A Moorish Moon

If ever there were a slivered moon, surely it was this eve.
Earlier at dusk, in conjunction with Venus, it seemed odd as
It hung over the horizon, like a burnt orange scimitar.

Later, when my Libran friend, Rod, quipped with blithe dismay,“Where is Venus? Venus is gone!”
True, she had slipped away beyond our view, Leaving only a sanguine crescent hue,
Suspended like a giant scythe.
I wondered if any others were marveling at the moon, with Venus gone so soon, so lythe.


In the blink of an eye, and in the eye of a storm, Mars is rusty red-
Like tonight’s Moorish moon, and its unfortunate sense of dread.
For the balance of the oceans, rests upon the motions of the moon.

The tide pulls and crests at the shore line. Only now it’s not a
sure line.  Like footprints in the sand, life dissolves into the sea.
Our deep emotions are tied to the sea- a briny solution, our tears;
Our moral shell of calcium coral and skeleton of bone-white fears.
Perhaps if time were measured in life-times instead of years,
Humankind would put mind over matter, and then kindness would matter.

Triumph slices through the sky, and Justice seems edgy.
Nature trumps all inclinations, and a new moon will rise,
As surely as there are men who are wise-
As surely as I, who cries, “Here Comes the Sun!”

Johnathon Gallagher     January 2009