Shooting stars

Mihály_Zichy_Falling_Stars

Nous sommes tombés du haut,
on dit, brillants,
éclat perdu dans les ténèbres osseuses
nous perdons le fil
filant comme des étoiles.

Il était une fois dans un rêve,
enjambé de chevaux bleus,
des petits fleurs blancs poussaient
dans les empreintes de doux sabots¬
et l’odeur de miel. Mais

tout change, file,
dans des flaques d’eau et de sang
la vie sous les bottes,
qui battent la terre jusqu’à la boue—
il n’y aura pas de tempête, pas de cris,
seul les gémissements
d’une étoile qui s’étouffe.

Étoiles filantes

We fell from the summits they say,
dazzling, brilliance lost
in the bone-strewn darkness.
We are losing the thread,
labyrinth unravelling like unstrung stars.

Once upon a time, in a dream,
blue horse-galloped,
small white flowers grew
in gentle hoofprints
and the perfume of honey. But

all changes. What runs
in pools of water and blood
is life beneath the boots that beat
the mild earth to mud.

There will be no storm, no screams,
only the whimpering
of a single strangled star.

Haibun for night beauty

 

after the heat and the thickening cloud the night rain pounded dry earth’s skin taut as a drum and we closed the shutters to keep it out. Later when silence returned and the heat, I got out of bed to open the shutters, let in the cool air, and gasped at the unexpected sight of such a crowd of stars

behind grey billows

flimsy intangible screen

stretches space the stars

Haibun for an oracular experience

Photo ©joiseyshowaa

791px-Big_Dipper_&_North_Star_above_Joisey_(3527512498)

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.

Always

though the day weaves a blue blanket

to hood the earth

stars cluster

stretch from rim to dusky rim.

Blue star-fire

The Oracle gave me two poems today. Though I used two different word sets, the words and images are similar. I get the message.

Sunset_sky

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

or not,

but take the broken blue

from these old stars

and make the magic happen;

fly into the fire and sing.

 

 

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Flower explosion

For the Daily Inkling’s flower power theme.

739px-M82_Chandra_HST_Spitzer

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.

 

There are stars

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

Extreme star cluster bursts into life in new Hubble image

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.

Oceans of stars

A ballad poem because I wanted to.

1024px-Bruno_Liljefors_-_Streching_swans_1915

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.

Frost-coloured roses

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 moonScreen Shot 2017-06-17 at 15.15.55

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,Screen Shot 2017-06-17 at 15.42.06

night sky flying,

their sad, secret poetry

perfumes the dark

with clouds,

the colour of oceans—

blue breath lingering

like ice in the grass.

 

One moment,Screen Shot 2017-06-17 at 16.16.10

a regard,

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.

 

Dusk fallsScreen Shot 2017-06-17 at 16.51.07

like the roses,

sweet and dark.

I long to see

the moonlight bloom,

frost colour

in this summer grass—

last tendrils of winter.