Red Moon at the Door

A poem to celebrate the big red moon that's going to roll into our skies in the early hours of tomorrow. This one was inspired by the last time I witnessed a lunar eclipse.








 

 

Blood Moon

 

a harvest spider

rolls paralysed prey

in plasma cocoon

 

a nicotine thumb

intrudes, penumbral blot

on spinster light

 

old master daubing

rose-gold flesh with umber

chiaroscuro

earth's basilisk breath

scorching elliptical slices

for amber teeth

 

till a raw knuckle

exposed, blood-smeared

knocks at our sky

 

 

 

 

 

(c) Siobhan Logan 2015

 

 

 

 

blood moon = red 'totality' of lunar eclipse

Moon Gold, Solstice Dark

At 6.32 am this morning, I was ankle deep in frost, dancing a jig in the middle of the park. Followed by running in wide crescent lines like a corn-circle faker. Not as part of some archaic druid ceremony to mark the solstice, I should say, but in a vain attempt to bring warmth to my extremities. I can tell you it was colder than the aurora-watching I remember in the Arctic. Frost-bitten fingers much more stinging whenever I removed my two pairs of gloves. But the sight was unmistakeably there in front of us, slipping through ninety freezing minutes - the lunar eclipse we'd been promised.


The poem came later - my mind was too numbed as we hopped around in the dark, swapping binoculars and thermos flasks. But it was after all lovely to behold. And here it is:




Eclipse




bone white moon
spinning icy
glitter-ball bright


stained edge
of brown umber:
thumb smudge


dark rose shadow
on lonely gold:
old master light


frail lamp
in tidal dark
ebbing ink


lunar sliver
last glimmer
gone





(c) Siobhan Logan Dec. 2010