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Taylor St Onge Aug 2015
You were born in the cold black heart of the Cold War, under the fist of
Eisenhower, under the satellite eye of Mother Russia—1960 America.
Chinese Year of the Rat.  U-2 Pilot Gary Powers forgot to **** himself.

Space Race Baby looking up at stars she does not comprehend—
the world is big, the sky is bigger—Shhhhhhhhhhh: huddle under your desk in case a big, black, bomb falls down and burns you so bad you feel nothing but cold  
             cold         cold;

huddle inside yourself in case your plane is shot down over Soviet soil
and everything turns to red, turns to blood, turns to your fingers shaking and your eyes stinging, and you think about that time when your mother told you about the Year of the Rat being associated with white,

with the Chinese color of death.  You think: This is it.  There is where it ends,
but this is not it; this is not the end.  You will die in a hospital bed
in 49 years, so just give it some time, alright?
Khrushchev and Eisenhower can play Tug-of-War and
                                   Vietnam can burn in the meantime.

Mother, when you were born you could not breathe.  Mother,
when you died it was because you could not breathe.  Mother,
when you are not here I think of Gary Powers not having time to press “Self-Destruct,” of the Year of the Rat
                                                                ­      choking to death on
                                                              ­         Lily  of  the  Valley,

of learning how to talk to the 58,286 dead Vietnam War soldiers. I want to
know what it is like to look up at the sky and fear a missile strike smack in
the middle of winter. I want to know how cold the Cold War felt to you in
the Chinese Year of the Rat, and what he felt when U-2 Pilot Gary Powers
fell like
                     Lucifer
                into the arms
            of Mother Russia.
or “The Zodiac Symbol of the Dead”
written for my foundations of creative writing class. this is an experimental villanelle.
Taylor St Onge Aug 2015
I was driving to work tonight and I almost swerved off the road because I was staring at Orion's Belt as it hung near the horizon of the sky.

Please study the following photo and connect the dots on Orion, his belt, and his arrow:
(A detailed answer will be on the back for comparison)

I do not pretend to understand astrology nor astronomy.  

Orion’s arrow always points north.  You can use it as a compass if you are traveling somewhere where there are not many signs of light.  In October, if you crane your neck and squint your eyes and maybe pray to God, Orion will shoot arrow after arrow off into the sky and you will be able to make your first wish upon a shooting star.  (If you are in a desert, and that is why you are navigating by constellations, pray for help.)

His belt is made up of three sisters and I wonder if they talk to him in the night and keep him company?

(Is it possible to be up in the Heavens, overlooking the world, while still feeling lonely and insignificant?)

Constellations move minutely every year.  In this way, they are similar to humans.  Always roaming.  Always looking for change.

When Orion boasted that he could **** any living animal on the planet, Gaia, the Earth Goddess, objected and sent a scorpion after him.  After his death, Zeus flung his body into the stars; fractured to pieces, glowing softly in the night sky, Orion continues to hunt his prey into the dark, cold depths of the Milky Way.

Maybe, if you prayed to the Greek Gods, you could find yourself breathing in the stars, too.
wrote this for my poetry: intermediate course.  prompt: factual poem.
I keep getting this urge
To tell strangers
How you used to bring a can of Chef Boyardee
To school for lunch everyday.

Or how I used to collect
Plastic Hello Kitty cupcake rings
And give them to you
Just to see you smile.

I would laugh as you ate it cold,
plastic fork suspended
straight from the can.

I would smile with you,
and hope you didn't realize
I ate all those cupcakes
by myself.

I want to share you with the world
Take your memory with me in my pockets
Spill it out with my tongue

I want to share you with the world,
Introduce you to people you will never meet
Tell people about you
Because they will never get the chance
To get to know you like I did
Like we all did.

But when you took your life,
You did the world a disservice
You took away the world's chance to find you
So you could find yourself

You took away your opportunities
To change
To get better
To grow
To love
And be loved
How we loved
You.

Your smile
Your eyes
Your soul
All so bright
Like stars in sky

Stars that you snuffed out
Stars that we can't gaze at anymore.
Your constellation is lost
Just a fairytale now
But a favorite amongst us all
For my friend who took her life. I wish you had called me before you pulled the trigger.
Among Amar Trees
Big Dipper Is Nestled In
Silvery Midnight
Imagined by
Impeccable Space
Poetess
Madhurima Jul 2015
You there, I see you with your sullen eyes
looking down at your feet, your back hunched forward,
turning away from the cacophony, the loud words they throw at you.
The arrows they fire dig into your back, and you let it bleed.
Your body a constellation of bruises.
You laugh, a glass of wine in your hand.
You call them beautiful, a beautiful mess.
But, my dear, I see them every time you turn around.
Trust me, your pain isn’t beautiful. It’s not meant to be.

You’re good at hiding your hurt:
you put it underneath patchwork blankets
you wrap it like christmas presents
and stack them on your bookshelf.
You collect it. You save it old green bottles.
You cut your pain into pieces
and hang it up like art.

Sometimes, however, you aren’t so subtle.
I can hear the anger behind your singing,
see how your fingers shake every time
your cigarette touches your lips.
I can feel your heartbeat rippling through you,
as I’m sure you do,
when I hold your hand, trying to steady it.
And I wish, more than ever
that I could make it better.

Perhaps I can’t change things.
I can’t change what has happened
or what will.
But don’t you dare think
I’m going to let you rust away.
Every time that layer of oxide forms on you,
I will be right there to clean you up
Until you don’t need me to anymore.
Giving up on yourself is the easy way out
and even though I’m lazy,
I’m not going to let you take it.
I will drag you through the mud,
lift you when you think
you can’t take another step.
Through the dirt we will fight,
like comrades on a battlefield.
Both of us will emerge alive and victorious
on the other side.

I’m a good friend, I will help you lose those ten pounds
But don’t for a second think I’m going to let you
shrink yourself out of fear of taking up too much space.
When the crowds hit you with their acidic words,
I can’t promise that I can keep them all from hitting you
but I will help you wash away the ones that do.
Together, we can watch the words dissolve into water.
And your pain with it.

All of this, I can only do if you’re willing to let me.
All I need to know, is that if I hold out my hand
will you place yours in it?
I have no ****** clue what to call it.
Nieve Jun 2015
Oh enchanting stars
Speak to me of your stories
Tell me of the Bear's scars
And how he earned his glories
A family torn apart
By the love of the eldest sister and a bear
The father killing the bear causing them to depart
Enkindling her to turn herself into a bear and causing despair
Youngest, magic one, save your siblings
From your once beloved sister
Shoot your arrows in the sky and end the killings
Turn each one of them into stars spawning a blister
As any can see with an eye
The story is forever imprinted in the sky
This is based on a native american myth of ursa major.
Ron Sparks Jun 2015
the rocket launch;
inside Orion
a new star
a May 2015
is not the black hole,
the remnants of something that
once used to shine from
a million light years
above
a sign
that death does not
limit, but empower?
part 1. draft 1.
Angie S May 2015
tomorrow i want to steal someone's heart
and i want them to steal mine
i want to trace constellations on their palm with my finger,
paint symphonies out of heart tickling laughter,
dance a slow waltz with our lips intertwined,
and gaze into their eyes and see a universe

dear 11:11
tomorrow i want to be in love
i want to feel the tip of it with my toes
let it crawl up my leg and body
and wrap me up from the inside out
sink into oblivious bliss

today i spent alone but
tomorrow i want love to knock at my door
sing me a tune i know by heart
and let me hum the harmonies
tear up the clouds and let the sun rain down
sincerely,
i felt like this a while ago and still do, i think. anyways, this poem is pretty raw and i'm probably going to post a revised version later. but for now, enjoy the thoughts i have and keep to myself.
Matthew Harlovic May 2015
To the naked eye,
the beehive cluster clutches
kin of lunatics.

© Matthew Harlovic
Try to decipher this one!
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