O Mother Moon


She sings me sweetly, through the clouded veil
as it falls down over her navigating pale
ivory sombre face, O mother moon
I have no need for warm frothing ale
or a helping from an old anchored spoon
for these seas I must trust to alone sail.

Your offering of revolving joy shines through
the misspelt gloom whenever sadness steals
fathoms within the ebbing wave of haunting envy
and my passage seems lost to the humble stars.
Your repairing light, dispersing my malady,
and the pride of generating sharks of memory
circling my transverse craft, want attack
from the obscured depths of desiring troughs.

How sumptuous your stimulating shine
and redolent your orchestrated climb
probes the principle within this flesh of mine,
creeping along the cliffs like a concealed vine.

A lonely lighthouse appoints the dangers and finds
where healthy fruit reflects orbs upon measured lakes,
strengthens my wilting courage to be content
with simple steps, as a man who takes
one at a time, walks far
and keeps his heart through the breaks.

For every day he will be laid bare
and every day, requires the glory of invisible air
to raise the chest with the golden shine
and trust his soul in negotiating the climb.

Alex Maxwell 2017
Guitar Solo by Steve Bayfield