Harvest Moon

Harvest Moon 2

Full moon conjuring

beyond resistance.

She strings and dances me

along electric streets,

her hapless marionette,

clacking limbs

and wooden heart.


I am strummed and plucked

by ivory fingers

a lunar mandolin,

and she paints me

with this grin

for everyone I meet

and their dog.


It is not my doing,

this bright madness,

she has me by the balls

and won’t let go.

She pulls my eyes

into her pulsing orb,

blinding me.


She commands me

and all my gestures,

but when I look

into her autumn face

I see only you,

born of fields of gold,

sweet moonshine.


moon photo thanks to Google Images / poem by clinock

15 thoughts on “Harvest Moon

  1. Amazing John……..just moments ago I saw her rising with the same face. I too was drawn to photograph her. But after reading your poem she will take on new meaning and never be the same again…….thank you!


    1. Hope you got some good shots of her Robert and I look forward to seeing if you post them. Here she was also in full eclipse, too cloudy to see but the idea presents another whole possible symbolism to moon poetry…


      1. Did get a couple of good shots before the eclipse but like you it was too cloudy here to see it. Not inclined to post a moon shot as yours is so good and then there is your poem. Fullstop!


  2. Thank you for your potent words Walking by the Bow River’s edge with a string of fifty other people, the moon did lit up the path and seemed to draw me in and she collected the hearts of the dreamers, poets, the walking wounded, along the way. Embraced. Soothed. And then, given back, but stronger.


    1. Very beautiful Kathleen, thank you. Yes, she can heal with her mysteries as well as enchant and lunatic us. The river channeled her powers for you all I’m sure as the ocean did for me…


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