See line 15 of Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese to see how she continues to inspire with words that carry one’s imagination … somewhere. Not trying to be a Mary Oliver, the rest of this is down to me, writing 11th January 2024, when there was a new moon hanging in the sky, as it does. The phone does not manage to capture it in a photo but it does alter the colours in a scribble of paint, hoping it gives the idea.
New Moon, Eleventh January
The world offers itself to my imagination
brings bright and shade within its invitation.
How can I meet it? Whole, strong,
as the tree standing firm holds the bird
that builds within its branches.
When night calls from the newsrounds
Retaliate. Retaliate. Hear us humiliate,
initiate war on those who seem wrong.
Cry as the wolf howling at the moon,
for helplessness, forget to play. Listen.
The breeze stirs the tree twigs,
Can a lone leaf rustle? Look high.
In the deep aquamarine near black
of shadeless night the tree frames sky.
Holds that curved silver arc, wire-thin.
Begin. Begin. Begin. Just try.
Each month measures its season.
Poetry of Moods and Moments 