I did see a few shooting stars last night, but the experience wasn’t one I’m keen to repeat. Watching in silence heightens the other senses and the night sounds are eerie—rustlings and branches cracking. And the insects! Mosquitoes I don’t mind, don’t mind bats or moths either, but I HATE rhinoceros beetles. They are huge and seem to fly straight into any obstacle. And horseflies that land in utter silence on their cushioned pads and slice into flesh without you feeling a thing. I gave up after the second rhinoceros beetle crashed into me, and something began to hiss in the grass behind the well.
Sometimes there is no centre,
Nothing is certain; everything floats,
the spacewalk with no ropes.
Arms reach out and catch empty air;
today is anguish and tomorrow is dread.
Sun shrivels the berries on the branch,
the water in the stream,
the hopes that are just so many words.
In the night,
even the stars drag their anchors,
and wishes don’t come true.
I wrote this second Fifty poem just to check that I could, and have just read Sarah’s poem. The rhyme words are almost exactly the same, but the results are very different.
Without a word you slip away from sight,
I yearn to follow, long for wings and flight,
But shadows fall in gardens filled with night.
You took your love away with evening’s light,
I watch the lonely sky with stars ignite.
For the Secret Keeper’s writing prompt. This week’s words are
OWN | TURN | SHINE | TREE | STAR
Photo ©Michael J. Bennett
I turn my gaze from tree to sky
Where stars look down from dead of night,
I own I thought to find you there,
Picked out in light, your face ashine,
With that soft look I know so well.
But branches wave before my eyes,
Trapping starlight in their green nets,
Your trail lost in the sky’s dark waves,
Sailed away on a comet’s tail.
I made a wish on this last night of the year
When the stars are so bright and cold
And the moon hangs, almost full in the great soft darkness.
I wished that all this beauty could be enough
That the cold stars, the pale glowing moon,
The silver-plated branches of the empty vine
Will replace all that is ugly and bitter,
Tasteless and trite, in the daily battle.
I made a wish on a bright star
Dangling from the trapezoid of Orion
As he spins his slow cartwheels across the sky
That when the sun rises again
And lights with pale golden beams
The dirt and unthinking waste that lies at every hand,
I will still feel the dark softness of the deep sky,
See the cold, pure brilliance
Of the dangling star
And that it will be enough.