Eclipse Mosaic

I had a lovely view of the supermoon last night around 9pm when the sky was clear. Heartened that I might get a really great view during the eclipse in the stupid o’clock hours, I set my alarm. Sadly, the cloud cover rolled in overnight and the eclipsing moon was cloud obscured. Anyway, I was up already and Tibetan Buddhists reckon that prayers or ceremony done during a lunar eclipse is like 30,000 times more powerful than at ordinary times. So I stayed up, prayed some, and then tackled the poetry practice.

This total lunar eclipse has been called Wolf Moon, Ice Moon and Snow Moon. It is perigree, which meant when I did see the great round ball last night with its pinky gold nebula it really did sparkle its supermoon status. A phone conversation last night reminded me of the meaning behind the word mosaic. Which is a lovely word… but it did take me schussing off-piste on the eclipse subject!

Eclipse Mosaic

The sun or moon obliterates the other
and we shudder that Mom and Dad
could be so horrid to each other. We know
what's happening behind the cloud cover.

We feel the cold, the edgy air.
We breathe in the frost particles
barely daring to exhale. And then
when we do, it is with a prayer

that all this broken and beautiful
world should come together,
each little jagged piece pulled
into a whole.  And that Mom and Dad

will never fall out again. Make up! Make love!
Except that they will. They always do.
Then each of us jagged pieces looks above
and we patch the gaps made up from dark.

It matters not if there's any overlap.
We are just doing our best, fumbling,
apologising, trying to make a union
from holey snips, snaps, scraps.

I expect the ancients knew eclipses
make children of us all.
It is wonder and awe. Terror, too.
Sun or moon extinguishing the other,

cognisant perhaps how the children
break a little more each time, attuned
as they are to parental moods,
uneasy about what might just happen.

And it is then that we are all one single brood,
listening to the same old bicker,
tired of the bitter argument's fixtures
that break over and over each and every heart.

Over and over we pick out individual shards,
uniting the many into a single beautiful,
somewhat scarred, humanity,
our broken and beautiful mosaic heart.

Copyright © 2019 Bee Smith. All rights reserved.

Photo by Iñaki del Olmo on Unsplash


Omen Days 12

Epiphany: feast of the three kings. Lyrical, ecstatic Joysian reverie. Also, Women’s Little Christmas in Ireland: Nollaig na mBan. This is a license for all the Mother Christmases over the world to loll about, be waited on, fussed over, as just reward for doing most of the heavy lifting over this hospitable Midwintertide. The less clement weather is a perfect excuse to while away the day with a cozy mystery.

The last of the Omen Days is also a day of a solar eclipse here in Ireland. It occured from 1:38 am here. So haphazard is my sleep pattern these days I woke up for it and was awake and writing in its wake before getting in another couple of naps. I last roused in daylight and found that the long run of dry days has ceased.

Rain - dry spell over
Alder has its feet wet
A season for prophets

Copyright © 2019 Bee Smith. All rights reserved.

Today’s featured image is a snap from my Celtic Tree oracle divination deck. The artwork is © 2019 Jimmy Manton. I love this deck and you can get one for yourself at

And because I had some hours in the darkness around 3am to while away, I contemplated the word eclipse and finally gave way to some word play with it. I looked up as many synonyms for eclipse to work into it. And yes, that final line in in the the list of synonyms! Eclipses have traditionally been viewed as portentious events in ancient times. So an eclipse on an Omen Day is a bit of a double whammy.

So a double helping for today’s Poetry Daily.


Lilith flies in dark moon sky
Riding her mate on the fly

She covers he - one body
Shroud of dark beauty

Dark moon night, no light
Wisdom in hindsight

Spare our blushes
cover faces




Copyright © 2019 Bee Smith. All rights reserved.