Monday's Muse

For today, here is a sestina (also from my non-fiction book). Sestinas are 39 line poems that repeat the same six ending words in a particular pattern. And if anyone else out there writes poetry, share it with us! Leave something in the comments, or a link to your blog or site :)



Wolf Moon

The night grew silent with the rising moon.
Yellow eyes watched from the depths of the trees.
Whimpers and howls disrupted the quiet night.
Trembling lips pulled back from sharp, pointed teeth.
Soon would come the moment for which they wait,
The one night a month when they walk as men.

Cursed and outcast, they were hunted by men.
Tonight they were safe under the bright moon.
Their leader held them back, making them wait until
Finally, they creep one by one from the trees.
The full moon’s light gleaming from exposed teeth,
Watched by the animals who share the night.

Howls turned to joyous shouts that shattered the night.
Fur sheds, bodies lengthen, wolves become men.
Laughing mouths show their blunt, human teeth.
Men scatter, but one stays beneath the moon.
He knows she is there, just beyond the trees.
Through the long month they dream, they hope, they wait.

Each time he shifts, he’s afraid she won't wait.
But she’s there, coming to him, his for one night.
Wrapped in each other’s arms, under the trees
His love tells him news of the world of men.
Then silent, they watch the descent of the moon.
Their time is over, the man grits his teeth.

The change begins again, fur grows, sharp teeth…
Can he dare hope that she will once more wait?
On four legs, he howls his pain at the fading moon.
In anguish, she wilts back into the night.
Amidst the cries of those who are no longer men,
They once again find refuge in the trees.

For centuries, they’ve dwelled, sheltered by the trees.
Their clothing fur, their weapons – teeth.
There IS hope, a way to live once more as men.
The way is risky, but they cannot wait.
One by one, they fade into the dark night.
The leader has seen, he hopes, his last wolf moon.

No more ties to the moon, hidden by trees.
They run through the night, baring sharp wolfish teeth.
The wait is over; soon they’ll live as men.