Optics

During this summer's heat, I thought I'd rerun this poem. A reminder of the summertime night sky. 

Optics

The planet shine of Venus studs

the brightening sky, but nowhere

do I spy the wisp of a waning moon,

fellow traveler of this morning star.

I scan my windows without luck, reach

for an astronomy app certain to pinpoint

her. But nothing lights up.

Earth's satellite slipped away.

Her presence enlivens midnight's vault,

and retreat implies a curtain of clouds

or a crescent gone early to bed.

But no, this day she simply doesn't show,

vanishes like a lady in a magic act.

My dusty handbook of the heavens 

concedes her disappearance once each 

lunar month.

Then "Sin Sala Bim" and she's back 

as a silvered bow, ready to set, stage right

the following night.

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor  

Sunscreen

I thought this poem would be appropriate to rerun.

Sunscreen

Grease paint, war paint smeared across my face,

Ghostlike impressions linger in its wake,

SPF residues of chalky-white lace.

Summer once beckoned with a sunny embrace,

Most of us applied bronzers unaware of the stakes.

No grease paint, war paint smeared on this face.

Then warnings and sunblock came to replace

Fairytale suntans.  Hard to trust a remake

With SPF residues of chalky-white lace.

My fingers rub it in, try to leave no trace,

But despite being careful I still spot mistakes

Of grease paint or war paint smeared on my face.

Some days I look like a clown, a disgrace

With cheeks blotchy as a sugar dusted cake

Thanks to SPF residues of chalky-white lace.

Aging traps us all, and UV rays hold no grace.

Although I grumble, I know healthy skin takes

Grease paint, war paint smeared across my face,

Leaving SPF residues of chalky-white lace.

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor