The moon is from my body broke
The ebb and flow of fluids spoke
Moods and tensions highs and lows
Dark side hides bright side shows
What calamity of chaos spawned
What great depth a cavity yawned
Your light emits a memory
That all of you is now my sea
We share the mantle that you wear
I pull to you I want you near
You wax and wane remain remote
Fixed and far since the gods that smote.
THE BLACK MOON//Mustafa Sharif
Is this fear or will I drop tears?
By the feelings hard to bear
Prayers as I see black moon appears
With darkness it covers humanity
And hatred and tainted dignity
May be it shines to swathe the own integrity
For brighter moon turned black
Might be the call for all to awake
or taking away the hope and turn it fake
Moon once so bright now black?
Till the morning comes, may the brighter sun
Saves us from being doomed
UNTITLED//Eleanor Griplas
The moon is round it has two eyes, a nose and a mouth…
They sit in a circle, the revolving ritual of repeating the words
And each draws a crude lunar image on the floor
The moon is round it has two eyes, a nose and a mouth…
Individuals take their turn to figure out the
riddle
A stick is passed in a clockwise direction and
they repeat
The moon is round it has two eyes, a nose and a
mouth…
Those left in the dark, become the unenlightened
Sometimes frustrated as the mystery eludes them
The moon is round it has two eyes, a nose and a
mouth…
“No sorry, you still haven’t got it ... “ (said
mockingly)
A game, a baffling puzzle, annoying, dizzying
The moon is round it has two eyes, a nose and a
mouth…
The circle is dividing and becoming uncomfortable
The section to whom the secret has been revealed,
(Call them the riddle breakers), feel superior
and powerful
Those left, become outsiders, figures of ridicule
They are spinning in their own orbit, out of the
loop
The moon is round it has two eyes, a nose and a
mouth…
There are now two distinct factions; on opposite
sides of the bridge.
Conflict brews. Mistrust grows like a cancer
The moon is round it has two eyes, a nose and a
mouth…
Behavior becomes more extreme, less tolerant
Increasingly hostile, sectoral even, the saved
and the unsaved
The moon is round it has two eyes, a nose and a
mouth…
Yet when the game began, they sat together in a
perfect circle
But now they differ on how the moon should be
drawn
There is a tension where it never existed before
Each draws a moon and repeats the same words
The moon is round it has two eyes, a nose and a
mouth…
Each of them fundamentally believes the same
thing….
That there is a moon and that it has two eyes, a
nose and a mouth
How they draw it or even see it, is just from a
different angle
But is that any reason to …. shoot? For the moon,
surely not
The moon is round it has two eyes, a nose and a
mouth…
MWEZI UPI?//Sterling Roop
Kaka 1: Vipi kaka
mwezi unasemaje?
Kaka 2: Mwezi upi?
Mwezi uliopita au mwezi huu?
Kaka 1:
Hujanifahamu kaka mwezi ambao unakaa angani kule juu!
Kaka 2: Ah mwezi
ule, kuumbe! Kwasababu ni ngumu sana kuona muda.
Kaka 1: Lakini
kaka, mwezi kule juu unawezesha sisi kufuatilia muda angalia kalenda ya
kiislamu.
Kaka 2: Allah!!!
Kweli mzee, mwezi ni changamoto. Angalia sura yake.
Kaka 1: Kweli sura
yake inaonyesha busara zake na,
ni kama kioo
cha dunia kinaonyesha historia ya dunia.
Kaka 2: Ndiyo,
hata sura yake inafanana na uso ya binadamu.
Kaka 1: Ahhh bwana we, tumegeuka!
THE MOON//Mohammed Saleh
There! You see it?
What?
The Moon
You call that the
Moon?
Yes!
That thin thread
of some crescent
Yes, it’s the new
Moon
Holy Cow! The
tinniest I’ve ever seen
The silver curve
Hanging up there,
peeping at us
Like a thread,
thin but slimy
Tomorrow is IDD
Lunar months
Hijiria
Alternative for
Gregorian
Beats out
monstrous Sun
Ever calm,
peaceful and silent
Decides Holy days
Fasting and
feasting too
Brighter days
When no eating
becomes plenty eats
Axing sheep or
goat for the alms
Bursting tummies
Togetherness
Moon’s reckoning
Just for a while
we see it
Surely only the
observant see
Soon it will
disappear
Like peeping toms
to it
Seeing us all, it
fears
Certainly a New
Moon
Geared not to hang
around
Each day, it grows
With its growth
More see it
Wondering over the
growing bliss
Harnessing peace,
its own way
With time we all
love it
On a dark day it
deems the night
Standing out
bright if cloudless sky
Persists, insists,
not to desist
The tempest rise
and invites
Touch not my friend
Its far away, just
see it
Yes, Love it
everybody does
Never hated that
one!
It booms and blows
into full roundness
Like a matured
pregnant lady and we call it
Full moon
Good for parties
and
Often will rock
you down
Conform to the
rules of the times
Brighter it gets
silverfish on sky
Often with time
standard yellowish
Pudding desserts on
table upside down on sky
Sweet and
delicious it gets only to beam back
Crescent each
fortnight
She loathes it
admiringly
Later stories
enfold as lovers whisper
I love you
I hate you not
The Moon has done
it
Pride of the Lands
and Peoples
Idd a coming Idd a
going
Frankly a Holy day
We see neither
heavens nor hell
Just counting time
to the ends
Beginnings are
always with uncertainties
The Moon’s coming
a consolation
Like the breeze
along the Sea Shor
Or the snooze on
the mobile
It refreshes and
opens a new page
Ever romantic ever
provocatively
As minds stare and
glare
Search the
cloudless sky up there
Beating out snores
that are stored
Less the blown out
booming Moon.
UNDER THE MOON//Thomas Green
I am “Over The Moon!”
is the usual phrase
A way to say you are excited.
Then “Under the Moon”
Would then seem to imply
The opposite feelings recited.
But what is it that lies under the moon,
But that which lies under the sun?
Some creatures come out in the dead of the night.
Sometimes scary that set us to run.
A baying wolf and a flying fruit bat
May send a chill down your spine
But lovers do lie together under the moon
Expressing such emotions divine.
Legends would have it the moon
is a man made up of green cheese,
Or a rabbit posed there eternal?
by the grace of god Quetzalcoatl?
crushing spices for those immortals?
The face of the moon is such a strange
thing
Not unlike the clouds, oh how we can conjure
Images shifting eternally to our delight
Flat on our backs we lay, peer, and do ponder.
Look up at the moon and somehow you may
sense
Closer to the one you cherish in your heart.
Think on your true love oh so far away
And gazing upon moon you will not feel
so apart.
Observing the moon at night as we may
Lovers grow suddenly closer together
For your eyes do meet on that same shiny moon
At one time united by gesture in common.
The stars are the bright powder that glimmer
Beyond in the Milky Way they do shine.
The moon it joins lovers together
With its gaze so bright and sublime.
LUNA// Jefferson Smith
I'm
still surprised to bump into you
Face
to face and larger than life.
We've
met nearly every night
On
the street and in the bedroom
You've
followed me for years
From
California to the Emerald Isle
And
now you brighten even the Dark Continent
As
I seek the meaning of life
And
love.
I
know you slender and full of grace,
With
your open smile and hint of hidden secrets.
I
know you as a bursting orb,
Proudly
pregnant, reflecting all that is good,
With
my own image visible in the shadows.
I
know you comfortable and balanced,
Keeping
me company after dusk
And
then gently falling asleep at midnight.
I
love you in every phase, because you change,
And
even more because you stay the same.
And
yet when I look up and see you there
In
my bedroom and on the street,
I'm
still surprised, and so pleased,
To
see you there.
ROMANCE DE LA LUNA // Federico
Garcia Lorca
La luna vino a la
fragua
con su polisón de nardos.
El niño la mira mira.
El niño la está mirando.
En el aire conmovido
mueve la luna sus brazos
y enseña, lúbrica y pura,
sus senos de duro estaño.
Huye luna, luna, luna.
Si vinieran los gitanos,
harían con tu corazón
collares y anillos blancos.
Niño, déjame que baile.
Cuando vengan los gitanos,
te encontrarán sobre el yunque
con los ojillos cerrados.
Huye luna, luna, luna,
que ya siento sus caballos.
Níno, déjame, no pises
mi blancor almidonado.
El jinete se acercaba
tocando el tambor del llano
Dentro de la fragua el niño,
tiene los ojos cerrados.
Por el olivar venían,
bronce y sueño, los gitanos.
Las cabezas levantadas
y los ojos entornados.
¡Cómo canta la zumaya,
ay cómo canta en el árbol!
Por el cielo va la luna
con un niño de la mano.
Dentro de la fragua lloran,
dando gritos, los gitanos.
El aire la vela, vela.
El aire la está velando.
con su polisón de nardos.
El niño la mira mira.
El niño la está mirando.
En el aire conmovido
mueve la luna sus brazos
y enseña, lúbrica y pura,
sus senos de duro estaño.
Huye luna, luna, luna.
Si vinieran los gitanos,
harían con tu corazón
collares y anillos blancos.
Niño, déjame que baile.
Cuando vengan los gitanos,
te encontrarán sobre el yunque
con los ojillos cerrados.
Huye luna, luna, luna,
que ya siento sus caballos.
Níno, déjame, no pises
mi blancor almidonado.
El jinete se acercaba
tocando el tambor del llano
Dentro de la fragua el niño,
tiene los ojos cerrados.
Por el olivar venían,
bronce y sueño, los gitanos.
Las cabezas levantadas
y los ojos entornados.
¡Cómo canta la zumaya,
ay cómo canta en el árbol!
Por el cielo va la luna
con un niño de la mano.
Dentro de la fragua lloran,
dando gritos, los gitanos.
El aire la vela, vela.
El aire la está velando.
A NOTE FROM YOUR WATER
BABY//Renee Jain
My mother has a book called ‘Gardening by the moon’.
And another: ‘Living by the moon’.
I’m not sure how she manages to follow the advice of these books,
given the diagnosis of bipolar and the need to get a good sleep
every night.
But the flowers do look lovely, mum.
Perhaps my mother has such an affinity for the moon because she sees
herself in it.
Married to the father-sun whose luminosity can make momma moon fade
into the background.
Orbiting the lives of her self-involved Earth-children, playing a
vital and slow, soothing role.
The night is never rushed after all.
But the night can be bitterly cold, can’t it mum.
And lonely.
And long.
It can feel like a void has opened up.
And you lose perspective.
And the only thing that makes you feel less alone is to speak into
the pitch.
To turn the black hole into inky scribbled words.
Then sometimes you go the other way
Up, up and away
A super nova that is brighter than the sun
Burning from the inside out
Connecting all the dots, even the ones that don’t belong together
Dancing around the garden with plastic bags
Remember that mum?
I only remember that one ‘episode’ properly
A made-for-tv episode in our family drama
The rest of your illness is just re-runs
From a pre-me era
All I know is that I didn’t come to dance with you when you asked
And father threw out your black words
Like trash
Like plastic bags littering the garden
Maybe he feared that the depressive night would be contagious
A worthless dark cloud,
With no rain
And no silver lining
One night we visited the hospital,
let in through the sliding doors which only open from the outside.
We had
Stilted
Conversation
About nothing
In particular.
Then went out to eat.
The restaurant was full of happy families.
Of course - it was mother’s day.
But my mother was up and away.
I had to run to the bathroom before my waters broke.
You should have seen me, mum.
Your Aquarian water baby.
Helping to replenish the oceans.
Bringing forth the rain.
That’s all in the past now.
I am grown and you are healthy and you have forgiven father for
tossing away your words.
And no matter where I travel, mum, I find I am always happiest by
the sea.
Where the moon moves the water.
Where I can float in the universal womb, and remember
the midwife,
mid-life,
who watches her garden grow
and watches her children go.
But who always urges me back, across the sea.
