Get Off My Lawn, Dawn… I’m In Love With The Moonlight

She cut a head-hole in a tattered, old blanket,
and now wears it like a poncho.
A multi-coloured tea cosy for a hat,
and fingerless gloves, no matter the season.
Goes out onto the front porch,
whilst others are readying themselves for bed.
Lives upon a small rise,
and can see across the many rooftops
of the majority of the little Village.
Drinks hot Ovaltine out of a camping flask
as she watches the smoke diminish
then disappear from the chimney pots…
apart from Mr. Johnston the Widower off to the left,
and Mary Smith the Spinster over to the right…
they are both nightbirds like herself.
Adores the Moon, in all its phases, completely,
has a love/hate relationship with the Stars,
for a really good cloud coverage
makes the wee hours far warmer,
but, it’s not so pretty without their sparkle.
She’s heard others say that looking up at ‘Them’
makes them feel small and insignificant,
yet, ‘They’ make her feel infinite,
and help to pull herself out of herself.
The fox yelps and cries keep her company,
and the tawny owl, in the woods behind,
reminds her that she is not really alone,
just solitary, in a calm, thoughtful kind of way.
Content outside of life’s daily, busy bustle,
she practices her daydreaming nocturnally…
and wants for absolutely nothing at all,
except another helping of meditative night-time.

Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography published in many publications around the world. He yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight; this too may pass, yet. Buy his books Scribblings Of A Madman (Lit Fest Press); Poetry From The Nearest Barstool; and a split poetry book The Raven And The Vagabond Heart with Bethany W Pope. Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.