My writing routine is all topsy turvy today. The Poetry Daily is delayed because I went out to a pub music session and sang along with many more into the wee hours of the morning. The bar lights went out; the beer stopped flowing from the taps. But we kept on singing and my husband (yer man from Dowra) and the three travelling minstrels from Dublin played on. And the locals kept up with the recitations, the jokes, the songs, and pastiches of songs. We sang Happy Birthday twice. And we crept down our lane and put the kettle on for the nightcap cuppa tea at 2:30.
But first, the little dog needed a rest stop outdoors. We live without light polution. It was the most amazing clear night. These are the hours of the amrit vela, those magical hours of darkness before dawn, and I figured I better use them while I was awake anyway. The prompt from #30DaysOfSummerWritingChallenge was posted already – Moon Landing. I have done a number of moon poems recently. The historic event was one that I tried to ignore, as I sat reading in a corner of the family living room, while the rest of the household was rapt watching the television.
No, the starry night sky was pleading for some attention. So I went at this slant.
The Sky This Night
No cloud this night. Above, the sparkling vault,
so vast and a shimmer, that one single
glimmer beckons to draw me into its
infinity. I am lost. I am found.
No Perseids shower will wash or gloss
me more completely than this convex dome
that flying buttresses me into belief
in divinity - though at a distance.
And I am at peace with my unknowing,
my unscholared wonder at its power.
Also, gracious imperviousness.
That poise in its own glory beyond myth
or even story. It just is. Sparkles.
That shot the darkness like some fantastic
fabric created for Scheherazade.
Yet are just winks and blinks of atmosphere.
Copyright © 2019 Bee Smith. All rights reserved.
Featured image Photo by Mindaugas Vitkus on Unsplash
