“I'm trying to write poems that involve beginning at a known place, and ending up at a slightly different place. I'm trying to take a little journey from one place to another, and it's usually from a realistic place, to a place in the imagination.” – Billy Collins
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXB6_Jr8DRdvG6ErpdlhghkBaONSbvoMZM3aYL3xUC6FlidpLN2fS6DhUs0R0qIZKk99OnAH1rzPNOu9M2YUmP2hlB_4ca_bWw2TRWtITewvonRK6f7fYTtPkAk-HwZ1S9MvSQFU5ntKKV/s400/92cf1930-9a80-3189-bac5-04bea6e3a175.jpg)
it seeemed appropriate for the following Collins’ offering for our
Saturday’s Poem.
Invention
Tonight the moon is a
cracker,
with a bite out of it
floating in the night,
and in a week or so
according to the calendar
it will probably look
like a silver football,
and nine, maybe ten days ago
it reminded me of a thin bright claw.
But eventually --
by the end of the month,
I reckon --
it will waste away
to nothing,
nothing but stars in the sky,
and I will have a few nights
to myself,
a little time to rest my jittery pen.
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