As the Sun Wonders, What Were Neil Armstrong’s First Words, Again?—Wea’ve Written Weekly

In her synchronous rotation with Earth

Afloat in a pool of slippery blackness

She speaks in phrases of the moon


Listeners often misheard short words

That turned the nation’s eyes to the skies

Gave them hope with a simple mission


Fascinated by mistakes

What people say

What people hear


Hey diddle diddle, familiar to every Britain,

The moon is an idiom again

It got its name having been smuggled at night


When we talk

We formulate light

Retrieve words

Memory and move


And these errors

They rarely occur

But once every three years

With a month full of two moons


I wrote this poem in response to the Wea’ve Written Weekly prompt on Skeptics Kaddish. This week’s prompt poem is “Slavery” by Punam Sharma. If you would like to read the poem or participate in the prompt visit the post here:

The Modern Aubade

Shut up you alarm clock!

Why were you made?

Who sent you this morning

To spoil my aubade?


I want the sun to set

The hours that I keep.

I could have one more hour

With my mistress sleep.


Because then I could do

What my ancestors had done

And not bemoan you

But bemoan the sun.


An aubade is a poem where lovers berate the rising of the sun because they must separate and go on separately throughout the day. I think that the aubade is a little bit old fashioned. I mean, in this day and age, who wakes up to the rising of the sun. I am not saying that I am being less cliché because everybody hates their alarm clocks, but I just thought the aubade could use a bit of a modern twist. If you want to read more about the aubade or any other poetry terms, check out the glossary of poetic terms from the Poetry Foundation at: