Archive for October, 2013

Blood moon

Posted: October 18, 2013 in nature poems

blood moon

It’s Kellie Elmore’s Free Write Friday http://kellieelmore.com/2013/10/18/fwf-free-write-friday-image-prompt-with-guest-host-mark-schutter/ and todays prompt is this photo of an October Hunter’s Moon (also known as a Blood moon), taken in Paris.

Eclipsing stars and the dust of galaxies,
this blood-soaked globe hangs there,
a Cyclops with its black-veined edges.
It pierces the raven night, pinning
down summer’s last throw of the dice.
Daring woodlands to drift through madrugada
and into a new day without surrendering
to autumnal pressure.  Under this intense
bloody glare the courage of trees fail,
they bleed chlorophyll into the ground
and as the sun rises their leaves
reflect back that pale yellow stare.

Advertisements

Nebula No.476G

Posted: October 17, 2013 in thought stream, urban poems

This poem is so far out on the edge, its practically gone over it! Tonight at dVerse  were tackling the Beat Generation. That culture of the late Fifties revolved around rejection of received standards, experimentation in drugs and alternative sexuality and rejection of materialism among other things. It was a powerful force for liberalisation that spawned non-conformity and spontaneous creativity among writers, poets and artists. Go and check us out to see what were up to!

Up there, beyond this detritus embracing us, stars wink on.
Planets, moons, suns feel the gravitational suck of each other and
this universal whirr and click is shot through with a nebula that blooms
like flooding paint in your eyes. A thousand dyes of reds and yellows
punctured by meteors that rocket through your vision completely blinding you.
Just this solar kaleidoscope filling your brain as you fold up the pain,
and lock it away. So while you drift in your own personal space,

bankers in counting houses,
the regiments of hawks,
those greeders and feeders,

wait

I put both hands to my temple
and through finger tips feel the rhythmic
beat of the heart in my head. It’s the
pulse of all thoughts searching for words.

go on

Those shapers of style,
the sowers of fear (this will give you cancer, that will shorten your life),
the sowers of hope (buy this and you’ll look that thin, do this and you’ll live forever),
all those who try to control

get swallowed up into that black hole created by the force
of your indifference. Later back in the coffee shop at our favourite table
we sit once again and waste everyone else’s day watching their worlds go by.

Visions sent downstream

Posted: October 16, 2013 in nature poems, urban poems

Speaking words of woods, valleys and
moors over the weir, I watch
as these images are washed away
to some distant ocean.