Skies, a poem

Skies

Ghostly moon, in skies of day,
who notes your passage, asks your way?
Only children, who delight
in such—to them—a novel sight.

Let me ask then, if I might,
what if the sun crossed skies of night?
Would we gaze up in dismay?
Fall to our knees, begin to pray,

asking God to set things right?
Or laugh, as children, in its light?

Stephen Brooke ©2025

Tide, a poem

Tide

The heartbeat of the moon is measured in
the steady rise and fall of tide on coasts
I’ve never seen. Ah, but I hear that pulse;
it finds its echo in my yearning blood.

She sinks below horizons, seeking seas
unknown save in my dreams and songs once heard,
forgotten now, save for their whispered rhythm.
That also rises, falls, fades from these shores,

but never stills. The moon returns and I
and all the seas will follow in her dance.

Stephen Brooke ©2024