“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label mote. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mote. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 14, 2018
One and done
A singular point pierces the edifice of air,
a stone ruffles the feathered water in strands
where the wind was whispering aloud
and bodies bending above were
leeched into the one minuscule slit.
Pulses race under this repulsive pulling force,
heat escapes by each breath projecting into liquidity
and bulging beams charge forth in banded arrays
fractured from nothing, All
excited by this culmination
we found ourselves somewhere in there
catching glimpses with eyelids
necks lace this track, our spine compresses,
humidity falls, beads babble over boulders in
broken brooks under black light or water and space
pulled from the mountains sleeve
pinches time, a shroud of silken sky
glistens with age, a blink of life, a volume of light,
reaches its diurnal destination,
recycling motes in elliptical orbits.
Photo By Ingolfson (Self-photographed) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Thursday, June 8, 2017
Give & Take
strikes me as superfluous
Beauty.
Look around;
Light, colors, temperature,
and patterns too ornate
to recreate by free hand. Living proof.
I take it in too deep, bury stars under dust
And as ugly as I try
a mote may hope
to grow out of it.
Illustration from Patrick Moore's Watcher of the Stars in 16th century[Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Illustration from Patrick Moore's Watcher of the Stars in 16th century[Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Monday, January 4, 2016
Feather Duster
A collective flux of
humanity
each a mote point, asserting non-space,
and carried into the strongest current, alone
only to settle,
scatter the matter
atop the surface only to
corrupt the reflection.
each a mote point, asserting non-space,
and carried into the strongest current, alone
only to settle,
scatter the matter
atop the surface only to
corrupt the reflection.
Iotas of equality, wanton of will
in this form invisible, divisible
and particularly unattached
loosely liberated from
titles.
Breaking fields, bumping along,
cluttering the reception, static
speckled somewhere, between angled
pieces of we, as ashen air,
Breaking fields, bumping along,
cluttering the reception, static
speckled somewhere, between angled
pieces of we, as ashen air,
suspended and taut the heaviest,
scattering a smattering
of our particulate atmosphere turn
back into stardust, visible vapors
rain in shafts, even when we cannot see,
which is why
dust lingers here at high noon,
dust lingers here at high noon,
mocking notions of clean.
Image by By Dana Berry/NASA [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. Black hole devours neutron star, taken 7/21/2013.
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