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Lunar Lines

July 20, 2019

full moon July 2019 copyright Celia Warren

Fifty years ago today two American astronauts on the Apollo 11 space mission – Neil Armstrong and Edwin ‘Buzz’ Aldrin – landed on the moon and became the first humans to walk on its dusty surface. At the same time, astronaut Michael Collins orbited the moon in the command module. What a lonely adventure that must have been as he flew solo round the ‘dark side’ of the moon (the side we never see from Earth)!

I was still at school in 1969 and well remember the excitement of watching the “small step for man … giant leap for mankind” happening live. I also remember looking up at the moon, in awe to think that, even as I gazed at it, people were standing on its surface.

This anniversary is a wonderful opportunity for poets to celebrate the beauty of our moon, and many such poems – including a couple of mine – are highlighted in Roger Stevens’ fabulous anthology featuring poets from around the world. MOONSTRUCK is published by Otter-Barry, ISBN 9781910959657.

Meanwhile, here are some moon poems and photos of my own for you to enjoy. Please remember that these are copyright and may not be reproduced for commercial purposes without permission. Thank you.


Poor Old Phoebe* © Celia Warren 2019

Some thought her a god
and worshipped her on their knees.
Others, not so kind,
said she was made of cheese
until, in 1969,
without so much as a pretty please,
they walked all over her, even cut
pieces from her lunar gut.
Yet still she shines
in poets’ lines,
none of her romance gone
despite being trodden upon.

*Phoebe was the Ancient Roman name of the Goddess of the moon; also called Artemis in Ancient Greek legend. Often, the name Phoebe is used poetically to mean The Moon.


When Nobody Switched Off the Moon © Celia Warren 2019
      in fond memory of my parents

No telltale beams allowed after dark:
in wartime that was the law,
but no-one told the peaceful moon –
she knew not a whisper of war.

In the blackout, a young mother worried at home –
her husband was who-knew-where,
but they knew both looked at the self-same sky
and the moon was theirs to share.

For moonbeams shine on all the earth
at home and far abroad.
No blackout can steal the light of the moon,
of Phoebe the ancients’ god.

The Moon and her Mother © Celia Warren 2019
              after Aesop

“Make me a gown,” begged the moon of her mother.
“Please make me a gown,” cried she.
“It cannot be done,” the moon’s mother replied,
“for what size and shape would it be?”

“At times you’re as full and as round as the sun;
at other times, thin as a blade,
and in between you wax and wane,
so no fit gown can be made.”



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