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Just a little full moon lunar eclipse poetry…
Lunatic
Those devoted to hunting Big Foot
Under the dark New Moon in Aries,
The full-bodied nighttime hunts,
When lunatics lurk and veer
Toward some fallen staccato,
In the black ash jungle
of their father’s youth.
Half-cocked, half-blocked
By an impatience to prove it.
They head for dark. They duck.
They dive. Winds whistle and howl.
Tree branches lumber low
Like large hairy arms.
They set the trap.
They wait.
‘Shall each beast have his mate?’
Pondered Shelley’s tall Monster;
Wolfman couldn’t contemplate
His cursed life without her;
And Lovecraft’s lone Outsider
Didn’t go to the dinner party.
It’s an unusual girl, a fighter,
Firefly-eyed and moonstruck,
Who sends the invitations.
And then she’s late;
Hence the ruckus.
Wearing her strangeness
Like a charm necklace:
Shark teeth, broken
Turquoise rings,
And a paua shell heart.
She waits by the gate,
Inhaling wild grapes,
Plump on tangled vines.
She dodges dragonflies
As they metamorphize
Into fantasies, her prize
Mate of another kind.
LCS
Sleepy Venus
A nor’easter and the rarest of moons,
Closest to Earth, not to be confused
With the blue-white sparkly goddess,
Brought me news from the police station:
An officer claimed my “son; he’s missing;”
I said I haven’t any children. “Not a son?”
He asked, and I verified the biological facts.
When I inquired, the cop on the line
Couldn’t offer any explanation.
I felt like Nancy Drew
With something eerie to solve
And possessing faultless tact.
The last time a sheriff called me,
Indeed there was a nor’easter, then
I’d been robbed—a long stupid story:
(By stupid, I mean self-incriminating)
An ex-fisherman from Kodiak Island
Who’d flexed his triceps on reality TV,
“Deadliest Catch” (perhaps a red flag)
After hot chocolate, had fled my house
Taken cash from my bag, and in haste,
Forgotten his pants.
During the same storm, a lone bobcat
Stole along the snow-covered stone walls,
Criss-crossed directions, this way and that,
Leaving half-clues, barely tracks, but we saw
(The dog went bananas) the dark silhouette
Just the shade of him, a stealth criminal
At dusk, a moving jet black portrait.
My mother warned, “you have to think
About these things,” if the bobcat crept
To the door (!) she shrieked, clink-clinked
Ice in her glass. His climb to my front step,
A poorly-marked detour, a wily mistake.
But I wasn’t worried about the little beast.
(My orange alley cat is almost as great.)
I tromped on snowshoe to investigate,
But he was temperamental, a mystery.
He escaped behind a rumpled comforter
Upon a rounded, unmade bed, no duvet.
Watching the twenty-five pound cat
Slink unobtrusive, costume and all,
Proved I could be a good detective.
If only I unburdened myself
Of the slip-knotted curiosity
Sole daughter of a werewolf
Plunge plucky hands-on-hips, told
Unself-conscious stories, no fear
But dashed dreams of playing one
In a popular sci-fi series, a second
Opportunity. It had credentials.
“Scratch-that, my dear,”
she said. It’s too late.
Vicious-lipped, the storm whistled
A steaming kettle boiled and spittled.
I sipped warm tea, cinnamon and clove,
Picked up crumpled letters and listened
As the house shifted in the cold, unsettled
While sleepy Venus awakened an old love.
I looked up from my work, and the tick
Tack-boom of the glowing woodstove,
As frosted rhododendrons—their heads
Doubled in size from clumped snow,
Surprised, caught me unguarded,
A jolt to check seemed foolish
Their sneaky shadows,
Peeping tom-ish,
Slapped the pane
in the wind.
Leah C. Stetson 
The Adventures of Fen Fatale ~ Ecoheroine 