Radiomoon

A poem about understanding that the moment you live in will be a memory, and if you are alone and experiencing what will one day be a memory, then you will take that lonely memory to your grave.

The blue moon lears

behind a thicket of dead limbs,

stills the sky,

(A stone beneath a quiet pond.)

purifies, amplifies

      frequencies

      of radio.

I turn the radio dial,

mill through static,

until sharp, strumming guitar and

    crystal clear

    HARMONICA

breaks through the static.

I lean back to watch the blue moon grin

against young, innocent stars

through my windshield

that holds a plane of blue light,

        slanted against its glass.

The strong fume of wine,

    half-empty bottle in the center console,

       stained cork in the passenger's seat.

This moment will not happen again for another

                60 years,

years after I'll be swept underground,

taking this lonely memory with me.

This moment was shared with no one.

I lean forward and exhale against

      the glass.

It pools there in a soft vapor,

collecting the blue light of the moon.

And fades.

Just     like    me.

Reviews

[G!o]

Really thumbs up for the creativity behind your imagery prowess. You really know how to craft them and this poem is really enriched with talent and mastery of words. Really good...

[Poison Ivy]

i love the title and the poem was genuinely unique

[J. Viands]

Your meaning is firm I can understand and relate to the message