Poem: Moon Dust

I felt like doing something a little bit more abstract (maybe even playful?) with my latest five-line, original poem. Also, probably one of my shorter short poems at only 20 words.

Moon Dust

yesterday i ate the moon,
swallowed her whole,
not in phases; now i cough
dust clouds in tribute
to her.

One thought

  1. Brett, your poem and the image reminded me of a poem that I wrote in my teens:

    The Beautiful People
    by Michael R. Burch

    They are the beautiful people,
    and their shadows dance through the valleys of the moon
    to the listless strains of an ancient tune.

    Oh, no … please don’t touch them,
    for their beauty might fade.
    Don’t go … don’t approach them
    as they promenade,
    for they waltz through a vacuum
    and dream they’re not made
    of the dust and gross dankness
    to which men degrade.

    They are the beautiful people,
    and their spirits sighed in their mothers’ wombs
    as the distant echoings of unearthly tunes.

    Winds do not blow there
    and storms do not rise,
    and each hair has its place
    and each gown has its price.
    And they whirl through the darkness
    untouched by our stares
    as we watch them and wonder,
    “Whence came all these airs?”

    I believe I wrote this poem around 1976, at age eighteen or thereabouts.

    Like

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