Part 9 of the Moon Series The idiots are out again They’ve painted all the windows It must be the end of the week, approaching winter, spray can goons are on the loose, scrawling their insipid goop. Standing on my roof, a dry, clear night, harvest moon lying low, making time ride or die, fly or cry, dusty tumbleweed, tumbling crime. Crowds comfort me solitary, untouched in a heaving mass, apart, sodden blanket noise, earphones play an air, pipes, fiddle, bouzouki strain, lamenting something lost or gone.

Part 8, Moon Series Sturgeon moon, bright and blazing over a shimmering lake In East Clare, where a teacher once slept, beset by a nightmare in the moonlight. What he saw was change, for the times, for the people, for himself, change of thought, of life and circumstance. Fear is the companion of change, as with tentative steps we traverse the unknown. Give me a break, from memes, slogans, epithets, let me breathe.

Part 6, Moon Series Awake, awake no time to sleep arise, arise to stay awake in summer heat til blazing day eclipse the night and I, spine rent, slowly, painfully healing, wondering, wishing, of my waning strawberry plant, bloom, bloom fruit, flower, explode to light, explode to life, to walk again unhindered might be a portent of rare celestial alignment or simply a feat of medical skill, personal fortitude, grim, resolute determination, nothing happens faster or slower than nature,light or time, rose in the sky, sweet strawberry moon ablaze so brief to herald day’s vigour night hours’ thief, Midsummer’s magical mystery, resplendent moon ablaze, awake, awoke astride the march of time.