Poetry

There is a woman

in the moon

living alone

and the space around her

grows vaster every day.

She watches the spinning earth

so far away

green with life

in the sun

 

but then she turns away

and looks only at the bare rock

the empty moonscape of her life

and the void of endless space

with no boundaries

to rest her eyes.

 

She reaches out her arms -

but then they drop

and hang empty at her sides.

 

© Miriam Hastings.  Pub. Spokes, issue 17.

 

Autumn

 

There’s nothing mellow about my autumn

I’ll rage like Dylan’s father

against the coming of the dark.

Bright red as a maple leaf I’ll dance

a dervish whirl through the air

I’ll not lie in the mud and rain

beneath your feet, sodden and brown.

Let me go out in a bonfire’s flame

the pain may be bad but

it won’t last long.  I’ll rise

flying upwards in fiery sparks

before falling like ash

on your hair.

 

© Miriam Hastings