..
Insistent, we form ourselves of
silt, slate and clay,
make sand
-castle suburbs of our gnawed
and empty places. Hey –
give the face of that blood
moon a break. Give her a
starhouse in the sky. Knife her
down to her tiniest sliver, and
then shiver when she
still
shines.
..
Written for Toads.
Whimsygizmo's Blog 
There are no words.. to describe how utterly beautiful these lines are..!
Astounded..!
xoxo
Thank you so much. 🙂
Loved ‘castle suburbs of our gnawed
and empty places’, playing with moon could
be fun…on the paper or in the dreams… 🙂
This is an ode to fragments. I love that first stanza! And then that final thought “shiver when she / still / shines.”
Magic!! De! I love what sound play has become of these lists and the puzzle pieces that create a whole…nice one indeed!! 🙂
The resilience of the moon is great… beats all our suburban plots to diminish its light.. wonderful
amazing write; a craft of images unreal yet tangible
much love…
amazingly haunting!
There is so much meaning here, so skillfully and brilliantly contained … wow …
This is fantastic, especially these:
“castle suburbs of our gnawed and empty places”
“give the face of that blood moon a break”
“Knife her down to her tiniest sliver”
“then shiver when she still shines”
I love “still” sneakily used in that twisted way (shines while she’s being still; not moving).
I see something I’ll bet no one else could, and I think you even did it on purpose. I think you’re being very cruel to the moon, beating the mess out of her, really. First you’re breaking her face, next you’re knifing her into shards, and then (when she has the nerve to keep shining anyway), you shiv her.
I love the connection you’ve made between the moon and the tide.
I’m so curious about who the “we” might be. At first, I picture the moon as a man and the clay/silt congregation being the collection of women he’s hurt (they want to join together and retaliate). But you clearly state that the moon is a woman. So perhaps it’s the other way around. The woman has hurt all these men, and now they’re coming after her. But even having banned together, they still feel like a foamy blob of residue. They’re “pulling away” even as they’re trying to attack her. They’re just too destroyed to truly do anything.
And isn’t this how we feel as humans about everything the moon represents here? All the things that are beyond our control? It’s almost like the moon is some sort of destiny goddess, and we don’t like where we’ve ended up. We’re just defeated and drowning in ourselves.
There are so many phrases that touched me. Great poem from a challenging prompt.
Elegant, ruthless and beautiful writing.
oOOooooh! And shine she will. It isn’t easy to write about things like the surf or the moon in an original way, as they have been done and done and done, but yours is razor sharp and moonbeam sweet. Really good.
“Knife her
down to her tiniest sliver,”
really a cool poem! It seems we just can’t but help to try and create our destiny – and it seems we also can’t ever be content with our efforts. 🙂
VERY beautiful…love the starhouse in the sky and, especially, your closing lines. Gorgeous.
Super sharp–original and memorable. Thanks. k.
I love the power your poem gives to the moon in the last five lines. It made me “shiver” a bit…
ah, your sliver and shiver were pulled from the quiver – 🙂 – thanks for this cool response to the prompt, De ~
A small masterpiece!
What I like most about this poem is the way you have used enjambment and phrasing. It makes for an interesting flow of thought.
The moon’s light competing with electric sky…Love your first verse.