The Moon, It Calls


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Someone said the fields were blue
where the moon had gone to ground.
Someone with drink on their breath
said the fields outside of town
were whited over in early frost.
We few went out to hear the stars complain
about their order and their magnitude.
We passed a last cigarette around,
our talk punctuated by laughter,
our breaths like webbing in the moonset.
Someone said something that stopped us dead,
each of us lost in our own thoughts awhile.
Only then we heard the rippling creekwater
and the cry of the high night overhead.

Bruce McRae, a Canadian musician, came to poetry late but has enjoyed a large number of publications in the past 10 years, recently gaining airplay for his poems and songs in the U.K., Australia and the U.S.A. The So-Called Sonnets, is his first book, which this audio poem is an excerpt from. More information can be found on his website: