Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
M Solav Mar 20
When within my cells there rages wars,
For a second breath I’d stare at the stars;

The old world thickened under my feet,
Yet across my sorrows the ends would meet;

So to renew these aspirations of ours,
Perhaps on a missile on its way to Mars.

  ("We are past the third wave,
   past the coastline,
   past the coral reef.")

No I haven’t always been there for you,
In these gardens we’ve walked around and through;

From green to red, vice-versa and so forth,
We’ve gone past Saturn many times before;

Now I’m on my way to a distant shore,
Paddling the bloodstream of my heart.

  ("We reach through the gate,
   the gate of no-return,
   far beyond Saturn.")

Amidst curiosity and its pulsations,
Of skies infinite, a stubborn astronaut;

It’s time to decline and lose it all
Or time to rise up and answer the call;

Fractions of a split-second, a trigger;
Wings spread to the dark yonder.

  ("Gone past the point of no-return,
   Cicatrize our scars as we sail
   Far into the night.")
Written on April 19th, 2018 - for a song that never was.
JakeY Sep 2020
Beyond the known into the unknown.
We aim for the Stars that don't twinkle.
Trajectory, to infinity and beyond.
Light-years of light-years, the destination we seek.
Antino Art Aug 2020
I greet you like a new shore with a wave that says hi and bye together.

Somewhere in between, I entertained the idea that we might have met on a train in Seattle once. We sat sideways on the edge of a deep conversation, staring out the window as the rain did the talking.

My mantra is an old Samurai teaching: defeat who you were yesterday. I told myself that I'll have something to say to you by tomorrow.

I write stuff down for inner peace. The pen is my sword.

I got it. When the pandemic is over, let's order clam chowder in lidded to-go cups and meet at the edge of a pier where ships leave. After a while, the sight of departure takes on a charm of its own.

I can talk to you more freely on higher ground, like a rooftop. Or a train platform overlooking uptown Chicago. It will feel like we've risen above the noise.

I make a pretty good penpal. I also have anime hair. And an enviable Samurai sword collection.

Do abs still count?

My brain is in great shape. Don't mind if the thoughts floating out of it are going over your head. It's better than going over heels. That would be hopelessly romantic.

Dating apps remind me of a formula in astronomy that says the odds of intelligent life beyond Earth are a statistical impossibility. Still, you can't help but look up on dark nights asking if you're alone.

I want to say I met a girl who I began writing about, the kind that doesn't just smile at you to be polite. Consider this an invitation to write back.

You'll get my name then,
-Annonymously Yours
Emily Jul 2020
The lonely astronaut adrift in space made friends with the stars
Who gave him something to think about besides the chill in his arms
Who twinkled in tandem to the beat of his heart

“I have no one but these lights and they have no one but me
But because I cannot burn like they do,
I’ll drown in this infinite cavity”

The lonely astronaut surrendered himself to the void with a sigh
Who let him exist as a bystander to time
Who saw him as space debris and brushed him aside
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Alien Nation
by Michael R. Burch

for J. S. S., a "Christian" poet

On a lonely outpost on Mars
the astronaut practices “speech”
as alien to primates below
as mute stars winking high, out of reach.

And his words fall as bright and as chill
as ice crystals on Kilimanjaro —
far colder than Jesus’s words
over the “fortunate” sparrow.

And I understand how gentle Emily
felt, when all comfort had flown,
gazing into those inhuman eyes,
feeling zero at the bone.

Oh, how can I grok his arctic thought?
For if he is human, I am not.

Note: The coinage “grok” appears in Robert Heinlein’s classic sci-fi novel "Stranger in a Strange Land." The novel’s protagonist, Valentine Michael Smith, was raised on Mars by enlightened Martians, and he often feels out of sorts on Earth, where he struggles to grok (understand deeply and profoundly) earthlings and their primitive, often inhuman, ways. Keywords/Tags: Mars, astronaut, alien, primates, stars, words, ice, crystals, Jesus, sparrow, Emily, Dickinson, zero, bone, arctic, thought, human, inhuman
Lenz Nov 2019
There is no shame in writing feelings.
I want to tattoo them inside.

My mind is a beautiful garden, and I can not get out of it.
The wall is nonexistent, but made of metal sticks, and I can see the exit, but I am hopelessly stuck.
Years or days ago I might write lovingly but now I am too stingy. I am penurious for words.
For all so many things inside me, I am a speechless animal.
It is like everything is higher than me, and I am already six feet underground looking up at their boots.

There is a rain in my garden.
Rain
Coming into town
Watching every window
Watching every widow
Watching every nook
The best spy ever
Talking cryptic rhythmes
During afternoons
Starting March till June

I wish there were no rain, no anything, nothing.

I feel like an astronaut
I feel like an astronaut
It's like my ID is a fraud
I feel like I'm here but I'm not

I am a dopamine ******.
A composer
of the stars,
& astronaut
of dreams,
the unsung
swan of the
night, who
draws the
paintings
of her
thoughts,
the clouds
of dandelions
fields forever
in reverie,
her sigh settles
the seas of
lilac dreams,
as music
plays, she
enjoys the
indigo hues
of a bohemian
way of life,
and every
person
on this
earth is,
in their own
way, an
eccentric
of their
own hue,
upon the
painting of
life in the
microcosmos
to the lights
beyond, one
possesses
the traveler
in the chest,
a seeker of
the secret,
unrevealed
revelations,
a hidden
lover of
truth,
a flower
always
in perpetual
rebirth,  
the secret
dancer
of the
night,
musing
upon the
wisdom
of how
every
human
holds the
aubade
within the
intricacy
of their
silver
scales,
in the
deeper
tides
of eyes
meeting
to become
one in the
balladry
of being
within each
other’s gaze,
for eyes reveal
the drifters,
who sail in
the ocean
of words
and catch
her star-dew,
where she
hears the
hidden,
secluded
symphonies,
they reveal
the lights
of their
own as
time, the
mysterious
one, flows
her fabric
and they
grow closer
to one, she
watches
upon them
unfolding,
as she
opens
her wings,
they close
their eyes,
when two
had once
seeked
to be other
than the
truth of self,
from their
chests are
opening
butterflies,
they awaken
in their
cocoon,
awaiting
the voyage
to the
moon,
the poet
sits by his
window,
and softly
sung “all of
what the
eyes see
in bloom
is poetry”
Aa Harvey Jul 2019
Rocket Man : Still flying


It’s cold as Hell up here in outer space.
I left the old me way behind.
It’s hard to see that there’s another way.
I always said that I wanted to fly.


But now I’m way up here, spinning out of control.
I need a safe space to reel me in, but I can’t grab a hold.
So I’m gonna fly even higher than I’ve ever been before.
I’m a rocket man who is swimming far away from the shore.


I never wanted to be a rocket man.
They just let me go alone, so I took the chance.


And I think I’m gonna find a way to be,
Got wings attached, no ejector seat
And I’m travelling faster than I ever should,
I’ve gone a million miles further than they said I could.


Left Mars behind, I think it’s been gone a year.
No turning back time now, the Earth’s not here.
A distant star that I can no longer see.
I’m drifting away and there’s no tractor beam.


I never wanted to be a rocket man.
They just let me go alone, so I took the chance.


Man on a mission, searching galaxies.
A lonely man in space alone.
I fly with shooting stars, they comfort me.
I guess we’re both a long, long way from home.


My destination is the universe.
A forward explorer from way away.
Forever searching for the perfect words,
But all I find is more stars in space.


I never wanted to be a rocket man…


(C)2019 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Next page