NASA Image of the Day

Sunday, August 18, 2019

Nightingale

Bereft of this tactile and tacit touching
There is only swirling.
And oh, clouds......see the furor and unfurled, whirling,
the flashing eyes and tears and wails
Failed, and failed and failed......

Where is Peace? Where is my Joy? Where is my Heart, reaching and reached, even now?
Where is the Calm amidst the Tumult?

Surely, the voice that calmed the Seas
Still Lives
And all that Death would bring
Amidst the Toil and Trudging,
Defiantly Lives,
Loving.

That man moves to the Stars
And cannot allow
Joy
Is a tragedy we have
Outgrown
Outlived
Ousted and
Made
Redundant and
Irrelevant.

The Caress that is of then and Now
that brushes tears gently
Rough squeezes Arm and
Misunderstood Silence
Notwithstanding, Bereft of Bridge,

Will
Still Sing.

Waves

And in the ebb and flow of moments, then and now,
There is kindness, remembered.
The stormed sky bursts lightning white and scorched,
Emitting yester-love, renewed and promising,
And all the rain that follows - the sweat and tears of years, trailing, comet-like -
The sighs of spring.

My love, I can but know of thy breath upon my throat, seeking,
All the sigh of Heaven's Air that blows across my skin in longing,
Feeling its being, moving with its moving, my hands stretching across the sky,
Alive - flexed pulse of digit dial and flourish scroll revealed,
Oh, rumble mumble of my Desire.

Thou art my Seeking.
Pour down upon my breasts thy Light and Dark, thy wet and Fire,
Thy Adoration and thy Completion,
Till I am Moan Made and Thine Only,
Lasting and Last,
Bested and Best,
Circled.

Friday, August 9, 2019

Oar Parcel

I had been in this dark so long, swirling about me like skirts,
Wings furled, hair curled, cringing and unswung
Furtive and fleeting under distant glimmers and smiles
Remembered.
Swathed so, I had almost forgotten myself amidst the
Moaning.

Sheet blizzards encased the sound and fury,
Until,
Bleating wildly
Life erupted in
Flame and Frost
Reimagined, and
I ,
Pierced by a shaft of fierce Glow
Awakened to a
Smoking husk of
Aged Self,
Side stepped and
Violet voiced,
Triumphantly live -
Defiantly Floating.

Friday, July 19, 2019

Worlds

Impossible chasms, dissolving, in a tectonic shift so sudden
And swift
The twirls and whirls of firmer terra than me
Shake
Helplessly, overlapped and stacked neatly, like
an
Ordered carbon DaVinci orb,
Quirked and Smirked with
Speed.

Oh, where the disentangled arms, reaching forward: not yet, not yet:
Leaf from-palm and beat baby, stroking
The shadow away;
Seared sudden sun probe beamed focus,
On
Move Groove
Daily special,
Checked and charmed and
Scent sole
Scintillating meld of all things
Mattering,
Realized.

The carbon marble, joined and
churning.




Wednesday, July 17, 2019

Older Women

Reach in, reach in;

Reach down....way way down, past pretty boy phrase and flip finger smiles.

Let him know a part of that part that's hidden deep, somewhere dark and dangerous;
Somewhere where ink rarely goes, and only tenuously....tremulously, like
Untried cadence, and respectful pronouns, still capitalized.

That fire erupting and eviscerating part;
That claw back and fight-for-air-part that no one sees but him.
Let him know it exists, like you, still;

Past the fashion tips from thin cherubs who've never died twice, or passed one out of themselves,
After the stones you lived through to be able to say you did;
smug in their spaghetti straps, never fighting against gravity;
Past dire moanings of twisted pipes and pools of women-gut lives, seen and patched up and patted, rough girl style;
Let him see it shriek darkly and silently, shorn and torn
Bereft and moaning, alone, later, with a Scotch, being stronger.

Let him dig deeper....past the supersized selves and armour of flesh, floating and blanketing,
Hiding coal pit parts of you, mined and scarred, from eyes with no orbs, or worlds, aching to be run through, grain by grain, like those grubs you ingested to eat you back to acceptable, insanely.

Let that part out in terrifying bursts of sunlight and gloom, living Vogue cadaver that you thought
You might be more lovable as, shamed and standing there, with your woman breasts.

Let him feel that writhing, as you cleaned out the last bit of motherhood in you, like menopause,
Happier for no more goddamned bleeding, so you could finally love the fucker
And Feel Good, praying you could live through it - so you could live it, instead of
Dreaming.

Reach in, Row Wanda girl, he says to me,
And I pull out my own guts like William Wallace, wanting, at last
To acknowledge the succession of pikes, sans fish,
Winded and wandering, that will not meet
My eyes, even now.

Come, thin-Duked girl, he whispers,
Show them the cheroot,
The rolled gold,
The tried true have-enough, labouring,
The haunted smiles and gaunt girls, wizened,
Still not rich or thin enough, but smarter:
Relegated to the shrivelled and thin enough, at last;
Guilt free and
Fitted with darts.

"Yes", you intone to the phantom everpresent behind your eyes,
You think he might be able to
Take it all,
...and you let him
Adore the restraint.

Stepping neatly and precisely out of the small flesh cave,
Torch aloft, feigning
Lady Lazarus,
You excrete
Pinache.




Saturday, July 13, 2019

Stalwart storied building

I expect that a green and lace-sprayed victory, (thrown like a warmed and cedar-scented  throw upon thy nakedness, consideration, yearning, and neural capacity)

Would be a Doukhabor shock of love to thee, standing salt stalwart, wanting.

I expect what I intend. I do what I am compelled to do. I shelter as I will, with instant and immediate lack of guile, accused of complicated sexuality; blamed for boredom; mocked for surface and facile vicissitude. I am none of these, of course. I am studied recourse, and depth, responding.

But....oh darling mouth, oh tousled fatigue....I am spark, unforgotten. I am reminder, and impetus, and breathless exercise and warmed and comforted adoration, sighing and dreaming.

Self-caged, I persist. Beaten down, I flicker, simmering; sprout, defiantly; think...decidedly.

Rave on. xo


Thursday, June 27, 2019

NEWS FLASH - GARY THE SNAIL GOES "PLANT UPGRADE"

...THIS JUST IN.

APPARENTLY "GARY THE SNAIL" PUT IN FOR AN ABODE TRANSFER FROM THE
bORING COMPANY TO TESLA.

The plant's newest arrival - arriving tomorrow, thanks to the reliable US Postal Service - will serve both as a "natural seasonal indicator" for staff (one decoration only, please per celebratory occasion) and also as Gary's swinging new retreat.

Groot hasn't said anything in tree that anyone understands yet, but in laborious snail, Gary indicated that he felt he hasn't had an opportunity to really stretch himself, and reach out and expand upon his other talent, as a motivational peeker.

Both will wish Mr. Musk a memorable and stimulating 48th birthday in their own unique ways - a coincidence we suspect may have had something to do with their timely - if somewhat furtive - arrival.

48 never looked so good.  Wink.

Glimmers

The finger points are reaching outward
Tentacles of light tentatively surging forward
As the glittering progeny are distributed, like manna
Amidst the soundless ink sky.
We look with hope to those distant star eyes...
Residual lives of burning hope - like ours: passionate, undaunted, fiercely loving and unashamed.

Sunday, June 9, 2019

Wet Back and almost fell off the Fruit Truck again Hair Girl

Oh a Big Strong Man thinks
He loves a Fruit Truck hair girl;
A Fruit Truck hair girl, a Fruit Truck hair girl:
I said a Big Strong Man thinks he loves a Fruit Truck hair girl,
And he's tellin' all the World.

Smile.

Vision

Oh, sky eyes.
If only you saw more.

Perhaps you should close for a while.

Then
I could show you stars inside
To make your heart beat
Wilder than
Any lion.

You might
speak
Real words, then.
Sing songs loudly, fiercely, defiantly.

Love gladly, wildly, honestly, truly.

Finding yourself,
You would be changed.

Burned but healed.
Bereft, but lifted.
Robbed, but renewed.
Tormented, but tended.

I think you will ever only notice surface waves,
Smiling,

I will hum, close my eyes, and feel
Again.
I will see more, still.

Thursday, June 6, 2019

Spring Rites

Green wonderful, wind surely around the metals and spikes - my fingers confusing fire; igniting flame, scattering shot like sparks of celebration in a peering sky: celebration showers; showers of glee and glow and song and search, spreading out in glittering, flaming searching arcs.

Impossibly soft moss - like a sigh - spread out the wonder of love beneath the shaded canopy
of dappled wooded solid lungs, exhaling life into the blue ball garden.

Birds, trill a trace of "lay we down a verse, and song, and moment of continuance to you, whispering
live, and languid, ye lions."

Oh, wind, move the watering sky deep amongst the fronded froth of 'spring forth', beckoning sun and shared sand wind to your brief rest, 'tween times.

Harken to the running rivers leaping and dancing, swelling buds to burst the earth, sudden petal wheels, whirring.

Here is

Wild All,

Undulating.  Here am I....waving..





Tuesday, May 28, 2019

Ho Hums

Ye me le.
The birds cavorting remind me that Sergio still hums of the circuit Universe with a smile.
Blinking Winking, meanwhile,
Tinkers with the eyes we need to
See More.
The spreading current draws in, breathes out, shimmy shake and
Linear circular expanse, at once, all electric fuzz crochet breaths.
We are black wired and
Ready.
Come, Sound.

Emergence

Earth shakes itself awake again.
The yaw maw wah of bird cries reeling across the dimpled grasses waving
Lose themselves with the latest rain, melting into drops and drops and drops.
The birds droop, waving dripping feathers and swooping lazily into trench top feeders;
Prize fighters knocking about, before the fight for worms begins.

The year, I feel differently towards them.

My egg shell - built so assiduously amidst the dark and uncertain - has cracked.

I feel the fluid movement of myself as the membrane melts and,
Tenuously,
My quiet self
Emerges,
Blinking and trembling.

Saturday, May 25, 2019

Tomorrow

In the deep quiet of the day's end
I walk into the night; uncertain, breathless, fired and impassioned;
I raise a haunted face to an ink-filled sky.
It blinks back at me,
Waiting.