#nova poems on Hello Poetry

ClawedBeauty101 Jan 2018

I am running... into a tunnel that seems to be nothing but a galaxy of voices

Echo the stars into its shooting state,  for I chose to ignore their choices

Comets have left their trace,  But like an icy breath,  their existence goes extinct

Cover my ears! For their twinkling whispers of constellations will never predict

The future laid aside for this black hole Dreamer. For I have disposed the old axis

The dwarfs of my outter life I have chosen to betray,  I need a morphallaxis

Soften my core with an after glow ripple of silence, and open up wisdom through the coronal holes

Cover My Ears! I only listen to the language of the Solar winds. It understands my soul

My planet has enough craters... No more damage shall be done.  I am the mistress of dark matter

My  past and  memories have been dipped in the light of a lunar eclipse,  it's blood scatters

Only within a Large field of view can I  recognize it's purpose. Not through men's atmosphere

Cover My Ears! I must deal with these super clusters of instincts alone. Now and Here

The Super Novas have no sensitivity to the relationship of  Outer Space and  Precious moments

Gravity is quick to make me stumble...So now I beg the Novas to no longer see me as an opponent

My life has been spilt into two hemispheres. Meteors shower down, destroying every Neutron Star

Cover My Ears!  For only my eyes will notice the Satellite from afar

Where is my home? The milky way?  The singularity of my black hole had ****** me in

Please someone! Anyone!  Flare me away at the speed of light! No longer do I wish to be a captive of sin

Once blinded by the Oort cloud,  But praise the Nebula's, I am now a T-Tauri of a young force and desire

Cover My Ears! Oh Zeinth! So I may focus on your celestial point of view.  Your rays are my purifier.

*Cover My Ears...

Definition for the Space words (https://amazing-space.stsci.edu/glossary/#T-Z)

After Glow - a sudden BURST of fireball gamma rays from deep space

Atmosphere - The layer of gases SURROUNDING the surface of a planet, moon, or star.

Axis - An imaginary line through the center of an object. The object ROTATES around this line.

Black Hole - A region of space containing a huge amount of mass compacted into an extremely small volume. A black hole’s gravitational influence is so strong that nothing, not even light, can ESCAPE ITs grasp.

Comet - A ball of rock and ice. A comet’s “signature” long, glowing tail is formed when the Sun’s heat warms the coma or nucleus.

Constellations -A geometric PATTERN of bright stars that appears grouped in the sky.

Core - The CENTRAL region of a planet, star, or galaxy.

Coronal Holes - Regions in the corona from which the high-speed solar wind is known to originate.

Craters - A bowl-shaped DEPRESSION caused by a comet or meteorite colliding with the surface of a planet, moon, or asteroid.

Dark Matter - Matter that is too DIM to be detected by telescopes. Dark matter MAKES UP most of the total mass of the universe.

Dwarf - a dwarf planet has NOT cleared away any loose cosmic rubble from its orbit

Field pod View - The area of the sky VISIBLE through a telescope.

Flare - A SUDDEN and VIOLENT outburst of solar energy that is often observed in the vicinity of a sunspot or solar prominence

Galaxy - A COLLECTION of stars, gas, and dust bound together by gravity

Gravity - The attractive FORCE between all masses in the universe

Hemisphere - HALF of a spherical or roughly spherical body

Lunar Eclipse - A DARKENING of the Moon, as viewed from Earth, caused when our planet passes between the Sun and the Moon

Meteor - A BRIGHT STREAK of light in the sky caused when a meteoroid enters the Earth’s atmosphere.

Milky Way - a spiral galaxy, is the HOME of Earth.

Morphallaxis - REGENERATION by the transformation of existing body tissues.

Nebula - A cloud of gas and dust located between stars and/or surrounding stars. Nebulae are often places where stars FORM

Neutron Star - An extremely COMPACT ball of neutrons created from the central core of a star that collapsed under gravity during a supernova explosion.

(Super) Novas - The EXPLOSIVE death of a massive star whose energy output causes its expanding gases to glow brightly for weeks or months.

Oort Cloud - A vast spherical region in the outer reaches of our solar system where a trillion long-period comets reside.

Planet - An OBJECT that orbits a star. Although smaller than stars, planets are relatively large and shine only by reflected light.

Satellite - A man-made object that orbits Earth, the Moon, or another celestial object.

Singularity -  black hole’s center, where the matter is thought to be infinitely dense, the volume is infinitely small, and the force of gravity is INFINITELY large.
Solar Winds - STREAMS of charged particles flowing from the Sun at millions of kilometers an hour.

Speed of Light - The speed at which light (photons) travels through empty space is roughly 3 * 108 meters per second or 300 million meters per second.

Super Clusters - a CLUSTER of galaxies which themselves occur as clusters.
T-Tauri - A class of very YOUNG, flaring stars on the verge of becoming normal stars fueled by nuclear fusion.

Zeinth -The point on the CELESTIAL sphere that is directly above the observer.

        Cat Lynn ///
January 31, 2018

#galaxy #space #cover #ears #star #solar #satellite #nova #nebula #way

nanda Dec 2017

super nova ;

she was like a hurricane
followed by winds
of a thousand miles
leaving wreckage
all behind

she was red lips
and cheap champagne
on a crispy night
leaving broken hearts
all behind

she was wilderness
a beast
that could not be tamed
leaving corpses
all behind

and she was a star
a super nova
in the sky
leaving glittery dust
all behind
for the others to catch

a simple description of a super nova

#star #super #nova #girl #wild #red #lips #hurricane

Arcassin B Dec 2016

NOVA

By Arcassin Burnham

Find Salvation in the leaves,
Liking for a day without rain to match the demise,
Drip \ Drop/ Drip \ Drop Dripping from the
Corpse, of course it bleeds,
Drip \ Drop/ Drip \ Drop making calm
Ripples free with ease,
Darker days are coming for the ones that sign their Name in
Blood,
Looking for a new host to play the part, nope ! I am not the one,
To bring you to freedom , the things that you serve,
Will only get you in deep fire and brimstone plus the gnashing of teeth,
When I'm speaking his name , you only seek vengeance and run away so cowardly,
Thinking you see right through me, I'm learning how complacent
You are,
When you judge , it's not the level of polite , serves you right for
Gambling with my life,

Criticise and scrutinize , man do your worse,
I been through worse and I've seen demons at their early birth
While in my sleep at times when I can't move and my eyes are
Still open,
My mind is clear and I'm aware that the devil has spoken,
Drip \ Drop/ Drip \ Drop , having dripped
Another since dear old pops died,
Drip \ Drop/ Drip \ Drop , looking for another
Way to save my life,
I gotta get out of here , but I'm the beacon and the brightest
Light to see everything clear.

©ABPoetry2016
http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2016/12/nova.html

#words #life #religion #salvation #demons #devil #light #call #19 #nova

Andrew T Dec 2016

A Poem for the Insomniacs in NOVA

At 2:30 a.m., I drink a beer,
as if it is a crushed Ambien.
I light a joint (the parents are gone for the weekend).
My girlfriend is asleep in the basement,
eyes closed, lightly snoring,
the left side of her face is covered in scars
and burn marks.

I look around my room:
white and blue Ralph Lauren shirts
hang from the lampshade,
the collars and sleeves are layered with dust.
The bookcase is littered
with shoeboxes, novels,
and poetry collections.

I take a drag from my joint
and realize my ears are full of static,
as if they had been packed
with black and white TV sets.
There’s the faint sound
of a car
passing by.

The car is a reminder: Civilization,
glass buildings,
happy hour
at my favorite hole-in-the wall
in Chinatown.
I’m naked, but
not totally bare.

All I’m wearing are blue boxer briefs,
as though it is my uniform
for my current occupation
as a poet.
The blinds are open
and I wonder if I open the window and jump out,
will anyone give a ****?

My therapist will probably label me as suicidal,
if I mention that last thought.
I think I’m just restless and idle.
I take another chug from my beer.
I’m hunched over a notebook,
and writing with a blue pen,
not because I think I’m an authentic writer.

But because my computer’s in the basement
and I don’t want to wake her; I love her.
But I can’t stand her critiques, in regards to me.
Maybe I can’t handle the harshness
in her honesty, as if it is a foreign language
coming from a stranger who I’ve known for years.
I’m not sleepy.

I’m scared.
Scared about growing up,
scared about having to stop
giving a ****,
and finally having
to care about
my life.

#joints #girlfriends #nova #ambien

Mysidian Bard Dec 2016

Nova (Haiku #45)

Here you and I stand
Beneath the cosmic graveyard
Engulfed in twillight

#life #haiku #death #stars #light #nova

Andrew T Aug 2016

Funfax

Fairfax Station’s socialite, a trustfundee
Still hallucinates on a lone hammock
In her penthouse.
Her ex-idols still burn the light green foliage
From the Tree of Experience. Her sister’s a screenwriter
Who lives near downtown in a cobwebbed basement.
Each morning she composes a page of dialogue. Usually
There the fragments of yesterday’s conversations
With an insomniac. She is the turned page
In a worn storybook.

Her shutter snaps mental photographs
Through a blurred lens. The girls’ father
Is a patient in an asylum, in his leisure, he treads
Water in a soiled bedpan. Psychotherapy and straightjackets
Cannot restrain his work ethic for Art. Before his admittance
To the institution, in his studio, on a giant canvass
He painted the green youth that struggles to
Grow in an elementary school. The socialite is undeclared
In her major. Unsure of faith leaping.

Remains pessimistic at charity functions. Vast
Auditoriums with smudged tablecloth. She’s accompanied
By an entourage of underdeveloped emotions.
On occasion she side glances from a hand mirror
At a potential love interest. It’s too soon.
The spring is a late bloomer, blue frost clings
To the edges of grass blades. At a coffee shop on
The corner of Main and North Harrison Street,
The screenwriter raps away at her laptop; talking
To herself.

Her coffee foams at the mouth with expired cream.
A welcomed patron to this local getaway;
This is where her father used to read her articles
From the Washington Post. He nearly hanged himself
After the car accident. His wife’s body smashed
Halfway through a windshield. Around his wrist
Is the Movado, she gave him for their anniversary.
For months now, for an hour before night class,
Our writer opens up her treasure chest of demons
To a word document.

She’s almost thirty. The divorce took her strength,
Along with her two legacies. Yesteryear, or
Was it the day before yesteryear? The talented
Family met at a Hibachi restaurant. They had a
Gift card to use. It was a day after the funeral; there black
Clothes were wrinkled, just a bit. Napkins lay
Folded over their laps. Silverware untouched.
Hot bowls of miso soup grew cold. Visits to
The bathroom were common. Tsnumai of
Mixed emotions: trickled, flooded, filled there eyes.

The foreign chef noticed their mood, he
Could only offer body language. In the air
Swan eggs were cracked into two halves.
The yolk sizzled on the aluminum surface.
Fire soared from an onion volcano. Mouths
Watered, and eyes were parched. Kobe steak,
Grilled vegetables, juicy chicken, fried rice.
They chewed their food with shut mouths
And gutwrenched eyes. They sat and ate
Until every last morsel disappeared.

Over her balcony, she leans on the railing
Of her loft. Ashtray spills Marlboro’s remains
That plummet onto a city of funny people.
She can’t use humor as a defensive mechanism,
Why should she? Her credit card is her alcohol.
Her eyes daydream of elevators
And clothing stores. She lays out in
Her hammock, wondering why an automobile
Had to be the antagonist.
They all live above the billboards, below the heavens.

#trust #nova #fund #va #fairfax

K G Jul 2016

Nova In The Mirror

In the basement where I sleep alone
Tinted mirrors shot right through my veins of gold
There's a nova in the mirror, holding up his two legs
With damp marks on the collar of his robe
With incisions and ghosts, on the nape of his neck
But there's nothing you can do
When he doesn't praise the sun
But he'll praise the moon
When he doesn't praise the wind
But he'll praise our oxygen

#nova

Andrew T May 2016

Opaque Shades of Richmond

You could have reached here Wednesday by last choice
Perhaps your mood shifted. All the calm nights
you had now lay awake. You explore the city
built by the perfect people, white cathedral
stands upright on a slant, a compass buried in plain sight,
the gibberish of art students from painting lullabies as sirens.
Only children are asleep. The university
grows younger each year. The best teacher
is always late, not realizing her impact.

The person I’m most comfortable with
stays in bed. Security found indoors
the couch allures, security in the capsule,
The deafening whispers, the genuine friends
who live nearby and can’t talk straight. The blessed temple
building worshiped by advertising majors.

The lucid potential, morning sprints round the track,
a library sustained by crushed Adderall —
glowering orbs rotating back counter clockwise,
out of chimneys the black spirits climb,
detectives bicycling, the honor students rummaging
for class notes in the deep end of the dumpster.

So this is college? That frontier plateauing
before you can dive off a cloud? So this utopia
was a dollhouse, the daily on the doormat
camps in the hallway: waits while the child watches
a sit-com?
Don’t apartments stand still? Are abstract paintings
and basketball supposed to nurture a city,
not only Richmond, but also other lonely cities
of misunderstood brunettes, dank **** and dubstep
the weekend will seldom put out
until the city you moved to shuts its eye?

Just tell yourself, “live.” The best teacher, eighteen
when she moved to the university, still grins
even as she coughs out fiberglass. Any day now,
she sings, I’ll take a drive and leave this place.
I pull her close and say. You haven’t slept in your own bed.
The boy who you’ve always loved still thinks about you.
The books you read before breakfast,
whoever the author may be, inspires
and your least favorite student who raises her hand
is judged but her posture never falters.

#cities #rva #virginia #traveling #nova #richmond

Andrew T May 2016

Drive

Restless in bed, the stir of warmth blossoming in his heart,
the girl he loved has gone,
drifted from his house to the field of vacant stares.
Rainstorms brew in his mind, shifting from one end to the other,
the current forming into a large sheet of distance damp with disconnection.
He thinks of fire. As he rolls out of bed.
Grabbing a cigarette from his ashtray,
he lights up. Old habits stay kept in the roof of his mouth. Fresh air
permeates through his nostrils as he steps out onto the front porch.
He props his elbows on the balustrade,
brushes against the grainy wood
tarnished from the skywater.
The sun droops below the gray cluster of clouds
hanging over a horizon colored with blues, reds, and yellows.
While he smokes on his cigarette he remembers the girl. Her name is a
wrinkled photograph stored in a dusty shoe box.
She has green eyes and curly red hair.
Her body is shaped in an hourglass figure.
She's tall and gaunt, but her
legs are toned from running several miles on her treadmill
each morning before the dark slips away into the fog of light.
He grounds the cigarette out on the porch. He steps onto the driveway. There's a red
Honda CRV parked across from the two-car garage.
He hops in. The key turns.
Booming engine roars out loud.
The wheels churn backwards. He pulls out of the
cul-de-sac. And he drives, drives,
until he can remember the road map, the one
that she stole from him to follow her dreams, and hopes, the aspirations that he had
once shared with her. A thin, white film of mist
belays across the windshield.
And for a short second he wishes that he were dead.
Dead so that he could have the
perspective of an omniscient narrator to oversee everything, and everyone.
But where is his girl? She's not the one who got away,
she's the one who abandoned him, the
night after he ate the sweet nectar,
the fruit, little drops of dew splashing onto the back of his tongue.
The red Honda CR-V careens down the interstate, windows down, subwoofers pumping
with something similar to apprehension,
tense with overwrought poems.
The substance lacking from trying too hard,
for something that wants nothing to do with him.

#red #drive #nova #richmond #va #narrator #crv