I spent about an hour on Saturday night waiting for the Supermoon. It was mostly cloudy, so I could only catch some brief glances when the sky peeked through. I wanted to take some of those awesome pictures that you see all over the news when these minor celestial events take place, but I’ve never even tried taking a night shot before, and I don’t have the proper equipment. A tripod would have helped. Instead, I folded down the tailgate of my car, sat awkwardly in the truck, folded over so I could just point the camera in the right direction while looking sideways through the viewfinder. It was not very dignified.
And I didn’t really come up with much. Even the steadiest hand will shake a little bit, and holding a DSLR with a 300m zoom lens on it makes for wobbles, especially with a long exposure. However, I do kind of like the atmosphere of the few pictures I did come up with, as long as you don’t mind the fact that the moon itself has very little to do with it.
Anyway, the point is that it reminded me of a poem I wrote a couple of years ago now, when I was in college (circa 2005) and fancied such things. I’m so much more hesitant to share my poetry than my prose, because it does come from an emotional place, and I wrote most of my good ones when I was very, very insular and closed off from the world. But I’ll give it a go, if you’ll indulge me.
Who knows how long I’ve wandered in that dark place where it seems
That my hopes are torn to tatters by the shards of broken dreams?
I look up and I wonder where the stars have gone tonight:
All I see are spots of brilliance that are furious, freezing bright.
No matter how I ache and scream and plead with mindless shades,
My cries don’t even echo as they wither and they fade.
The timeless, tuneless nothing whence is conjured up our fate
Is fairy lights and springtime to this shadow where I wait.
Haunted by the murmurs of “I wish I was” and “should,”
I look up and I wonder if the stars are gone for good.
The buildings in my memory and the constructs of my mind
Are wrapped around with warnings, with their windows leering blind.
The air is thick with ravens and the dust of all my tears;
I haven’t seen the sunlight here for many, many years.
The cadence of my footsteps is a sad and sorry song,
A soft and wild melody that follows me along.
The monuments and headstones to my grand and feeble plans
Reach grasping from the landscape like so many twisted hands.
The howling of my conscience makes me shiver with despair;
I wrap my pride around me as I hurry here and there.
Who knows how long I’ve wandered in the darkness and the gloam?
The many paths of Memory Lane are treacherous to roam.