I am-phibian

A line in the sky
caught my eye

the barbed hook
of crescent moon

took no time
pulling my chin up

and out
of my element

and taking my breath
outside
the warm body

weightless
I can only wait
for lightness
to break

through
a comforting zone

at terminal velocity
relevant
only to the speed of
dreams and nightmares

piercing through
this illusion

of you
waking up
or falling down
but always catching

a peek
under the surface.



Painting by Lionel Walden, 'Twilight, Evening Star and Crescent Moon' c. 1925 in Public domain.

Out of darkness grows

It feels like rain
in the bones.
It is as though
I have known
the subtle differences
of hours
from reading water lines
and by translating the stain
visibly left behind
similar to thunderheads.

Another dawn lightens over me
and after so many
thin and pointed
Winter moons have waned,
it becomes easier to reminisce
in this Time
alone and perishable.

Soon enough,
daybreaks the serene brow
into blended spectrums
dampened down seeds are sown
deeply enfolded into the crust
and the anticipation of flowers
made nothing but sense
of Beauty.



Painting by Jean-Francois Portaels(1818-1895), 'Spring' c. 1879 in Public Domain. 

To: Night, There will be no words

Moon shimmer atop the sea
                              Take me
Into your crested,
              Closing, wet black
Mind-
          If I
Stand here,
                   listening to your
gentle snore, rhythmic as
                     White noise
No one voice
Rises up

High moon,
                    Mid-nite, we stand
edge to edge, like the
                    Folded note
I tried to sing
                   To you, like serenade
I made a solid
                        Offer,
of my devotion
                        Hereby

Anchor leaden legs
that sway and stay
in Place
              seemingly,
ceaselessly churning in places
                              vast, liquid,
Beckoning as foreign skin,
sucking in
                  the air between
Us,          as a magnet may
Be attracted

The Other
shore
is out there,
We stand here
and just Believe
We must.



Painting by Winslow Homer, "Moonlight' c. 1874 in Public Domain. 

Light-years

The mid-September moon
rests its heavyset bulb over in the West,
while the new days sun
stirs behind the
Eastern shoulders.

The sky mixed the lights
just so-

-no conclusions could be made
mid-stroke.

What feels inexplicably
right about certain alignments
gives us false hope
that the observer ultimately
affects changes.

There is more in a moment
to grasp
than our primal hands
can hold onto.

The season changes
its mind-
even if,
the movements
were always the same

-the differences became too small
to notice
the rate of spin
unravels
in astronomical units.


Painting by George Hemming Mason, 'Harvest Moon' , c.1872.

chiaroscuro in chalk

The thinnest limn of luna
fights her way through forests
of shadowed beings

Dimly disappearing cusp,
the darkness drinks its last sips
of amber

Spheres spinning so fast none saw
the movement, as vertigo, camouflage
in dancing shadows, the coins spin

The same two choices,
flashing rims and eye lids
make vertigo

Below bodies levitate between
the same two choices
quintessence finds the balance

between particle and wave,
reflecting accord on a fulcrum
or where to draw the line

between light and dark spaces.








Artwork by John Bauer [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Granular

The moon was the same this morn,
the sun did come around,
eventually,
the hourglasses agreed with the sky
for once
what was needed was more
sand,
some moonrock,
and salt water.

All these things were sought
outside of day and night
in a blur of grey
it was just bright enough to find
the soundness, the source
which would not part
with the wind.

And it came down to all hours.
All Hail-
the spin master, mixing
time with light,
blind to the difference of circles
ingrained.




Artwork by Peder Balke, 1864 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The green lantern

The face returns, a profile on the moon.

The serious brow exudes envy in its October glow.

The heat lifts its chain mail exterior,

unarmed now

the fight subdues, breathing resumes

as the humidity rises,

solemn fog rolls over the westerly

treeline

mingling out of character,

and brewing up a new ambiance

with wax dripping from overhead,

thunder gathering below,

running on low 

light, it becomes apparent;

Degrees are mirroring phases.

Image credit By Stephen Rahn from Macon, GA, USA (Waxing Crescent Moon on 4-1-17) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

To sing the Plague song

Too thin to help now,
with your lacy veil
a white sinew
you see through
the darkest of times.
It is clear
little can be done
to make it any lighter.

Two threads easily slip
through your shining armor.
The stars know they are the
pommel, the knot at the end.

To ashes, all that remains
can only be folded back in,
the way the body blocks,
and a shadow cast.

Only to catch
a crescent moon.

One twisted wick will
melt the whole ball of wax.



Painting by Pierre-Auguste Renoir [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Turning over

At 2:24 dark, the mockingbird, and moon

Conspired to wake me,

I rise, finally, compulsive-

By three thirty both have fallen back down

It is only me awake

Again

In this nook, near a shelf in the world.

The cats all sleep deeply at this hour,

The only ripple above is me.

Already, I have sought in the low light

And scoured the flat surfaces for the source

Of the voice-

As though if I knew this

I could sleep through the music

Conducting words my way

Some sink in

Such as

-Begin and Again-

i-am-hear.


Painting by Oscar Florianus Bluemner, 'Moon-Night-Mood' (1929) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Palate primer

Like a child that has yet to learn
           that accidents can be
                   on purposes,
                                       I follow
                                       that low
                           blue moonlight
            unafraid of indigo
                                   -as though
         a new color could be
         awaiting me
           any new born night
           just
                 such as this one
                 of many.

In which way

The iron clouds pillar up-

appearing as smoke stacks

of weathered industry.

A white hot moon

dims in the distance,

cooling its crusty heel-

by degree-one feels

cool and aloof, like May.

The flowers will soon turn

their heavy heads toward the sky,

and the palm fronds will sail

and sway, catching wind waves-

still, for now, rising lightly...

When it warms up to-day

it May use more than greys

tinged with purple promises

that Summer burns

just over the horizon.

Yet, May bees, I've learned
aren't always knows.

Photo By kallerna (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Expansion

Moving forward, at the end of the day, and these clichés

were left to remind us what sounds about right,

in-sight-fully (don't look back).

As though we could help it, we were not made

this way, a head, not eating tails of our time.

Before you ask-did I know about this

I have said this before, a little bit of chaos

does so much more for creation, inflation

and more. There is (much) more,

After all, 'A few people laughed, a few people cried',

I hope you lived in an interesting time-

Most were silent and simply watched the wax melt

down the ink dark sky making white caps on mountains.

It is best to listen for the ring mascons make,

since echoes don't travel well without gravity’s hold.

Calling your attention to small matters like the moon

making our weight

neon light, a flashing Open sign.

By NASA/ESA/JHU/R.Sankrit & W.Blair [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. 
"On October 9, 1604, sky watchers -- including astronomer Johannes Kepler, spotted a "new star" in the western sky, rivaling the brilliance of nearby planets. "Kepler's supernova" was the last exploding supernova seen in our Milky Way galaxy. Observers used only their eyes to study it, because the telescope had not yet been invented. Now, astronomers have utilized NASA's three Great Observatories to analyze the supernova remnant in infrared, optical and X-ray light."

Rockhound

What solidified as sedimentary and fragmented by boundaries for lines,

like this and that, then they become--attracted and hot, like activated napalm of Now,

or ancient as molten eruption of self from a grave state and under constant pressure.

Metamorphic under microscope where hopes and isotopes concentrate on concealment

(not ellipse) and atoms abound around encompassing this multi-verse.

Unrehearsed we feel the way around--properties, grasp at solids

to state stability, states of now and later. Conserved and dispersed by magnets

in ideal zero-balance equations, also known as inertia.

Glints are all hints from the sun and moon who toss phosphorous

photons at us and get enmeshed in metal, protruding these signal finds and keeps,

Enlightenment.

Those glimmers sent millions of light years have been,

once upon a time, moving, one of us,

waiting to be seen.

Disturbed in our bio-luminescence, we became

cloaked and blinded by our life-lights. 

Top image of first known lunar meteorite, Allan Hills  81005.
2nd image credit By Daderot (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons, residing @ ASU Center for Meteorite Studies. 

Substitute Stars

Might it be that Mars is merely winking this way, ogling in orbit
then blushed when he saw-Us-
shadowed in his ruby glare?

All this while the meager moon hides behind a curtain in the corner;
shedding layers, seductively buoyed by 
        dark energy that winds while she rests up

in the next phase, the stars seem scattered by correlation 
but brighter by chaos; letting go of the lighter matters, 
you see

Colors could care less about our splendid collections,
kaleidoscopes and metronomes,
fractals and turbines, mirrors and machines, making
        more of that 
        and like this 
one oasis in potential grants more than any one wish
deservedly.

Tiny toys, glam and glitterati, Lucy and her rocks, likes
G.I. Joe and his grenades, helplessly She lies by He
pulling pins out of her hair, stripping down to barren
        and lighting matches like flares, indistinguishable
        in the universe.

We watch, perverted and diverted in curiosity, vapidly
spreading green gasses of dank envy throughout this galaxy,
as far as stars are pointed by projection,
there will be black holes
in his story.

Image credit By NASA and The Hubble Heritage Team (STScI/AURA) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Details: "NASA's Hubble Space Telescope took the picture of Mars on June 26, 2001, when Mars was approximately 68 million kilometers (43 million miles) from Earth — the closest Mars has ever been to Earth since 1988. Hubble can see details as small as 16 kilometers (10 miles) across. The colors have been carefully balanced to give a realistic view of Mars' hues as they might appear through a telescope. Especially striking is the large amount of seasonal dust storm activity seen in this image. One large storm system is churning high above the northern polar cap (top of image), and a smaller dust storm cloud can be seen nearby. Another large dust storm is spilling out of the giant Hellas impact basin in the Southern Hemisphere (lower right)."

She's so shy

(Come) Back, back, back
             She beckons-
softly at first,
             Something is missing-
volume.

(With) A tint of  spilt light,
           with a whisper of consonance
striking a surface-
She has moved out
                                      from behind
the clouded periwinkle glass.

A lady is demure,
all chiffon and lace,
privacy knits her crochet brow
                               in her taciturn phase,
observing us too late and long...

(Where) She moved windows-
(knowing we would never peek there)
              She'd had enough-
                              leaving us
in the dark
(Again) To feel our way
Back, back, back
               where night shadows lie
(cheating the sun,
and stealing the superfluous
beams and streams in arrays).

She will give it all back-
Remember (when)
She's had her way
(With) keeping you
in midnight wake.




Painting By Helen Allingham (1848 - 1926) (The Bridgeman Art Library, Object 283763) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

A lightyear travels this way

A mere
two and a half hours before
I made it through a full twenty-four,
and it feels as though my head were spun a full three sixty
around again.
Why I felt like a wild witch of the weepy west,
crazed and amazed at my wicked self
under the full moon light, combusted on fumes,
blazing smoke laden trails on quiet sleepy streets,
by forests alone, I inhale and blindly wind the way
by feel, it is left,
I have the moon.
Bright tomorrows where days are too long
and night crept by all too discreetly
to remember
how fast-when did we get here...
In the dark speed seems greater.


Image By Ministry of Information Photo Division Photographer [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.Looking across Tower Bridge, c. 1940.

Awakening

When one is woken
by the filling up of Moon
it is not the light...














By Illustrator: M. L. Kirk [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. "FROM THE FULL MOON FELL NOKOMIS - from The Story of Hiawatha, Adapted from Longfellow by Winston Stokes and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - Illustrator M. L. Kirk - 1910"

Revelations

Some days
                  I see everything
just
                  as it should be
Grateful that the sun blazes
                 safely so far away
Lucky that the moon is so close by
                 and I still cannot feel
my own heart beat
                 or sense the spin,
a feeling of reeling along
at more than fourteen miles
                                   per minute
still.

How far
                I've come and gone
making a present of the past
pulled into others gravity
and laced in fine ribbons
                of harmony.


Most days
it seems blinking and breath
                                  proceed without
preference-
                                  all the same
never was needed nor noticed
how it all blends together
                                 by degrees
always perfection
                                 in reflection
just
Today
I said
It has never been Up to blue,
It was
Always red.





Painting By Otto Freundlich [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Night words

Orb-sessed with moon-ness
stalking the same language: Flow
aglow in phases.



Painting by By Casimiro Sainz (1853-1898) (Pinterest) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Lunar Landing

Thē clouds cleared
a hole to see
a place behind beckoning thee

She stares up there
at thē crescent moon
hung on beams
like a porch swing
an empty place
to sit and reflect

on thē
storms that pass over
We see
anew
day
a new way

Thē night will not last
forever
it is already a part of the past

thē lunar light illuminates
All of her shrouded secrets
never
before it dawns
on us
all the while
we slept
we wept
the moon was reflecting

over thee.

Image By NASA of Crescent Earth from our moon in the foreground (http://spaceflight.nasa.gov/gallery/) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.