Poetry relics from a Nineties Notebook

       

 
                                                         Copper Moon-1.

Every dawn I watch
A copper ball
Emerge from my sea;
Starting my day

At eventide,
It is a silver ball

That serenades my sky;
Ends my day.

One recent evensong,
My eyes beheld
A dazzling sight--
A Copper Ball .

A burnished reddish-brown ball,
Rose from the waves
And came to rest
‘Midst a kohl-eyed sky.

I wish I were an artist
Whose brush could capture
Those burnt orange tones;
That jeweled orb.

All I am though,
Is a versifier;
And I fear that my words

Fall short.

 Perhaps I will need
A high-end camera
To share the ethereal beauty

Of  my lovely lunar pie.

                                                          
 
                                                                        Copper Moon-2

 Poets have written
About a silver moon.

But never have I read
Of a copper moon.

Yet, occasionally, infrequently,
I spy in my sky,
A copper pot
Dancing by.

As the Western sky blushes,
And the orange orb dips,
The Eastern sky lights up,
With  russet blue  hues.

A blue-black-red  canvas
Drops down as  screen
For the rarefied spectacle
Of the Copper Moon .

I watch entranced
As the burnt brownish ball
Lingers and sparkles
Enchanting us all.

I am not so fortunate
As to be held in trance
By the Northern Lights
Of  The Netherlands.

Yet my coastal home
In my Indian town
Gives me my own
Heavenly  Southern  Lights.