The Thursday Poem
4 April 2019
Lost To The Hunger
Sometimes we should be counting the stars, bathing ourselves in moonbeams or skinny dipping in the black waters of the full tide – instead of cloistering ourselves away so that we fail to be touched by the magic of these and the other things that make us come alive.
Lost to the hunger
Tonight the full moon is centre stage
edged by golden-threaded clouds
that roll and tumble across the sky
holding back their deep, dark rage.
And from the brow of the hill, the estuary
glows in shadow and silver light,
aluminium foil, fragile to the cut of words
hidden behind tightly drawn curtains
where aces around the card table
count for more than the hungry
pull of the moon on the tide.
They say the fishing will be good tomorrow
with the ocean full upon the shore,
but the moon will be lost in the blue light;
lost to the hunger and the will to fight.