,
    And sometimes Vietnam…

    Which seemed far away,
    But yet in our back door.
    The news reported how many had died that day.

    Never how many Vietnamese had died…
    Just those that belonged to us,
    And back then that seemed okay,

    But it wasn’t for they were living their lives,
    As we were living ours, and
    Our back doors faced each other…

    But on these walks,
    Under the moonlight. Life…
    Seem so innocent…

    But life has challenged us both
    And broke us and
    Grew us into the women we are…

    I miss those nights sometimes,
    And wished we could take a walk
    Down some small town street just to talk…

    And laugh about our days,
    And our worries,
    About who we loved…

    And as we bounded out of the dark
    Into the light of a building…
    We would laugh that for a moment we were young once more.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    June 4, 2021

    For my dear friend Sandra Hedrick Pelt
    My former pool shooting buddy…but still my friend.

  44. Elegiac moon (first draft)

    With smoke and groans the truck arrives and coughs a spray of air
    The driver nods, my fathers helps unload the Frigidaire

    A scalpel wounds the cardboard skin, the ivory beast exposed
    My gazing eyes grow round with hope as I watch the box disposed

    I seize upon that tawny shroud, my body now her contents
    The darkness hides the world around against all sounds and scents.

    As eyes adjust to my newfound world, reality I hide
    with all shut out, one tiny hole betrays the world outside.

    That speck of light, elegiac moon against the coal black sky
    attracts my eye, arrests my soul, forbidding hope to die.

    It was God who made two great lights to rule o’er day and night
    To reflect the sun, lieutenant moon serves as his sole delight.

    In lamenting cries night’s prefect calls “This darkness do not love”
    “Look through me, see the Son, and everything above.”

    Obediently I press my eye up to that opening,
    Where Glory reigns beyond the dark, revealing everything.

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