Uncertain Moon

“This is a 55-word free verse poem inspired by the image below.”

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Uncertain Moon

~

captured in the light
of an uncertain moon
I’m visited
by disturbing voices
drowning my quiet voice of confidence
which whispers reassurance
to calm the worry
that churns like razored knives
in my gut

time can be my deliverance
but time moves slowly
through this thick pooling light

and time’s fickle
under this uncertain moon

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~ ~ ~

rob kistner © 2019

NOTE: Images by: McMonster

 

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=-NjdfOoPK9c
 

  • Click to check out more poems inspired by McMonster at Toads
  • 28 thoughts on “Uncertain Moon”

    1. An intriguing idea and title, an uncertain moon… and I love the way you explored it in the poem, Rob. These lines remind me of that weird space in the early morning that isn’t sleep and it isn’t waking:
      ‘but time moves slowly
      through this thick pooling light’.

      1. Yes it does have that essence Kim. I always find those moments fascinating. Sometimes I feel captured in kind of a waking unreal trance, unable to move to fully awaken for a time.

    2. I liked the Doors, Rob. Thank you for this one, it has the sucking in sounds but there is a better one that I like better but can’t remember any more. My favorite was not so subtle as this or the one I can’t remember, is the classic “Baby, Light my Fire!!”.
      Here I like the ‘fickle time’ concept, we would be in a mess with that. Like the attempted budget cut that would have shut down all the current ‘atomic clocks’ hanging on walls. WWV was to go silent, the time standard for much of the nation.
      ..
      ..

      1. My band used to cover several Doors songs back in the 60’s Jim. I resonated to their surreal essence, like ecstatic poetry. Not always great lyrics, but always interesting — frequently transcendent. I chose to post “Moonlight Drive” because it has a mystical vibe, and my focus was to evoke a similar spirit here in my poem. When one removes the man-made devices, time becomes fluid Jim — uncertain… fickle, passing differently for everyone. More slowly for the young and joyous, more quickly as we age — excruciatingly slow when we suffer. And when the music’s over, turn out the light.

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