I thought we should have a moon poem this month as it is the moon landing, and this is such a beautiful one, and a favourite of mine. The lovely juxtaposition of the moo-cows, and the moon, and of course the cow is a moon anima and sacred to the goddess, and the moon herself is a mirror, where we gaze. All the images are perfect. The bucket is made of tin – a moon metal, the wreaths ate round, like the moon, like the circle of the spider’s web.
Just wonderful…. Read it outloud
Full Moon and Little Frieda
Ted Hughes 1967
A cool small evening shrunk to a dog bark and the clank of a bucket
And you listening.
A spider’s web, tense for the dew’s touch.
A pail lifted, still and brimming – mirror
To tempt a first star to a tremor.
Cows are going home in the lane there, looping the hedges with their warm wreaths of breath –
A dark river of blood, many boulders,
Balancing unspilled milk.
“Moon!” you cry suddenly, “Moon! Moon!”
The moon has stepped back like an artist gazing amazed at a work
That points at him amazed.
--Ted Hughes, from Wodwo (1967)
| 
