Moon Poems | Examples of Moon Poetry

Phases of Moon on inscription round the Earth on revolution will be marvelous memento . Just a simple manifesto. Moon is our nearest neighbour. Closest companion of ours. ...

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Dust falling at night causes we earthlings woe. Powdery particles eat thru cloth, stick like glue, congest the breather's lungs, disturb electronic equipment. Deep lunar secrets in pixie dust float down onto this earth like invisible snow. Dreamers insist these particles overshadow teenage lovers, Doubling parents' angst. ...

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Leave the ground to fly upward forever a quintillion atoms blasting astray It’s April 20, Crack open an Easter egg be careful not to drop, if a Fabergé Celebrate Apollo 16, NASA’s high point also light a candle down Columbine way Luna doesn’t judge beyond her influence so can’t be complicit in the price we pay Deepwater...

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You adore the moon only when it is full and bright across the endless expanse of the night sky. That is why I fear your love, like a storm approaching slowly, yet surely, in its silence. Who can tell me that you will continue to love my shadows, when my soul is blue and heavy, when I do not shine under...

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I’d leave a small cigar box, cracked, showing faint splinters, buried where no one can touch it or twist it. Inside: a music amp shaped like my ribcage, wound with the ache of fifteen years spent trying to be softer than the world allowed. A torn page from a notebook no one read, scribbled with dreams I wasn’t brave enough to...

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Lunar alabaster gleams beneath the void The infant’s mind is carved in stone Neural patterns branch like frost across the barren surface Face recognition etched in marble relief The first spark of knowing Sound waves frozen into rings echo mother's silent song Small fingertip grooves map first touch sensation then the human footprints vanish, art remains...

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Soon, I will journey to the middle of the moon, There, I will proudly place a memento with flair, Fine sculpture shaped for reduced-gravity design, One like proud Lady Liberty, facing the sun. Like a bright beacon blazing in starkness, a spike, Soaring melodies of beauty gently pouring, From a breath of fresh air deaf to bees’ noisy hum, Bold, elegant masterpiece...

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I blow smoke of dreams to daffodil streams, beneath the sky, engrossed in love’s last sigh, while this heart quivers, drunk on astral fever, in the kohl-lined arms of the cold midnight, kissing my soul in silver slivers… O velveteen warrior, allow my...

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Upon the Moon, I placed with care A locket filled with solar air— A breath I took the day you died, Now sealed where tides no longer ride. It hums, though no one hears it sing, A note encased in nothing’s ring. Its chain wraps round a silver stone As if to say, You’re not alone. A child of stars may find it...

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Moon swallowed sun in dinner Seems so redy as fresh bloom roses, Neither light spend nor darkness loses Pale but interesting eve sinks as swimmer. Silver rays come through blue pane Straight at my white pages lape, Enamouring sight makes slowely shape Rays spread,empty our fully lane. Night holds it's own beauty in dark Quiet-bright all tensions in sleep, Bats surrounds,mouses go in deep Dogs awake...

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the glaze of my gaze is shattered by my own hand, the contents stolen so, it is both a lie and the truth when I tell you that I have nothing I leave you the art of this emptiness both you and I, by design, destined to...

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The Moomagatta is very heavy. And being the strongest astronaut around, I knew, for Earth's sake, I had to be ready. Not a month later on the powdery surface I touched down. The Moomagatta and me bounded downward in a spring-like pace Memories of moving a piano downstairs back on Earth flashed across my mind. Contrarily the Moomagatta had mass but...

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I swallowed a clock and it never struck twelve. Now time drips from my ribs in Morse code, each tick a prayer carved in reverse. The stars forgot my name, so I renamed myself after things that break quietly, a bruise in the shape of a hymn, a mirror that bleeds only under moonlight. There’s a violin growing behind my lungs, strings pulled...

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A mate of Musk, I’m told I’m going soon (if NASA still exists, this side of June): the lack of oxygen might make me swoon - my rear end is as puckered as a prune! I feel I ought to leave a happy tune, an album by somebody who can croon. That swallows effort, warbled by Pat Boone, or Herman’s Hermits leader,...

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- Nature's treasures - are worth more than money and gold in your pocket - ...

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