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ranne May 2018
If the stars hanging in the sky
are weighed down by people's wishes and cries,
Some of those, somewhere,
struggling, trying not to sink into nowhere.
Make a wish. Make it happen.
Noelle M Eithun Apr 2018
I seem to always fall into the cracks between your words.
I can’t seem to land on them.
Believe them.
I’d rather fall into a mysterious black hole
I’ve created to imagine my own version of what you say.

I drive myself crazy.
Not believing.
Not seeing.

Just ruining.

What could be.
You can be your own worst enemy.
Johnny Noiπ Mar 2018
the universe is a big *******
that farts electro-magnetic x-rays
that can only be smelled by a
another universe that is a giant
nose;

"This is telling us the black hole
feeding rate is controlling the
strength of the jet it produces,"
Pasham said in a statement.

"A well-fed black hole produces a
strong jet, while a malnourished
black hole produces a weak jet
or no jet at all.

This is the first time we've seen a
jet that's controlled by a feeding
supermassive black hole."

"We know that the radio waves
are coming from really energetic
electrons that are moving in a
magnetic field — that is a
well-established process,"
Pasham said. "The debate has been,
where are these really energetic
electrons coming from?"

One possibility is that, in the moments
following the stellar explosion, a shock
wave moves outward, energizing the
plasma particles and causing them to
emit radio waves.

Let's say the universe is a stinky tail;
who would want to be next to a black
hole farting & burping through space
& time & stinking up all known being

what God the Father's nose is waiting
around for a single eruption or many
that wafts through the room when his
***** cuts loose something akin to an
atomic bomb on a supermassive scale

what God the father indeed; what son
pulls his finger to get the cosmic joke
quotes taken from https://www.space.com/40034-when-a-black-hole-chows-down.html?utm_source=notification
Sarah Mar 2018
You were a black hole disguised as a new found world
A world able to hold every piece of life I had left
A world worth all of my time
Instead you absorbed all of the sanity left in my mind
Took my life for granted
Took my life for granted
Took my life for granted
touka Jan 2018
cold,

I will my eyes to focus
reprimand my dark surroundings
and the many failing lights that sit
just a few yards away
blurry, blue dots
that jut out from the soil
of my neighbors yard
some decoration, I suppose

wet,

I hear the past, present and future collide with a crash
with a few strong voices
who bargain for nothing more than an insight
into each others inevitability

cold,

light flickers back on behind me
and I could kiss it hello
potent and poignant,
I'm so glad you are breathing
maybe that's a little forward, but it's more than power
I still struggle to focus my sight
maybe my ears, however
quiet still could not fall if it had untied shoes

wet, and so cold it's become dull

the ground is malleable, mud and muck sloshing around my pathway
my feet toss the puddles of winter water up and around my ankles
it soaks into my socks
sends a chill that stalks the length of my spine

wet and cold

I meander through the murk, biding it away
I jump onto the sleek black surface, staving off the frigid pains
and lay my head down to hide from sight

my vision is full of black holes

it's lovely, the rain
but not when its best accompaniment is the long silhouette of the house you'd escaped
who would I tell
a few foggy figures latch onto my regard

cells collapse in on their own

my face grows warm and I feel my features contort
a sad scowl appropriate for the situation at hand
tears roar past the dam I'd crafted
but it was dark, no one would see
I was hiding under nightfall
which might sound cool if I didn't mean I was laying on top of an old car crying at 5 in the morning

reborn starving and unconsoled

I still hear a few voices, then a few footsteps that quicken
a pace, a parse, a prying for more
and then a collective quiet
I stiffen, stifle my woes

the bite and the cry as it corrodes the hull

numb creeps in around my skin
especially my feet, the extent of the cold finally settling in
but I wasn't ready

the bigger the bang, the brighter the star

I have a conversation with myself in my head
and not to come off loony
but there are a few things that shouldn't have been said by either parties involved
if you catch my drift

theory tugs at the strings in my heart

a soft gust of January wind strokes the bare skin of my legs
I wonder
I wonder if I could stop if I were to start
and so I wonder and wonder
but it seems the answer isn't quite so mysterious

paradigms practice their weight in the void

I bet an imaginary amount of some imaginary currency
to myself, of course
that if I wasn't able to before, I definitely won't be able to sleep now

the dance of matter and its taunting toy

I hear my name called, footsteps shuffling, offering their warn
a somewhat concerned voice from beyond the beyond
the front door, I mean
out of sight, I freeze, my mouth stuffed full of cotton
half hoping they'll forget I exist for a few
so I can try to compose myself

with the space around it as it threatens tall

however well I could compose myself at this point, anyway
I know I'll be found
I don't want to speak, I'm not sure if I could
when these things happened, my mouth tended to malfunction as much as my spine
so I'd bite my tongue and stand shrinking
my muscles curling into a shaken stir

saturn sleeps, its uninhabitable crawl

a warm blanket, I don't remember the color
I'm brought inside and laid down
and I avoid the hot remnants of some loud, leering summer
the air is thick with it

its air stings my skin, and I hear a song
  ‍    ‍
so this is the weirdest, longest and most intimate poem I've ever done. It also kind of deviates from my usual style
(the italics are a bit glitched out BC of hellopoetry so sorry for that)
Paul Butters Sep 2017
I kiss your lips and enter heaven:
Soft as sand and warm as Devon.

I’m taken out of my body
Down a long dark tunnel.
Your lips to me are lingering trunnels.
I go into a bright black hole,
Almost losing my soul:

Just wish this kiss
Would last for ever.
It’s something I
Don’t want to sever.

But there we’ve done.
Oh what a crime.
We’ll have to wait
Until next time.

Paul Butters

© PB 3\9\2017 (2nd poem of the day). 1st stanza split into two and slightly re-arranged 4\9.
What need I say? Except of course my research sources are "Classified". lol
Clive Blake Jul 2017
My heart’s pumping,
My brain’s starting gun has fired,
Watching Stephen Hawking on TV
Has made me feel inspired.

He’s working out the laws of the Universe,
The mysteries of creation to unravel,
I still haven’t fully grasped the rules
Of either Monopoly or Scrabble.

He agrees that the Universe is made from string,
As the Super String Theory suggests,
Whilst I thought string was only good
For making fishing nets and vests.

He’s trying to work out what happened
Fourteen billion years in the cosmological past,
I can’t even work out what happened to myself,
The Friday before last.

He’s mathematically calculating what happens
On the edge of a Black Hole,
I’m mathematically struggling with additions,
And my seven times table.

Despite my lack of brain power, I’m inspired
To challenge Stephen Hawking’s theoretical Big Bang,
Surely if the Universe is made of Super String,
It would have been more of a Big Twang?
I'd love to hear what Stephen Hawking thinks about my theory?!!
Daniel Tucker Apr 2017
Pieces of my soul
Pieced together in memory.
Starlight in a Black Hole
Of what never again shall be.

A floating fading glow
Darkened room image clear.
Now seeing IS believing.
Desperate attempt at keeping
The fleeting spectre in view.
A faded dream of a
Once upon a dream come true.
© 2017 Daniel Tucker

Notes:
Afterimage:
A visual image on the retina that persists after the stimulus that caused it is no longer operative.
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