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How to Accompany The Moon Without Walking

Harsh, harsh, the maram grass on the salt dune,
seen by the cricket’s eye against the harbor moon,
anchor-frost and seaward, the lighthouse moon—

the bellbuoy-beating moon, the tiderip bronze
ringing above deep channels and old bones,
the hawsehole moon, where blood and money runs—

foremast and mainmast moon, up harbor still,
island and smokestack moon, and the wind-spill
falling from the sail-throat for the moon to fill—

up harbor, the old wharf moon, the capstan moon,
and round it the capstan bars, the heeling tune,
India Wharf, we'll bring you to Rio soon—

the shipyard moon, the grain-elevator moon,
derrick and gantry, and the turbine croon
sweet under seafoam as a bird in June—

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poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Moon poems

1
sometimes I wish
dear moon
sometimes I wish
the earth had five moons
and all so positioned
we can see
one every night and then in twos and in threes
never four (just so for mystery’s sake)
and then all five
all in perfect alignment once a year
just three nights so
and then we’ll all here on earth
go ga ga ga
or moo moo moo looooney
those nights and go crazy
and climb up trees and enact our ape ancestry …

and don’t you be jealous
I asked for four others;

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poem by Raj Arumugam
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Good-By To The Cradle

GOOD-BY to the cradle, the dear wooden cradle,
The rude hand of Progress has thrust it aside:
No more to its motion, o'er Sleep's fairy ocean,
Our play-weary wayfarers peacefully glide;
No more by the rhythm of slow-moving rocker
Their sweet, dreamy fancies are fostered and fed;
No more to low singing the cradle goes swinging--
The child of this era is put into bed!
Good-by to the cradle, the dear wooden cradle,--
It lent to the twilight a mystical charm:
When bees left the clover, when playtime was over,
How safe seemed this shelter from danger and harm;
How soft seemed the pillow, how distant the ceiling,
How weird were the voices that whispered around;
What dreams would come flocking as, rocking and rocking,
We floated away into slumber profound.
Good-by to the cradle, the old wooden cradle,
The babe of the day does not know it by sight;
When day leaves the border, with system and order
The child goes to bed, and we put out the light.

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poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Old Wooden Cradle

Good-bye to the cradle, the dear wooden cradle
The rude hand of Progress has thrust it aside.
No more to its motion o’er sleep’s fairy ocean,
Our play-weary wayfarers peacefully glide.

No more by the rhythm of slow-moving rocker,
Their sweet dreamy fancies are fostered and fed;
No more to low singing the cradle goes swinging –
The child of this era is put into bed.

Good-bye to the cradle, the dear wooden cradle,
It lent to the twilight a strange, subtle charm;
When bees left the clover, when play-time was over,
How safe seemed this shelter from danger or harm.

How soft seemed the pillow, how distant the ceiling,
How weird were the voices that whispered around,
What dreams would come flocking, as rocking and rocking,
We floated away into slumber profound.

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poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Moon I possessed

The moon in the sky was obliterated by a cluster of ashen Grey clouds,
While the moon standing before me; was as immaculate as freshly extracted milk.

The moon in the sky possessed disdainful blotches of dispersed powder,
While the moon standing abreast my heart; was bereft of even a solitary spot
of dirt on its body.

The moon in the sky was often invaded by a fleet of alien spaceships,
While the moon I held in close proximity; was obsessively mine.

The moon in the sky bestowed its tenacious radiance only in nocturnal hours
of the night,
While the moon caressing my lips; shone brilliantly all sweltering day; as well
as in perpetual dark.

The moon in the sky was often overshadowed by flaming rays of the sun,
While the moon lying down on my toes; stood prominently as the lone survivor
amidst infinite contestants of beauty.

The moon in the sky offered partial relief from the monotonous heat prevailing

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poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Me And The Night Moon

since i was achild i was looking for the sky and see the moon in the night and asking my self what is this?
and when i was in my youth and my heart started to be mature i was asking why lovers always speak about the moon?
but suddenly i met her
suddenly i loved her
and suddenly i forgot sleeping
and suddenly i got why the lovers look to the sky and look to the moon
but the new something in my story that iam speaking to the sky moon
like now iam waitting him ooooooh its here
me: -goodevening my friend
the moon: -good evening mr lover
me: -i miss you too much
the moon: -me two my friend
me: -why you came too late tonight?
the moon: - i was there caring about your woman
me: -oooooooooh really you saw her?
the moon: -sure i know that you are waitting me to bring news
me: - very good my moon then tell me haw is she?
the moom: - she is sad beacuse you are far away
me: - oooooooh my babe then what else?
the moon: - her eyes is wandering looking for you

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poem by Ayman Ghamry
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Miscalculations

nine plates of my total trust
nine plates of my eternal love
all to you i'll serve forever
to my moon, my goddess, my dove
my voice is lost in endless night
you, the moon, spark my fight
the battle within to tell you all
theirs our winning, mine will fall
to the floor to lay in dirt
my secrets within excite the hurt
secrets screaming to get out
all to you, i have no doubt
you are the moon, way out there
i want you here, it's just not fair

a beacon of trust i hope you'll give
for me to see so i can live
when were apart my heart is strained
when i'm with you i feel no pain
for all you deserve, i am inadequate

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poem by Sebastien St. Fellmore
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The Cradle

NEAR Rome, of yore, close to the Florence road,
Was seen a humble innkeeper's abode;
Small sums were charged; few guests the night would stay;
And these could seldom much afford to pay.
A pleasing active partner had the host
Her age not much 'bove thirty at the most;
Two children she her loving husband bore;
The boy was one year old: the daughter more;
Just fifteen summers o'er her form had smiled;
In person charming, and in temper mild.

IT happened that Pinucio, young and gay,
A youth of family, oft passed the way,
Admired the girl, and thought she might be gained,
Attentions showed, and like return obtained;
The mistress was not deaf, nor lover mute;
Pinucio seemed the lady's taste to suit,
Of pleasing person and engaging air;
And 'mong the equals of our youthful fair,
As yet, not one a pref'rence had received;

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poem by La Fontaine
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Don't You Ever Never Moon Me

If we are to be together,
Through the ups and downs...
And stormy weather.
Don't you ever...
Never EVER
Don't you ever never ever ever,
Moon me!

Don't you ever...
Never,
Moon me.

Don't you ever...
Never,
Moon me.

Don't you ever...
Never,
Moon me.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Little Girl and The Moon

once upon a time there was a little girl.
she liked to sit outside at night and talk to the moon.
everynight she kept the moon company.
one night she noticed the moon seemed tired, so
she climbed upon the roof, to tell the moon a secret.
the old moon smiled, so she reaches up
takes the moon in her hands and puts him in her pocket.
then she climbs down and goes into her house, up the stairs
to her room.there she takes the moon out and lets lay on
her bed.for hours they talked, told secrets and giggled.
then they heard people asking where the moon was.
outside was so dark, they couldnt find their ways.
the old moon says to the little girl
'maybe you should put me back into the sky,
so the people can find their way home at night'.
the little girl agreed.so she picks up the moon,
puts him back into her pocket.
she walks downstairs and goes outside.
it was very dark, but she wasnt afraid,
she had her friend the moon to help

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poem by Sandy Nobody
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