Think Universe

Filmshort 40
Dancing – June Perkins

For all my friends who’ve lost a baby

‘Think universe,’
said the tiny spider
as it climbed upon its web.

‘Think universe,’
said the river as it flowed
from the mountain
to the coast.

‘Think universe,’ said the star
as it looked on
down from space.

‘Think universe,’ cried the mother
as she danced the
memory of
their baby’s face.

The star died
so the spider cried then
cast a thin thread
from the mountain to the coast
made a cradle for their baby’s soul
as the mother’s tears zoomed
into the sky.

‘Breathe universe
from the small up to the large,’
sang the moon
removing grieving’s curse.

It reminded the mother
she could mend
a dying universe.

(c) June Perkins

Truth Moon

Pearlz Dreaming

If we can harvest the moon
should we

Or should we let it continue to be
the harvest moon

Not the harvested moon

Mr Twain says that lies can travel
half way around the world

whilst truth puts on it shoes

hoaxes of celebrity
deaths that never happened
come to mind

people fight manipulation from
papers and towering billboards

they want the truth before they make decisions
not gift wrapped lies
for dreams

the moon looks down on all
she thinks
harvesting the truth
could call for Hermes
and his winged shoes to bring
us back stories
we can believe


(c) June Perkins

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Night Fall

False Kiva
David Kingham – Flickr Creative Commons

Sun
sets, pink,
lavender,
orange paint the
sky.

First
star of
the night winks
brightly into
place.

Moon
slowly
rises, full,
high above the
land.

Thin
clouds drift
across–game
of peek-a-boo.
Veil.

One
star arcs
gracefully,
descending to
Earth.

By Sunny Dreamer

you are in the stars
TheVlue – Flickr Creative Commons

Thanks to Sunny Dreamer (Shiloh) for giving permission to share this poem on the blog – and for joining the guest poet list.

Visit her eloquent blog by clicking   Here

The Tree

tree shadow
Bridget Mckenzie – Flickr Creative Commons

The shadow of the gnarled tree creeps
across the grass
Growing longer and longer as the sun
goes down.
The knotted wood, the twisted branches
sway in the winter wind.

All is still.

The moon rises, the shadows grow
Shorter and shorter
till they fade.

All that is left is the darkness
the blowing wind
and a tree without a shadow.


By June Perkins
Written as a child, was about 12 years old, published in Brilliant Star.