I look from the window at the afternoon sky, clear blue brushed with gold in the west, drawn by a flock of red kites, sailing past on their sinister business, and when I turn back to the penumbra of this interior, blink, the seven stars of the Plough shine back at me, punched, glittering points, on my retinas, a gift of this bright sky that conceals the night.
though the day weaves a blue blanket
to hood the earth
stretch from rim to dusky rim.
The Oracle gave me two poems today. Though I used two different word sets, the words and images are similar. I get the message.
It brings wild colour to the morning
this bird-joy and laughter,
blue fire to the waking sky.
As some see stars in the dark
not ghosts, so our unclouded words
open the dance of the vastness of eternity
in a breath of night magic.
Ask and you will receive
but take the broken blue
from these old stars
and make the magic happen;
fly into the fire and sing.
No dance is more silver-smooth
more serpentine and sinuous
a sensuous sarabande,
nothing shimmers with more
seraphic soaring motion
than the silent sacred sardana
of the passionate stars.
For the Daily Inkling’s flower power theme.
The force that drives the flower
is the power of the sun,
the thrusting molten rock in fusion
of deep earth fires.
Two furnaces strive,
two anvils, forging titans,
filling the universe with burgeoning stars
and billions of eyes to watch their ascension.
The culmination of this struggle,
burning gases, rocks
and the scintillation of stars—
a shaggy-maned dandelion.
A poem for dverse inspired by this photo taken by the Hubble telescope.
Photo Credit: ESA/Hubble; NASA, ESA and the Hubble Heritage (STScI/AURA)-ESA/Hubble Collaboration
There are stars beyond the stars we see,
And boundless are the paths they dance,
Through forests full of winking eyes,
Reflecting sunsets on the moon.
There are stars beneath the stars that shine,
Reflections of an inner sun,
Where firebirds rise from the ash,
In your deep eyes that search for mine.
Could I reach up with outstretched hand,
And pluck a brilliant from the crown,
A diamond strung from topmost branch
Of the world tree’s canopy,
I’d set it in your hair, to light
The darkness in the coming night.
A ballad poem because I wanted to.
Stars strain at their moorings,
Ships that pass in the night,
On vast oceans of darkness,
And a path of pale moonlight.
Above the sleeping meadows,
And the stilly mirror lake,
The tide has washed the swans ashore,
and nothing’s left awake.
Stars that ride at anchor
In the harbour of the sky,
Wait for dewy morning
And the snow white swans to fly.
The morning star has faded,
And the swans flown from the lake,
The ocean that took you away
Rolls on though my heart break.
As today is Saturday, (not yesterday ahem) I decided to pay a return visit to the oracle. I like what she had to say.
The cool-fingered moon
has no time
for those who sleep
in the shadow of death.
Storm sings mad music
that soars, screaming
into the black sky,
like love lost at sea.
Stars sail home,
night sky flying,
their sad, secret poetry
perfumes the dark
the colour of oceans—
blue breath lingering
like ice in the grass.
a voice in the night—
language of the heart.
Dream a river of music,
sing songs of the sun,
fly me to you
on wings bright
as the evening star.
like the roses,
sweet and dark.
I long to see
the moonlight bloom,
in this summer grass—
last tendrils of winter.