The Solstice Eclipse

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“The Solstice Eclipse” is a “2D” (or 2 directional poem).

It was composed to be read both vertically (down each column) and horizontally (across each row).

Copyright 2010 by M. D. Friedman.
Please visit www.mdfriedman.com to see more of M. D. Friedman’s work.

The Third Full Moon in a Season of Four

The gathering storm eats

this true blue moon,


a dry wafer, soft hazy red


against the tin horizon.






It slips like a shining quarter


into a jukebox of cloud,


lingers gleaming in the dark coin slot


while the sad song plays.






We walk on bundled and


stiff like scarecrows into


the blustery November dusk.


We came to watch the full moon rise,






but what seems more pertinent now


is how this diaphanous disk


of sanguine floats pale


and quiet as milkweed seed






on the edge of the wind


and then is gone. There is


something rare yet relevant


in the way it disappears top first






into ambiguous lips of gray,


like the way you pull me


into your love from whatever


sorry spin my mind puts me in.

We tread our rambling path


calling owl and raven,


dizzy from the hordes


of squawking geese






hurtling above our heads.


The leaves crisp from their fall


crackle under our feet.


We have become deeply familiar






with how the rippled lake


smooths itself into evening,


how the shadowed land stretches and


yawns as the sleep of winter nears.






We wonder if the glowing gold eyes


of coyote will follow us into the dark.


There is something amazing,


something intimate and perhaps enduring






in how our footprints freeze in mud.


We have been this way a hundred times


through blistering summer heat and sudden


spring rains. Nothing ever remains,






yet this sunken moment


of our meandering, frosted in


the last blood of sunset,


glimmers as night closes in.

Copyright 2010 by M. D. Friedman.
Please visit www.mdfriedman.com to see more of M. D. Friedman’s work.

The Moon

- autumnal musings on the Four Mile Canyon Fire, 2010

The moon is the moon


whether pale as pumpkin seed


or smoke red. The moon swells,


a plum, it ripens blushing


with sunset or dark as a bruise.






Why bemoan what changes, what spins


the stars into unending darkness? Only what passes


endures, what we hold will be lost.


Flames on wind shriek through trees,


ashes all we possess, and still we go on.


 
 

Copyright 2010 by M. D. Friedman.
Please visit www.mdfriedman.com to see more of M. D. Friedman’s work.

Milk the Moon

The way we go is cold and long.


It’s far too far to right the wrong.


The curves are steep, but the shoulder’s strong,


You’ll never catch us …………..without a song.






The dreams we bleed have slipped from sane.


The hearts we hold are full of pain.


Still no reason for a sad refrain,


We can melt the stars………free our brain.






The last one left to write is screaming,


the demons there to fight.


When liquid light is a streaming,


Just reach into the sky…and milk the moon.






All will be there all too soon,


Our heads spun open, cracked with dawn,


Our bodies all disarmed,


Swinging true to form ……….we punch the sun.






We’ll run this road until we’re gone.


Y’know feeling good can’t be wrong.


Our tears are warm and hearts are strong,


You’ll never catch us …………..without a song.






The last one left to write is screaming,


the demons there to fight.


When liquid light is a streaming,


Just reach into the sky…and milk the moon.

Copyright 2010 by M. D. Friedman.
Please visit www.mdfriedman.com to see more of M. D. Friedman’s work.