Even the moon is green

A collaborative poetry session with the Oracle, doing some of the work myself.

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Night ocean holds liquid secrets

no words trouble its green depths

no morning will break upon

the wings of ghosts flying home.

This salt sky sings eternity

with the silent voices of stars

caught among the trees.

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Blood is the language of the moon

my tongue shapes to the red juices that cascade.

No rose is fiercer

nor scrambles for life with lustier joy.

Her petal-light swells

a sea of shadows and pearl dreams

while you long for the sun.

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Flowers and fruit follow frost

seed secrets tendril-grow

amid rain-rustle and been-hum

even the moon is green

these hot summer nights.



In the sun’s shadow

My first visit to the Oracle with the ‘poet’ word set drew a complete blank. I had a second attempt with the ‘original’ set and got this.


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soaring with the wind.

I stand in the sun’s shadow

with the smell of the sky

blue as honey in my head.

Death whispers, always there.

I do not need sleep

to play these spring symphonies

or paint red moon pictures

on the skin of my dreams,

but the storm is coming,

and light fades to rain.


Not wanting to leave the Oracle on such a bleak note, I asked the ‘nature’ set for something and got this poem. It seems fair to assume that something is coming, and it could be bad, could be good, depending…


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flowers grow from secret seed,

and trees rustle in bird harmony.

Root and rose listen for soft night

to fall like spring rain

light as fruit blossom,

sweet as river water.

Water runs to the sea


Water runs to the sea from springs cool as moonlight,

and wind whispers sweet sad songs in our dreams.

We never hear the screaming of sprayed shot

or smell  the blood playing, red then black,

we sleep like shadows of men,

watching time slip petal by…


We wake to the voice of the universe growling,

but we never listen.

Make me laugh, you say, Let’s dance.

Put on your red shoes and sway to the rhythm of desire.

I have no use for this wild crap.

Your smile is all I need.


In the dark sky, steel clouds gather,

their poison bleeds green decay

and broken hearts.


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From this dark cup

Last night coming home from our walk, Finbar moved on the alert to the front of the house instead of coming inside. He stopped to watch a hare and her two young ones beneath the veranda window. He made no move to disturb them and they seemed indifferent to our presence altogether.

This morning, the sun is shining but the Oracle’s shining message is tinged with darkness.

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From this dark cup I sip,

my voice lost in the universal throb.

They said we would live forever,

always young and green as trees,

as fish in the ocean.

This heart of glass is not ice;

it needs perfumed mornings,

soft dancing clouds to breathe.

Our time is waking;

two stars with a life of fire,

for a day.

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No lake water will run away with us

through forests to the sea,

no wind raw and cold as diamonds

drive a storm of rose petals

red and sweet as soaring music.

This bitter dream is shot heavy with rain

falling from a black sky

a night of no moon.



I took quite a lot of pills yesterday and slept for part of last night (finally!) but it’s left me feeling very fuzzy. I thought I’d have another word with the Oracle as I can’t think straight to write much sense. The reply came in two stages using two different word sets. It’s strange the way they echo one another, but the second part, like a coda is so hopeful.


Driven is how we are,

worshiping the fast and frantic,

as if love is blood diamonds

stolen on a moonless night.

We never stop to watch the water falling

or hear the scream of the wind

as it roars through our lives,

crying in black tongues

that the time of the rain forests is over.


Blue we are,

like sky, sea and river,

besides heroes

(just for one day),

dancing to the music

of the stars.

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This is our time

After the seventh night of virtually no sleep and constant pain, the Oracle knows how I feel.

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Here the air is perfumed by concrete,

life-fire, desire long gone.

I remember wild red skies

velvet stars broken in the ocean.

No more breath, my voice fails.

Out, brief candles;

when we wake, you will be

a brilliant blue cloud, colour of peace,

(look, joy is kissed on your lips)

fish-dancing, flying into eternity with me.

This is our time,

the night does not need morning.

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Beneath the never sky

the sea sings so sweetly,

a blue water symphony to love perhaps

or death.

These days, the ache and the wanting

are fierce as moonlight and wind-whispers,

not driven away with the sun.

Yet we still trudge together, you and I,

no milk and honey for us,

into the shadow of the roses,

their petals crushed by the rain.

Dark magic of starless nights

I consulted two different word sets, hoping to wheedle a kinder message from the Oracle, but she wasn’t having any of it. Both poems are full of frowns. The second one might possibly be a correction of the first.


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Bring poison to these fevered lips,

kiss me with the dark magic of starless nights.

Does your heart remember

listening to the beat of desire?

Ghosts embrace me now;

I wake in fire to melt an ocean of ice.

Who would bleed this sky blue again?

Will nothing drive it away?

There are no more heroes.

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Is it a mother goddess asking why

we crush all beneath our tread?

What drives us towards blood

and black bitter death?

When life rains like music

or moonlight playing on lake water,

wind whispering through petals,

singing over a rose-shadowed sea,

who needs to cry?