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TS Ray Dec 2019
It was cold night at play,
desert was cooler today,
without you and your illusory overlay,
I would have lost my way.

Are you the lucky seven?
guiding us through the vault of heaven,
to show me where I am heading,
maybe gods have come down through sages for a blessing.

Big bear or a little bear,
great wagon or a saucepan,
summit or bucket,
call it what you like,
be our eternal GPS,
and put on any fancy dress,
I will know universe is my own personal God nonetheless.
TS. 2019. Poetry about Big Dipper constellation. Sky watching.
fray narte Jul 2019
i lied there on the pavement, eyes fixed on the big dipper, waiting for the stars to fall apart all at once, or for a car to run over me, whichever came first. and there i was, staring at the space and the emptiness looked back at me, and for a second, it felt like looking at my own chest; the stars, my bones, slowly coming undone. i wondered if someone felt that way too. i wondered if someone else gazed at the constellations and thought, maybe the stars are disillusioned with the galaxy and so that’s why they fell during meteor showers. or maybe they were lost causes dressed as angels jumping off bridges in heaven, ever the cynic. maybe it wasn’t something poetic. maybe it was watching celestial bodies

i lied there on the pavement, under flickering lamp posts that looked bigger than the stars. the poems always said that stargazing is romantic it wasn’t. ironically tonight, i lost count of the falling stars while wondering why they’d gone too soon. wondering if they’d survived the fall. wondering if they knew that their descent was burying me in the sound of my breath. maybe in an hour, the black space in my chest would consume me and then i too, would be a shooting star lost in peripheral views.

and i hope i would survive the fall. and i kind of hope i wouldn’t.
On the merry-go-round,
new love I found.
Caressed hands on dodgems,
but she pinged me a Dear John.
The fair left town with my heart:
left love a grey, trash-strewn park.

How we canoodled by
the coconut shy.
Phoney fortune-teller
foresaw us together.
The fair left town with my heart:
left love a grey, trash-strewn park.

The Big Dipper's
not great for one's dinner,
but its ups and downs thrill.
Love is the ride that makes you ill.
The fair left town with my heart:
left love a grey, trash-strewn park.

Once seatbeats were buckled,
harum-scarum carny cackled.
Sugarcube senses dissolved
as the giant teacup revolved.  
The fair left town with my heart:
left love a grey, trash-strewn park.

Atop the Ferris Wheel,
did I queer this deal?
Should I have fondled her
in the gondola?
The fair left town with my heart:
left love a grey, trash-strewn park.

At hoop-la I won nix
- same with love, is it fixed?
Vendor's upped sticks , in candy floss
I can't even drown my loss.
The fair left town with my heart:
left love a grey, trash-strewn park.

Her name was Elena,
she came from Romania.
Where carnival lights once glew,
now as a disco under Ceausescu:
drab, shabby, dark. Like my heart
of trash, strewn about a fair-departed park.

— The End —