BeholderI will stroll down moonbeam row
the stars my guiding lights
with each step my dreams will grow
far beyond this night
I will trace the universe
constellations in my hand
infinity preserved in verse
stardust turned to man
I will walk the morning sun
to the edge of the very last ray
let it fill me breath to lung
I will shine away
Storm CallSeasong carries
over water, away
Sailing the wind
To the end of day
High fidelity, hearken
A weather eye
When autumn skies
Clouds scatter and flee
Before taking flight
Between here and away
The moment stretching
The pause between breaths
The calm that comes before the storm...
Ocean already tugs at the lifelines.
A whisper of cooler Atlantean air
The storm comes
From the breath of susurration
To the thundering wave's drums
Inexorably now, it comes.
Caught up by horizon storms
The shore beneath you disappears
The sea provides fair warning.
And from the savage night —
Full-throated furies howl and rage —
High and dry by morning.
Cast up by the sea
Strange creatures and mysteries
Leave beachcombers to wonder
But what the sea provides
The storm-surge yie
Painting the SkyMother Nature:
Effortless in her grace,
Flawless in her beauty,
The world a canvas,
With her palate of infinite color,
Any method or tool at her disposal.
She is the master of pieces,
The composer of ancient lyric,
The writer of every story,
The artisan of all trades.
She paints the heavens at dawn
With hues of violet, orange and rose,
And strains the clouds on the horizon.
The rising sun’s light reflecting off their surfaces,
Cascading vibrance onto the weary eyes
Of those in slumber, and those awoken long before.
She calls the birds to sing the melodies
Known to them by heart,
And as they face the new morning,
They bravely sing the intricate verse,
A language all their own,
But one that all are blessed to hear.
She takes her brush and streaks it across the clouds,
And carefully flicking the moisture down to earth
She adorns all things with the finest crystalline water,
Dew covering the grasses,
The weaving of spiders,
The flowers untouched by crude hands.
She gently blows a sin
ForgottenBlot the fetid spews of Autumn
Every blossom once soft; Now rotten
Vegetation once lush; Now sodden
Swallowed by earth; A promise solemn
All those fallen will birth new pollen
Each lives on; be naught forgotten..
NaiadI am of the tall kelp and hard cliffs made
I do not bow, I do not break
I am coldness, I am hunger
No one is older, no one is younger
My soul is pure yet deep as the lake
Into which Bedivere returned the magic blade.
If you find me hiding in the reed
Do not be frightened by my blue-grey face
Men who come wish to cover me in dresses
But I’m fine, my dignity saved by my black tresses
Women may leave an offering of delicate lace
Or gold coins, as if my hunger is one of greed.
But don’t come too close to the water brink
I am the guardian of all those who sleep
Eternally in seas dark and rivers wild
I embrace every spurned lover and unwanted child
And drag them down, for my sisters to keep
Close to their hearts, their blood to drink.
SuprasolarWe call it the Local Group,
this, our neighborhood of galaxies,
in which only a single star
is even remotely reachable.
And we tell ourselves
to dream big.
That hard work
will get us there.
But on the cosmic scale
our collective capacity
For every star in the Milky Way,
all four hundred billion or more,
there is a galaxy.
Even the Local Group
Yet since dreams are orbital
we hold our breath to reach them.
And when we perish in the vacuum
the stars still burn
everything that matters.
Cloudy DesiresThe moon has fled and
the stars are hiding behind a curtain
as the clouds above scare them away
with their whips of lighting
and their thunderous voices,
shouting angrily at the world below
as the sky above remains unreachable.
But then they start raining
tears upon the broken earth
and you see that the clouds weep for life,
because they too are broken when
the sun comes out in morning and
burns them away
for the night comes back to life later
shining strong light upon the world with
gentle silver light of the unreachable.
each autumn is another springautumns where every leaf is
a fumbling wildflower and
every deep sunset where colours bleed
against the horizon,
pools of melted copper and
shreds of cloud like glittering morning
i hope you realise how each
autumn is another spring
three blackbirds fly across painted skies,
tearing up the dust i
can still taste the peppermint the sugar
hills and every midnight, dandelions they
dance in my chalice of
chipped china coffee mugs.
slept, bluebells, baby crocus
buds swept a
peek round my doorway and
I didn't prepare for a drenched bouquet of
silk netted soaked morning lights on
my doorstep when
i'm still dreaming of circled
street-lamp hues as soft as whispers that
hang high above the
dew drops in the air
-come take me there.
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