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."

Nightcrawlers

Moonlight dripped wax,

cooled from distance,

now hardened in the corner

of my little eye.

It burns a bit.

It is soft light when I blink...

How grease is easily spread,

superficially diluted in various

concoctions and reeks with a tinge

of petroleum, oh hum-

or pouring out the midnight oil.

I've never smelt a rat alive,

a spiders nest freshly woven, maybe

even minerals misting with moon dust.

The moon always watching her back,

a spy in the sky

she sees it all coming her way.

Meteor-light, star dust,

it was just us, quiet enough.

Painting by Edvard Munch, Moonlight (1893) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

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. 

Lie Lack

The lilacs in full bloom against the lattice fencing,
biggest by all the grey skies and wet clouds
we had

Dark green metallic leaves long and narrow curl
away from the insistent sun,
now a paling display
in this spectrum
spun towards
Spring.

Those celebrity roses build new spires,
spiders have their scaffolds up,
clovers cover dark dirt over a sheet of pily moss
in cracks, softer for a time, lush was once castover.

Now pollen and fruit gather in groups,
sucking it all in sweet lemon dew
it is the tart, fill those pocket lungs
with rich new air
made just for you, lavishly the last lilac
flake falls.


Painting by Mikhail Vrubel. Lilac 1900 Oil on canvas. 160*177 Tretyakov Gallery via Wikimedia Commons.

a little birdie knows no wordies

Little tawny thrush
why so jumpy? Spring has not sprung.
And you have certainly known before now
the cats that live here-this pride.

Silly sparrow, 'twas all made up
those felines would not know what to do
with you-yet how they do like watching
all the twitching
you do.

Look over here! Cackles rise,
this tweet and grub dash,
fidget and dart,
you cool hearted busy birdy,
on holiday.

The cat sees your ploy-a quick dip
in the fountain-this one couldn't care,
he laughs a hoarse then licks his nails.
Oh, this little bunting
gets behind his pinprick hot holed ears
and says-or chirps-
POTUS, po' po' us, po' us another
wergle fumpus, with yellow belly feathers, like a lilly livered loiterer,
tethered to others, such as the not so rare big-billion-billed cuckoo,
Who, who, who knew-
how to flap in place.

Polly-ana-cracker-barrell-of-monks like these-
Just look at that jittery pulpy face,
ask, just ask, he is fluffed and full of flock
puffy and inflated on a fence takes no flight
path to escape,
the last words were purr-purr
after the cat
finally got his tongue.

Painting by Louis Émile Pinel de Grandchamp [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Fits of all-timers disease

You must find it in Here

and protect it when you do.
Fight for it, for now,
if that feels right.

Do not let it wander off...

That should have been enough to know
all we needed
something special left for us-

most certainly we will know it when we see it.

Perhaps other things came first, easier and
stood taller,
in your face,
consuming precious attention, a natural resource
short in so many ways
making us feel we need more,
we feel need and have to have,
what we think we need for others.

Listen, that forgetting feeling,
somethings are slipping,
the way guilt works its oily way
inside to undo forward motion,
or recognized

as the inability to see
likeness anymore
it was lying there
when we passed

over the top,
afraid of depth, holding our breath and
acclimating ourselves,
we forgot what we came in Here for...


Painting by Félix Vallotton [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Bottoms up

Have you fallen
into a book, a slump,
into bed
too deep
for another to hear your muffled voice trying to climb out?

If so, please let me know, as I have been seeking
low and high for the loose end to grab onto
falling short of finding the eminent source
of your sound-
could I be late-
are you too far
underneath to speak freely?

Well,
we all make choices,
most have moved on.
I have pulled on this rope
without end
wishing and waiting for one more
buried echo-o-o-o-o-o-o...


Painting by Georg Flegel [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.