FROM THE ISSUE EDITOR: The Moon reminds me of enjoyable activities and absolute peace. The presence of the Moon acts as a beacon to those who enjoy and appreciate silence. The Moon rests high above and gifts many with reprieve from daily interactions. The Moon provides light to the world. The Moon allows us each to retreat into ourselves. Whether you enjoy reading, writing, watching films, playing video games, listening to music, creating art, coding, conducting experiments, or just simply relaxing, the Moon gives us the blessing of solace and time. But remember . . . out there in the dark, among the shadows and strangers, you must maintain extreme caution. As the great H.P. Lovecraft said, "I hate the moon--I am afraid of it-- for when it shines on certain scenes familiar and loved it sometimes makes them unfamiliar and hideous." --Erik Elizalde, April 2019
Stargazing al Fresco Murals Adrian Ernesto Cepeda
How I wanted to be her canvas. I would’ve loved to sit for her at night, she loved touching darkness exploring planetary space with the shadows of all those galaxy skies. There were nights I would catch her staring at my silhouettes that would satellite a little longer filling in the shades, she loved to reach trying to brush with the stars for inspiration she would leap out of bed at two in the morning, and glide to the balcony barefoot to watch the moon reawakening I would love to see her face, knowing even from behind I could feel her glowing often ruminating solar systems of canvases. But the moon made her feel microscopic. She could never capture the intimacy of her favorite luna trying to recreate every interstellar orbiting inside my lover gripping her paintbrush conjuring al fresco murals, she left me feeling ignored, cosmically eclipsed with moon envy, always from behind wanting to see what she envisioned with her telescope eyes, wishing I could glow gazing at stars with every paint that dripped, exploring all she missed within I would watch her staring at the cosmos, super nova waiting for her nebula of colors to arrive.
Appreciation Letter to my Nightlight Eric Ruiz
Ol’ Night Light Thank you For so many things. I’d give you a great big hug if I could.
Like a parent, you are responsible you are credible, you are to blame.
Maybe you are not a star But you sure do shine like one And for that reason We have similarities
It’s true you are not like the other stars Shining in the night, but you are important too. In fact, you are closer to us than any other star. Most important to our night.
Evenings would be too dark And too cold For life to exist Without you
Take a vacation to the night light Call it Moonululu Thank you for allowing NASA a safe landing Now give me one!
Thank you for being beautiful. Your beauty is what attracted us in the first place.
The Sun burns our eyes But you keep ours open. Although Genesis 1:16 Might claim differently.
Look on the Calendar Wait for your full shine. Teen Wolf is on the run E.T. is on the move.
Ol’ Night Light, You got my imagination going. Shaped like a banana Or shaped like a calzone.
I remember attempting to grab you As a young’un Looking like a lucky quarter Floating in the air.
You gave us movies like Apollo 18, And heroes like Neil Armstrong. You even gave us Moonshoes & Moonsand! and my favorite song “Dancing in the Moonlight”.
To the Daughter (Unopened) Emily Mack
I write this as the earth sinks and crying as we gather at the corner to watch the apocalypse with neighbors.
Do you remember the bus driver with the two sons? He’s dead now. His wife in the lawn chair asked about you.
I bet you’re eating thin-crust pizza for your last meal and what did do in the basement of your best girlfriend’s house where I used to drop you off?
Standing here feels like the Fourth of July, our necks all craned up. I waited for you to come home, you know, when dad used to work nights and
I waited on the couch. And I used to hear you laughing upstairs on the phone like you’d already gotten away with it: womanhood. Pay attention, says Ruth
from across the street with her cat on a leash. Above us the fog is acrid and falling sparks leave divots in my skin. I bet you’re at a goodbye party
pouring whiskey into open hands, you spoiled brat. Come home right and now. Come crying and tell me who you loved with half the lights off, your shirt undone.
I can be wild too. I turned off the TV when scientists said they told us what would happen and I went outside to see for myself:
the maroon sky unfilling. We whirl. Spit up cakes the curb now, the gutter. Trees falling out of their roots and the sound
is such a loud ringing. Floating on my back tonight, I count four stars left but want everything:
the chardonnay moon.
Dark Moon Sean Botnick
Pale white rock crunched under feet. How much longer until He and I meet?
It was like a Moonage Daydream. It was like a dream made reality. It was like a spark set fire to my soul. There was not a thing in the Solar System That might've made me more complete. I took my protein pills and strapped my helmet on. I gripped my ray gun in my hand, And I climbed aboard my rocket ship. Launch in t-minus ten seconds, And lift off.
How many times have I passed this place? Here I am running a losing race.
As the glowing sphere grew greater in size, I realized that it was not the Moon that I saw, But Elluma, the dark moon, creeping closer. I could only stare out at the Bad Moon Rising, as I helplessly hurtled towards its craggy craters. This was not my moon bearing down on me. This was not the setting of my moonage daydream. I braced myself against the bad moon rushing up at me, and my screams were drowned by the shrieks of steel as my spaceship twisted and tore itself apart around me.
My mind is trapped in a muddled haze. Pain has long since lost its way in Death's maze.
Impossible gravity weighed down upon me As I crawled from the wreckage. I choked and wheezed As I clawed my helmet from my head. This moon was not my Moon. This was something else, this moon was Fear, fear and pain, darkness and death. Elluma was the moon of madness and lunacy. Elluma was the moon that the Werewolves of London Howled for through the night through Muzzles bloodied on the entrails of a dream.
The faint, sharp hiss of an oxygen leak. My body has long since gone weak.
It was then that my dear friend Stanley Kubrick Put his ray gun to my head. “We're going to the dark side of Elluma,” he told me It was there in the shadow of a moon Where NASA had built their studio. It was the one place that the Soviets Would never know to look. And it was there in that location, where my dear friend and I faked the Moon landing.
No more sound. I'm almost gone.
Heart Within the Moon Coco Ramirez
Cherry Blossoms fall graciously beneath lover’s gaze This heart would overflow within humble praise
Dark shadows lurk suspicion and watch enviously Creeping towards like Taotie eyes leering insidiously
Immortality bottled generously preserved by the Gods Taotie emerges Love fights against all odds
Love would drink immortalities sweet chasten typhoon Repentance looking down heart within the moon
Moon Poetry Don Campbell
Luna, a grand circle with so many circles of different sizes on the surface
Deimos, triangular potato complete with some scattered eyes
Phobos, lumpy cratered rock been nicked big time a few times
Ganymede, giant crystal sphere, mostly cloudy, with what looks like a night sky inside
Callisto, like looking at the Earth at night, lights everywhere, but no water
Io, a huge round pizza, salivate at all that bubbling cheese
Europa, a hazy blue ball laden with crowded crimson scratching, like a child drew on it
Titan, appears a heavily clouded blue and green, yin and yang, north and south
Rhea, the whitest moon, is it made of chalk, can I draw with it
Iapetus, could one possibly fit more craters on a single circular object, and that seam in the
middle, a death star
Dione, one of the prettiest, with long pale streaks like prehistoric cave art
Tethys, a moon's moon, textbook example of a crater-filled bright world
Enceladus, so many grooves all over, did a clay potter craft it
Mimas, the real inspiration for the death star, with that one enormous crater near the equator
Titania, much like our moon, with even better streaked light spots seemingly evenly spaced
Oberon, sporting some extensive rays, is the carbon copy of our lunar wonder
Umbriel, blue, dominantly striated blues, with a smooth baby blue behind
Ariel, is there a message etched on its gray surface, the solar system logo
Miranda, seems to be an ice cream world, a snowy scoop roughly packed, ready for eating, or
Triton, like a marble, sporting a northern azure haze swirling above a muddy mass
Charon, mini-moon, a mere 1,000 odd kilometers across, got a red smudge for a north pole
And dozens more little balls and potatoes of shapes larger and smaller than Los Angeles
Moonchylde David Sanchez
Hathor, you orbit your mother moon Cloaked in star- Studded black, You hold on to her And she holds on to you With your gravities, Locked in an embrace In deep space It goes on and on And on…illuminated by starfire
To us here on earth You are old With your weathered Face, beaten And molded by Debris, but you are Young to your sisters And mother
The goddesses From planet Z Convene secret Councils upon Your frosted Glass surface, Bathing in blood- Red hot springs And choreographing Scared dances To the beat Of drums
The women On planet Earth Feel it in their backs And between Their legs The cleansing tides pour Down and out Of their bodies In red pipe organ Chords and rivers, Releasing their eggs Their barren moons
When night falls Hathor takes her place, Illuminating the dark Though the light Is not her own But a unique reflection Of a star’s
About the Poets
Adrian Ernesto Cepeda says "My goal is to write poetry every day because when inspiration calls, you must accept the charges. With every poem, I feel my poetic flame strengthening with every line I create. I am eager to exceed the creative challenges I will face in the years ahead while working on and honing my craft of poetry." Adrian's second book of poems is available now! Visit his website: www.AdrianErnestoCepeda.com
Emily Mack is from Chicago, where she was a proud participant in the Louder Than a Bomb poetry slam. Currently she studies writing at Columbia University and her work has appeared in Quarto Magazine, Tabula Rasa, and The Best Teen Writing series. She is the recipient of the 2017 Maggie Nelson Nonfiction Prize.
Don Kingfisher Campbell, MFA in Creative Writing from Antioch University Los Angeles, has taught Writers Seminar at Occidental College Upward Bound for 34 years, been a coach and judge for Poetry Out Loud, a performing poet/teacher for Red Hen Press Youth Writing Workshops, L.A. Coordinator and Board Member of California Poets In The Schools, poetry editor of the Angel City Review, publisher of Spectrum magazine, and host of the Saturday Afternoon Poetry reading series in Pasadena, California. For awards, features, and publication credits, please go to: http://dkc1031.blogspot.com
David Sanchez is somebody. He has a longstanding interest in mythology, symbolism, and dreams. He is a creative person by nature, dabbling in all sorts of art forms, but primarily a visual artist. As such, his writing is very descriptive, gaining influences from all sorts of artists including Zdzislaw Beksinski, Boticcelli, and Tony Diterlizzi. His writing influences are Meredith Anne Pierce, Brandon Mull, and Ali Shaw. David practices writing by observation similar to how a painter will practice painting or drawing still lives. It is cliché but he has indeed written about a bowl of fruit. Writing a story is the next step in his evolution of writing. While description is his strong suit, story and character development are not.
Sean Botnick is an on again, off again writer of short stories taking his first steps into the world of poetry. The California native grew up reading fantasy, science fiction, and horror from perhaps too early an age, and those interests have largely painted his works in the very same shades. Roger Zelazny and Stephen King being the most prominent writers in his life when he began experimenting with words of his own at the age of 14.
Eric Ruiz says, " I don’t really know who I am, but when I write music, poetry, and stories, they help me define myself. As a child, I created short-films with my video camera, played music with instruments on speakers, wrote stories pen and paper, and made paintings on the wall. Growing up, one of my favorite musicians/poets was Jim Morrison from the Doors. The absurdity in his poetry intrigues me the most. Since a child, I felt like I could create just as well as anyone else can, vice versa, and that mindset still hasn’t left my head. It’s 2018, and technology allows everyone the ability to make something innovative, especially in the music & film world. I believe people need to use their creativity (either as a hobby/profession), and if we don’t, we start to experience emptiness. Our lives become dull if we can’t create. What is there to do if we can’t create? We would seem like robots without creativity. Because of the Internet/TV, we live in a time where sharing your ideas/arts are easier than ever before, so why not share? Who am I? I’m just like you, and I feel like we should all shoot for the moon, the stars, and beyond."
Coco Ramirez is a PCC Student with a thirst for knowledge and a desire to inspire by pushing the boundaries of life. Writing poetry, children's literature and other literary works has been a secret passion since childhood. Born into a life of medical impossibilities, numerous traumas, and abuse, writing provided strength and endurance to carry on. Mother of two boys which was deemed medically impossible due to the nature of the vast medical conditions sustained throughout life, Coco was given a life expectancy of 18, but armed with determination, she is now 40 and is fiercely fighting “to reach the unreachable star” and prove that “true love conquers all”.