Today, the moon is 2% of full. To me, it's the time of the new moon!
I follow the old meaning of new moon, which is "the first appearance of the waxing crescent moon". (In astronomy today, "new moon" means "dark moon", when the moon is invisible.)
Following are some poems whose authors, like me, followed the old meaning by celebrating that first sliver of moon as it reappears in the sky:
The new moon, of no importance
lingers behind as the yellow sun glares
and is gone beyond the sea's edge;
earth smokes blue;
the new moon, in cool height above the blushes,
brings a fresh fragrance of heaven to our senses.
By D.H. Lawrence (1885-1930)
I saw the new moon late yestreen,
Wi' the auld moon in her arms:
And if ye gang to sea, maister,
I fear we'll suffer harm.
From the anonymous Scottish ballad Sir Patrick Spens
The New Moon
What have you got in your knapsack fair,
White moon, bright moon, pearling the air,
Spinning your bobbins and fabrics free,
Fleet moon, sweet moon, in to the sea?
Turquoise and beryl and rings of gold,
Clear moon, dear moon, ne’er to be sold?
Roses and lilies, romance and love,
Still moon, chill moon, swinging above?
Slender your feet as a white birds throat,
High moon, shy moon, drifting your boat
Into the murk of the world awhile,
Slim moon, dim moon, adding a smile.
Tender your eyes as a maiden’s kiss,
Fine moon, wine moon, no one knows this,
Under the spell of your witchery,
Dream moon, cream moon, first he kissed me.
Zora Bernice May Cross
Here's a favorite from my childhood (and that's how Mr. Lindsay spelled cookie!)
The MOON'S THE NORTH WIND'S COOKY
The Moon's the North Wind's cooky.
He bites it, day by day,
Until there's but a rim of scraps
That crumble all away.
The South Wind is a baker.
He kneads clouds in his den,
And bakes a crisp new moon that . . .
greedy North . . . Wind . . . eats . . . again!
And here's a new moon poem by one of my favorite poets:
THE NEW MOON
Day, you have bruised and beaten me,
As rain beats down the bright, proud sea,
Beaten my body, bruised my soul,
Left me nothing lovely or whole —
Yet I have wrested a gift from you,
Day that dies in dusky blue:
For suddenly over the factories
I saw a moon in the cloudy seas —
A wisp of beauty all alone
In a world as hard and gray as stone —
Oh who could be bitter and want to die
When a maiden moon wakes up in the sky?
By Sara Teasdale
The winner of my Two-Year Blogiversary celebration is Lynda from "Among the Hedgerows " in Ontario. Congratulations, Lynda! I will be contacting you.
When I see the first New moon,
faint in the twilight,
I think of the moth eyebrows
Of a girl I saw only once.