The Moon Grows Larger

Tonight scientists tell us that the Moon is actually closer to the Earth than it has been in over twenty years. To the eye, the full Moon actually appears 14% larger. So it must produce greater sense of love and awed wonder to some, and bring about a greater level of madness in others. It is so very darkly beautiful.

                                     CLOSER TO THE MOON
         He has his books, his music, his pens.
         He stays very active, he has many friends.
         They all say for a man his age, he's looking rather well,
         He'll find someone soon...
         But with every passing hour he comes closer to the Moon.

         Twelve months, eight days, eleven hours since she stopped being his wife.
         He released her from his arms as she exited his life.
         How did he end up here? What comes next? What comes now?
         But no one answers as the firelight skitters across the room.
         Each moment she is farther away he grows closer to the Moon.

         Two months, sixteen days, eight hours since she walked out of his heart.
         The fashion consciousness of friends would now keep the two apart.
         Why could that happen? How does the Earth suddenly shift direction?
         He still gets out and around, but suffers from a lack of sharing it all with her.
         And no one is there to hear him howling at the Moon.

Homage to Robert Frost

Marrakesh
The Tawny Owl perched high in the copse of birches
At the Edge of the well wooded glen
And surveyed the scene of unending snow
That rippled in blues and whites
Clear to the Cairngorms.
Proudly, because he could,
He swivelled his head around in a 180 degree arc
To see what lay behind his hunting blind.
More snow and ice.
Same as yesterday.
'What if', he thought, 'I had been hatched a Swallow
And followed my natural inclinations
To winter in North Africa in the sun baked heat.
A nest in Marrakesh would have been best.'

Robert Frost stood in a yellow wood
Looking down divergent roads
And choosing the grassier, leaf covered
Road less travelled by.
Perhaps the other path home would have
Brought him happiness as a woodcarver.
As a teacher,
Or a swinger of birches.

And what if, as I stood at the ticket counter,
I had, just as haphazardly, purchased a ticket
Bringing me home
On that road that bent through the undergrowth
One week earlier...
Would I have found my Marrakesh
In the sun baked warmth of your smile?