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Lawrence S. Pertillar

Veteran Poet - 4,379 Points (February/'47 / Connecticut, USA)

The Moon Is A Moody Diva


The Moon is a moody diva.
With more power than we assume.
Without the Moon we wouldn't be living,
To do as we wish and choose.

The Moon is a moody diva.
Without it we wouldn't exist...
To believe that the Moon is nothing,
And there's nothing more to it.

But those of consciousness do know,
Fluids on the Earth the Moon controls.
And those of consciousness do know,
The Moon is more than a rock.
Without the Moon our lives would stop.

And those of consciousness do know,
The Moon is a moody diva.
When not in view we say it's new.
And if two appear in one month...
It has us calling it 'blue'.

The Moon is a moody diva.
With more power than we assume.
Without the Moon we wouldn't be living,
To do as we wish and choose.

And if it wasn't for the Sun...
No one would know what the Diva has done.
And if it wasn't for the Sun...
No one would know what the Diva has done.

The Moon is a moody diva.
And if it wasn't for the Sun...
No one would know what the Diva has done.
The Moon is a moody diva.
And if it wasn't for the Sun...
No one would know what the Diva has done.

The Moon is a moody diva.
Like a woman on the move with a power to command.
The Moon is a moody diva.
Like a woman on the move with a power to command.
The Moon is a moody diva.
Like a woman on the move with a power to command.

The Moon is a moody diva.
With more power than we assume.
Without the Moon we wouldn't be living,
To do as we wish and choose.

The Moon is a moody diva.
Without it we wouldn't exist...
To believe that the Moon is nothing,
And there's nothing more to it.

But...
The Moon is a moody diva.
Like a woman on the move with a power to command.
The Moon is a moody diva.
Like a woman on the move with a power to command.
The Moon is a moody diva.
Like a woman on the move with a power to command.

Submitted: Saturday, February 15, 2014

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poet Henry David Thoreau

Conscience is instinct bred in the house,
Feeling and Thinking propagate the sin
By an unnatural breeding in and in.
I say, Turn it out doors,
Into the moors.
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