First landing

The first night in orbit, I dreamt I was the moon. I dreamt that the beings down there – and what would they be? Would they be recognisable as life? – gazed up and saw my face, cold and white and beautiful, and worshipped me.

I didn’t tell the rest of the crew about my dream, but I carried it with me through the days that followed, as we scanned the landscape below us, looking for variations in temperature, in colour; mapping oceans and continents. I carried it with me as I put on my spacesuit and strapped myself into the pod that would take us down there, to see it all for ourselves.

As I stepped from the pod, I looked up. The ship was there, reassuring, glowing. Not a moon, but a new star in an alien sky. Who else had seen it?

My offering for the Prosery prompt at dVerse. I’m hosting there tonight. Our prompt phrase is “I dreamt I was the moon”, from Full Moon by Alice Oswald.

Saying goodbye – Prosery for dVerse

That morning we dressed in our finest clothes to say goodbye. Four children – our brightest, bravest, strongest – were leaving us.

My daughter hugged me tightly before she went. I held back my tears. How could I cry when her face was so full of hope? She was going to the City.

Nobody knows what happens there. There are stories – strange, or brilliant, or terrible – but no-one ever leaves, only the blank faced soldiers who come for our children. All we see are the lights in the distance.

That night, I dreamt I was the moon, watching them make their way down stony paths, a trickle of people, joining other, until they made a torrent heading towards the great gates of the city. Like the moon, I could watch them, but I couldn’t call to them. I was trapped in my own silence.

My second piece for the dVerse Prosery prompt. I’m hosting, so I did have advance warning!


Regular readers will note that exclamation mark, and be aware that it means “Way-hay!”

I’ve had some poems selected for Dreaming Spirit Press’s next anthology, Love Letters to Selene – an anthology of poems about the moon.

Here are the links:

The anthology will be released on Wattpad in stages, between 15-17 June 2018. The link for the anthology is:


A posting schedule has been added to the anthology’s newsletter on the website so you will know exactly when your pieces will be available to read.  The link for the newsletter is:

Thanks to Sammi Cox for putting it all together.

So put a reminder on your calender! Or something! And sit back and appreciate my use of exclamation marks in this post…!

Seven songs for the moon – NaPoWriMo 6

I watched a
thistledown child
glide through a
fairground, silver
balloon bobbing
obedient behind her


He comes round here,
hammering down the door
arse hanging out of his trousers
pissed again, and babbling
about wolves.


A single blossom,
White, in her
Midnight-tangled hair


We set out across the Sea of Tranquillity,
In a silver boat, and our nacreous oars
Left a milky wake. We were lulled into dreams
filled with white water lilies.


It is a Well Attested Fact
That the Great Belly of the Moon
Brings forth Snakes and Worms
And other Noxious Creatures.


The moon sings her slow song,
Teaching the sea to dance,
Always a little out of step
With the sun. And why not?


Harvest nights,
Golden moon,
Secret sweetness
In the apple,
Golden carpet
In the field,
Golden kisses
In the night.


Moon Haibun for dVerse

We were much younger than we are now, and out in the far West of Ireland, where the sea hits the land so powerfully that foam rises off the waves like snow. We’d spent the evening in a pub, wrapped in the warmth of hot whiskies and the sweet scent of turf smoke. We talked to some strangers, and laughed with them and there was music, and somehow we found ourselves walking with them up a green lane to a cottage where a party was in full swing. There was more music there, and a wild mix of people – a man in a yacht club blazer, a group of West Cork hippies, some younger kids, all talking, some singing, all drinking, and a haze of smoke over it all. At some point we all spilled out into the night, where the grass was wet, to watch the lunar eclipse. That was the point of the party, after all, and we’d half forgotten about it. We watched the moon go red, and then disappear, bite by bite – eaten by some great sky serpent, out of myth. We walked home, hand in hand. That was our first eclipse together.

Not wine, nor roses,
Nor hearts scrawled on midnight leaves,
But a blood red moon.


Toni is back! She’s offered us a choice of prompts – moons or birthdays. I’ve gone with the moon, on a lunatic jaunt, even though the supermoon was hidden by thick low cloud tonight for us. If you go over to dVerse, Toni explains the haibun, and you can read some great poetry, too. 

More moons…

Plump grandmother moon
Light your lamp
Lead me through the dark

Skinny sister moon
Take my hand
Whisper dreams to me

Silver mother moon
Wolf call, owl
Cry, your lullaby.

Lunes – syllable count 5-3-5 – seem appropriate here.
Grace is overseeing dVerse and a series of moon inspired offerings…if you can find your way there this dark night…

Three moons – a trilune for Jane Dougherty

Three coins lay in the palm of my hand.

What to spend them on? First, on your thoughts,

Your hopes, your dreams. It seemed a fair price.

Second, on a great white horse, still running,

The night clouds parting before its hooves,

As it makes its own path through the skies.

Third, on the gleaming ghost of a kiss,

Fragile, hung on a fine silver chain,

What’s left in the grate, when the fire dies.

Poetry challenge #39 – Sleep walker – for Jane Dougherty.

The watcher says

Don’t go outside
Under the crazy moon,
Stay here with me, be warm, be soft,
Be still.


The walker says

Always calls me
Lifts me above the world
To dance among the stars until
The dawn


The moon says

Take my
Cool hands, and dance
With me, my witch child, dance
An endless paso doble through
The night.
This is a cinquain, which is a pattern of syllables : 2, 4, 6, 8, 2. Jane Dougherty has given us another lovely prompt. You can find it here.

And as it’s such a tiny form, I feel justified in putting up a cinquain butterfly, completely off prompt:

One shot
Sounds around us
But it is not as loud
As the beating blood of our hearts.
Our love
Must be braver than a gun shot,
Our hearts keep open wide
Our hands reach out
To touch.