Phases of the Moon



a skinny moon
shivers through the night

even a tattered quilt
is cherished in February

icicles cast moonbows
the storm is done

cascading beams
plum tree in bloom

Hollyhocks and old fences
we lean into the breeze

emerald hillsides, lapis skies
June shines

early July
mill pond shrieks

red brick and ivy
a sense of antiquity
summer is fading

empty nests
maple leaves

full of candy
wee ghosts go home

five miles
to grandmother’s house
the wind wears cinnamon

silver bells
raise their voices
to Him

nothing is new
under the moon.

2 thoughts on “Phases of the Moon

  1. BoardFlak

    “the wind wears cinnamon” For a moment I could actually smell it! Indeed, nothing new except this poem to express it. I enjoyed this trip through a year.

  2. My thanks, Michael,

    I’m glad you sensed the cinnamon. I never taste, smell, or see cinnamon
    without remembering those awesome scents of Thanksgiving dinner in the oven.

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