And there was the Moon,
like a bilious balloon.
She was sheeted in linens
of heavenly loom.
This ghostly attendant of summer entombed.
This spirit ascendant,
This prophet of doom.
Hello, I am Lee Dunn.
Working stiff (retired). Avid reader, dreamer, and searcher.
I write some eclectic poetry, prose, personal stories, and fiction.
Have had work published in the Shelburne Free Press.
I blog on WordPress at https://secret-lifeof.com/
If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram (if you have one) to the e-mail firstname.lastname@example.org
1 thought on “On cresting a Sunday night hill”
I have long had a fascination with the Moon, but so often poetry that tries to co-opt the Moon as an image do so in a…cliche way. But this piece avoids such sentimentality, and I love the lilting rhythm.