Moon face

 I've seen the moon

It was looking at you

Like a mirror

Implacable grey-silver

Can't make out if I recognise your face

Old moon, are you looking at me?

Are you the same I remember

When I was younger

Those days in colour

Vivid in my memory

Were you always there watching

Reminding me

Some hint that life can be sad

But old moon face

You turn the Sun's face blue

Your silver face makes me mad

Moon in the window

 We're like chalk and cheese you and me

You are the calcium cabonate crayon

Drawing lines on the

Blackboard night sky

Teaching me my times tables

Tide times

Hand writing

The moon stroke

With the magic i

Magic finger glowing

Pointing the way

I trace your lunar digit with my own

And learn to write

In moon language

To speak in moon words

And mirror tongue

Reflections

From behind the mirror of the sun

I am the soft cheese that lies soaking in a bath

Or the hard cheese I feel when things do not

Follow my chosen path

I am holy cheese

With holes in my faith

Tell God your plans they say

And you will know he acts in mysterious ways

Moon toy

 How was your day?

Oh the Storm moon

Threw me a rose

And oh the home brew

It sure did you true

And I stoned the moon

It was a stone moon

Like I swallowed it whole

Oh I would storm the moon for you

It is a space war

The fight for the stars

Buzz Aldrin's Wedding Poem - dedicated to Buzz

 I'm a moon monkey and not a Space Monk

And I'm gonna get married amongst all this space junk

There's no room to put anything

up on the moon

Yet it's full of these big holes

Where they grow space mushrooms

I want a honeymoon on the moon

I want to see you taste the honey

as it drips off the spoon

I can see stars in your eyes

And the sun through your dress

Reveals a new Earth rise

Can you paint me a picture from your room

After we've lived here a year

Tell me do you still have

Moon dust in your ears?

Don't you want to go for a moonwalk with me

We'll look into craters and eat space potatoes

And the lake of serenity will be our home

And the mountains of the moon

you can sweep up with a broom

And vacuum the moon dust in your hair

Speak sweet nothings to me on our Romantic walk

I think we are like the moon made of cheese and chalk

Birds are singing on the moon,

It's very quiet I can't hear their tune

There's not much atmosphere to speak of between us

But at least the lunar module will soon return us

Back down to earth

Where the air is clear

And I breath like a space monkey

With you my dear

Maya and the Man in the Moon

 I'm sorry Maya,

The moon wept

I cannot bring your dreams to ya

I cruelly came and touched your life

With my silver wandering face

That looked cold and old

And lonely

Oh believe me that I love you only

But what am I to do?

I am just the man in the moon

Out of touch

With your love

I cannot come down to earth

To greet ya

Perhaps all we can do is wander together

In fields of stars

rolled out in our dreams

But, and here is just a thought

What if you became an astronaut?

And some how climbed the ladder of noughts

And crosses to reach me

Come and teach me your sport

I miss you Maya

I love you like a liar

Loves the truth, but hates his lie

And can't untie his shoes

When they no longer fit

Come and run with me in your ship

Come and let's throw stones

at glass ceilings and watch them

shatter and shower the earth in

illusion's shards

And then perhaps we'll reach the stars

And I can step out of my moon

And you can show me how to spoon

And how to taste delicious love

just because we deserve as much

The golden moon

 Vanity and predjudice

And greed and corruption

That seems to be all there is

Dogs in the moonlight

Tokens

Burning bright

Money down the silver highway

And the moon is paved with gold

As Musk and Trump

And Amazon foretold

Unfold in the mockery of decorum

In the disguises of the state

In the power play of forever bargaining until late

In the poker game of chances

The lottery of love and hate

But who rolled the dice

Except the devil on the ice

Who melts and awaits

His fate

For the moon is golden

There is money on the moon

Oh it is a dead rock

But we'll be up there pretty soon

Oh the moon is old hat

Now give me mars

It is grid locked on Earth 

With all these driverless cars

Now Mars is silver,

is it mysterious or bloody?

Dripping with the blood

Of millions

Who have died for its cozening

Yeah though we went there

Though we go there still

In dreams of the knife blade

And the assassin's skill

It is cutting the war stance

It is the power of will

The great red eye in the sky

But who will pay the bill?

How many lives will die

BeFore the consciousness bill

Gets enacted into law

And then no more will war

Horns blow shrill

Penn hill

 Upon Penn hill

Where the pheasant trill

Their startled bagpipe tones

I am alone on cobble stone

Where the bridlepath lays still

Where is the bride? Whose marriage is

It I am running to?

And where is the altar of marathon

Who will be my bride?

Upon Penn hill 

Where the scruffy magic mushroom pickers glean

And hurry and harry the tuffts

That carry their magic bean

And the farmer who sits in his rover and scowls

And the mast's falling over

Because of the owls

The red planets are rolling down pen hill

And a mars bar a day will likely make you ill

The red planets are tumbling

Like bulls down the meadow

Rolling over dozing sheep

There is a war of bells

These red globes collide with churches

Knocking over towers, and school halls

And crushing cars parked in roads

Others swerve out their way

Out their way run the flock, the parishioners, the beadle and the cock

Who crows out his warning in tides of socks

That come falling from the farmer's wife's chest

The mushroom pickers themselves probably think they live on Mars

Wandering around the base of the Microwave tower

Sending them their digital waves, or beaming out to stars

Their mushroom addled brain saves all this as useable power

First they see the footage of the first man on the moon

Then Neil Armstrong is next to them feeding them from a spoon

Saying get better young man America will need you soon

When in reality they are in a Mendip field on a Saturday afternoon

Then suddenly a pheasant beater is perched upon a wall

Calling to his pheasant shooters with his favourite border collie

And as you jog the trees they toggle, in a sense they freeze

And rocks and salt all fill your throat with words you cannot say

And daleks from Mars remind you of those heady summer days

When all this dust, was just like lust, that fades into moon haze

And I can hardly hold it, the weight of boulders up the valley

The weight of feathers waiting to be exploded

By the shot-guns held in shoulders, or cradled in the arms

Of rich and upper class tories who love to tell their stories

Of how they shot down Mars with one moon shot

And wiped out the disease of the red spot

When really the virus like the pheasants came from

Jupiter instead

And Io was with Europa looking on shaking her head

Whose hands are on the moon?

Flying figures in the sky
Racing across the moon
Shining seraphims
Guarding the palace
That once I built from
the cuticles in my finger nails
But now what can these hands do?

If our nails grow with the moon
While we sleep
Even while we die
Our skin reflects the sun
It is shadows and dust
Of interstellar lust
Sun people saving their skins
Everyday
Hanging them out on the washing line
In mutual habitual action
That the Sun dictates
Like our father

The flesh is warmed then it drops
It is blown in the wind
Our eyes are the rain and the oceans
And the weather of emotions
That fill with salty tears
That no matter how many fall
They still dry
In the end
All the while the moon is
Pulling our finger nails out
Into the evening sky

Yes, Mr Rain man

He is not all I thought he was
There is a certain hole in the head
He gives
Like a stroke
To the weather
The storm clouds fill dark skies
And I am in the hole

A rain doctor came to forecast my health
He gave a dance
Then rewarded himself
By pulling the oceans around the shoulders
Of the land
And comforting the wet sand
Of unknowing universes
Of unkind minds
And the dredge of what
The swallows call spring

He tied a poesy around cider with rosy
And let her be the single
Succulent tree of life

 Because the truth is nobody gives a shit
About the little man
We are the inconsequential stuff of life
That others more powerful
Gauge their own success by
The measure of what it means to be free
By degree
But no-one is truly free
Just the anointed hierarchy
Of a duodenal dawn
That leaves everything tochance
Even the consequences of being born