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The Man in the Moon: Anthology of Poems by Sam Cullingworth - HTML preview

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The Man in the Moon

 

I suppose I'm a bit of a goon,

'cos I live in the Moon.

But it's not all it's cracked up to be,

cold and grey, no water in the sea.! ! !

As my life ebbs and flows, I hang on tight,

and bask in the Earthly light.

 

I don't say " What on Earth!" anymore,

does it matter? I'm a bore.

Deep in the moon's large crater,

sad and lonely, though I'm not a hater.

Staring at the Earth, feeling anger,

I realise I've dropped a clanger.

 

Staying up here with the Moon,

I talk to her, she thinks I'm a buffoon.

Washing my clothes in Aitken's Basin,

going crazy, a pretend "ideal life" I'm chasing.

Does it make me feel better? Yes,

I don't have to dress to impress.

 

Frozen in space not time,

Face scrunched up like I'm sucking a lime,

Though all I eat is cold porridge,

I've never heard of Norwich.

And yet, if you didn't talk about me

I wouldn't exist. That makes me pissed.

 

For if I'm a figment of imagination,

why bother with this pagination?

I know I wax lyrical on occasion,

Wayne Sleep, more like, on this peroration.

So, while you sleep in your bed,

I will always be somewhere in your head.

 

From my vantage point in space,

the cornucopia of copulation looks ace!

Nothing to do here, the Moon is so drear.

All I can do is sit and sigh,

but O! The starry sky

makes my soul fly.

 

I bend over and touch my toes.

"You can kiss my ass!" I suppose...