The Moon-landing was back in ‘70,
Did I know what I was seeking? I think not,
There, in the mountains and craters outside,
For I cannot leave Apollo’s sealed hatch.
In cryogenic sleep through the deep years,
Til a moon-unit came knocking where I sat.
‘Would you like to play?’ then reached my ears,
‘Our crater-brine will be a wine for two.’
So, bolt-upright I sat and perked my ears,
And walked with joy into the land of tears.
Copyright 2022 Jeffrey Merk
You used to flog me daily and reeducate me only because your ancestors had stolen authority over the broken bodies of mine, in your days of abundance when I was slender.
Today, I have become as an over-flowing fountain in the desert, and a cool breeze that blows everywhere and refreshes all that it touches.
But by night I become a stony well in a twisted forest, and the air grows cold and still. The birds become ravenous vultures, waiting for your death, and all that can be seen is the New Moon.
I’m saddened that I can’t wither the forest with my glance, and burn it to cinders, or knock-over mountains with my closed-fist, for then I could give you what you want.
A thousand dreams have flown from your hand into mine, and a dream is but an echo of the world that was.
For the Son of Man saves whom He chooses, then rests and it is enough to be the same as your Master.
Copyright 2022 Jeffrey Merk
There is the entrance, where the grate breaks-in
Through it Moon discloses herself at last;
You must make your way down the drain forgot,
Gnawing but soggy crackers for breakfast.
I ought to take him in hand, Bullybrat,
Ragwort, Dimwit and Looz, let me see.
Though this garbage came from our stomachs,
There’s plenty for them and none for thee.
Here I stand a moment looking outward,
This barbed-wire fence wasn’t here before.
To turn off at the valve and wander down,
Those carrot-ends will be mine I swore.
Copyright 2022 Jeffrey Merk
