What the Moon Heard

What the Moon Heard Witty, meaningful poetry from a woman with a loud laugh, a soft heart, and a fondness for a drink.

A bit of fishwife, a bit of a smartarse - writing for anyone who's ever cried in the bath, danced in the kitchen, or told the moon too much.

26/05/2026

The Road

Two paths ran on through a yellow wood,
And I, with time enough to stand,
Looked not for which was less well trod,
But which would bear a steady hand.

Both lay before me, near the same,
Worn down by feet that came and went,
No sign declared a truer claim,
No whisper marked a firm intent.

So I stepped on, not to declare
A difference others might applaud,
But simply because it held me there,
And seemed to answer to my tread.

And as I walked, it altered slightly
Edges settled, stones made known,
What was muddled clarified quietly,
What was needless left alone.

I did not name it mine to keep,
Nor say it differed by design,
Only that walking is not sleep
And what we use, we re-align.

And if I speak of it at all,
It will not be with sigh or claim,
But that the path, once walked with care,
Did not remain quite as it came.

Sticky Business (A Postal Affair)I bought a stamp, first class and neat,A tiny square of self-adhesive heat.Not for bill...
09/05/2025

Sticky Business (A Postal Affair)

I bought a stamp, first class and neat,
A tiny square of self-adhesive heat.
Not for bills, nor dreary tax,
But to send you words with subtle craic.

Not sexts or moans or midnight calls,
But ink that drips down paper halls.
My pen, it danced, not for relief,
But for the art of blooming, brief.

You think it’s lust, all heat and sighs
But love wears boots, not just silk thighs.
It queues at nine, it licks and sticks,
It flirts through pens, not just cheap tricks.

It buys a stamp, it picks the right one
Not Christmas, Queen, but something fun.
Then off it goes, that love-bound note,
With hope and spit and half a quote.

So when it lands, and you hold tight,
Don’t dare assume it’s just one-night.
For true desire, not just frustration,
Comes franked with quiet dedication.

They say I’m the storm,the spin, the swell,the tide that risesjust to rebel.Because I’m "hormonal",as if that explainsmy...
10/04/2025

They say I’m the storm,
the spin, the swell,
the tide that rises
just to rebel.

Because I’m "hormonal",
as if that explains
my mood, my tears,
my wildfire brain.

But I’ve seen you,
puffed and pink with rage,
slamming doors.
Teenaged.

I’ve watched your pride
shrink, swell, combust,
that manly empire
turned to rust.

So tell me again
who’s ruled by this?
Who screams and shouts
then wants a kiss?

If I am a tempest,
then so are you,
just less aware,
and worse to view.

I am not too much.I am not too sharp, too clever, too blunt, too complicated.I am exact. I am necessary. I am brilliant,...
04/04/2025

I am not too much.
I am not too sharp, too clever, too blunt, too complicated.
I am exact. I am necessary. I am brilliant, even when I’m bloody knackered.

I am not hard to love.
I am hard to lie to.
There is a difference.

I will no longer make myself smaller to keep others comfortable.
I will not explain my worth to people who refuse to see it.
Their confusion is not my responsibility.

My voice is not too lawyerish.
It is precise, layered, and built to carry truth through storms.
If it unsettles someone, they were probably benefiting from the silence.

I deserve applause when I walk in alone.
I deserve softness from the people who say they love me.
And when I don’t get it, I will not doubt myself.
I will doubt them.

This face, this body, this mind, this story,
They have survived what would level most people.
And still, I bring wine to the party.
Even when I have to pour it for myself.

So here I am.
Unfolding. Unapologetic. Unbreakable. Sort of.

And anyone who thinks otherwise
can respectfully shove it up their bumhole.

You don’t need my tears to fuel your own.Don’t need my rage to set the tone.You don’t need chaos to feel alive,Or someon...
04/04/2025

You don’t need my tears to fuel your own.
Don’t need my rage to set the tone.
You don’t need chaos to feel alive,
Or someone else’s fall to thrive.

You don’t need to steal the room,
To scatter light and grow the bloom.
You don’t need echoes, borrowed praise,
To walk in fire and feel the blaze.

The truth you hide is not that deep,
It’s just been buried under “keep”.
Keep them smiling, keep control,
Keep the mask, protect your soul.

But love, you are a chandelier,
Not built for shade, not built for fear.

So stop
And face the glass again,
Not for flaw-spotting or pretend,
But to see, beneath the doubt and noise
The girl who used a quieter voice.

Remember her? The wild, the bright?
The one who danced within the light?
She’s still there, beneath the show,
You don’t need mine. You’ve got your glow.

So I might cry, and I might bleed,
Its not to subvert, or to mislead.
Hold your own heart, name your ache.
Don’t wrap it up in what you take.

Stand alone, and you’ll soon see,
You don’t need mirrors made of me.

Address

High Green Road
Altofts
WF62LF

Telephone

+447525796286

Website

Alerts

Be the first to know and let us send you an email when What the Moon Heard posts news and promotions. Your email address will not be used for any other purpose, and you can unsubscribe at any time.

Contact The Establishment

Send a message to What the Moon Heard:

Shortcuts

Share

Category