A Moon, Imperfect

Walking in the damp evening air,

Stillness surrounded me,

my eyes were drawn upwards,

And soon I was entranced


The moon hung low,

Not yet full, wan and waiting,

A few nights more until her beauty would be celebrated,

Patiently she occupied her rightful place


I stood mesmerised and was reminded,

There is power in that which is imperfect

That which is not whole can still command

She was incomplete, yet not unworthy


As I walked on, her light illuminated my path,

A queen in all phases

Assured of her strength,

Sometimes invisible, other times impossible to ignore.


She stirred me that night,

She who controls the very tide,

Moved to awaken a single wretched soul

I felt at one with her, peaceful in my seeking.



When I was very young, I wrote a lot of poetry. I was full of teenage angst and totally unaware of quite how much of a stereotype I was! The adults in my life indulged me, and I flattered myself into thinking it was much more dark and twisty than it really was,

I hadn’t even attempted anything resembling a poem in decades. Until today, when on my walk at lunchtime. Half remember romantic verses of Keats and Wordsworth coursed through my mind, and I felt overcome with the urge to pen a few rusty lines.

So here it is. As always, I trust you to be gentle xxx


Daffodils! Heralding the arrival of Spring,

Blowing their bright yellow trumpets,

Tossed in the wind.

Brave, golden soldiers, stoic and unfazed

Unafraid of being Summer’s scouts


As I pass, I wonder about other poets have who been stirred

Awakened by these would be muses,

Steadfastly lining the hedge rows and motorways.

My heart is no different than those poets’ hearts,

Other than it is mine, and full to bursting.


Captured and unfolding as I behold their common beauty.

Unable to resist the urge to turn my face to the sky,

Allowing the wind to batter my cheek,

Until I have a bloom worthy to reflect theirs.

How lovely and joyous it is to walk among them.


As I ended my drab walk along a busy road,

A walk taken many time before, I felt rare and blessed.

Nature had shone upon me,

Restored and revived me,

Until, less wretched, I shone back.