Hunter’s Moon
Tonight, the sky is heavy with light,
a copper globe rising over the trees,
its edges softened by the chill.
Silent as the woods wait below,
and in the distance, shadows stretch,
elongated whispers of the day.
The moon calls to those who listen,
its pale voice echoing through the branches,
reminding us of what is hunted,
and what is lost.
The earth holds its breath.
Leaves rustle in the wind's slow sigh,
a heartbeat shared between the stars
and the creatures that walk beneath.
The night is not still—
it pulses, it watches, it remembers.
A reminder,
of seasons turning and the wild within us
that never sleeps.
Painted Moonlight
Fated lovers pause
’Midst moonlight's painted glow -
Star scattered skies and
Dual moons mirrored,
Hunting twin souls afar -
Two hearts, one beat -
Over deserts and destined pathways,
Mountains, seas, and skies,
Submitting to the moon's direction
Draped in love's fateful guise.
As though entwined, two hearts
Leap to the beckoned echoes
Of a hunter's moonlight,
Quivering, glowing, gleaming
As flower petals fall,
Stretching far over skies
That seek only to divide.
Twin souls and twin hearts
Find the intersecting solace,
Crisscrossing and aligning
'Neath one fated moon,
As they answer love's
Destined, gallant call.
Cynthia Calder, 10.17.24
The Hunter’s Moon
The light of the hunter’s moon is heavy and hard,
The folk in the fields fall fallow and sleep,
A deepness; a darkness within draws me down.
A seeping wretched soul, I feel. I seem. I am.
I sing great ballads of pain, belting out my bitter strife.
A knife-keen cut swells, to knot in my chest.
My blood bleeds thick, as sap from thick-skinned bark.
As the hunter’s hard moon shines and holds my heart.
I do not howl; I dream for those who died.
I cannot weep aloud, for wakeful eyes will know.
And those who sleep would see my soul stripped bare.
The shamble of a sodden man, his shame in hunter’s light.
The Hunter’s Moon 2024
I thought about you as I looked at the moon last night,
And I was so tired –
I looked at the big moon and it swallowed me up – whole
I knew, though, that as I stood in my driveway – looking up at midnight
That you would be looking up at 4 a.m.; you would be doing just this - a few hours later than me –
And then I think about time – how my time is separate now -
Separate from what Earth used to be – I levitate above it sometimes.
I think about how I may seem illuminated
And to you – full, but it is only the light we keep talking about on Monday nights -
– that of something which you would call a spark
And I would call air. Because of this I am very careful.
I’ve become untethered. And this was my goal.
I live on the moon,
It’s my home. I travel there, but I am also always here.
I am foreign while I am also home in this suit I wear,
A busy astronaut – a tired space traveler.
I have so much I want to do
But I am growing potatoes and cleaning tubes
Staring at screens – remembering childhood and doing all this fondly – which
Is only possible when there is the moon in the sky
The Hunter’s Moon
Christine Munsell © All Rights Reserved 10/17/2024