win Feb 19
aquarius rising
age of the future
brotherhood of man
beginning with psychic
compelled creative
created to follow a perfect plan

disillusioned
discovering the essence of
emotions of the higher mind
ephemeris pointing true
for illustration that is me
forget me not as is my ascendant sign
Orange light
Orange light
illuminate me
Ooh ooh ooh
Stars and Planets around me
Ooh ooh ooh
Cosmos very beutiful
And his beauty kill me


Mars Mars Mars illuminate me
Ooh ooh ooh
Maars Maars Mars illuminate me
Ooh ooh ooh

2016
We are our own system:

masses of stardust
which found each other
and called ourselves home
floating, amidst the unknown

  s l o w l y
but
s u r e l y

being pulled apart
by the same universe
that brought two planets
under the gravity of each other.
the moment something starts, one must already anticipate how it would end because nothing remains permanent.

the stars would always witness the things we do.
thank you for reading!
AS
Maxim Keyfman Jun 28
I'll go with you to the end of the world
I'll fly with you to at least other planets
I will go with you even to New York
If only you were with me and I'm with you

I will be with you and you with me
And there will never be sorrow
I will be a part of you and you will me
And happiness will always be with us

I'm ready to give up everything for you
I'm ready for you to become a Musketeer
I'm ready for you for everything
If only you were with me and I'm with you

I will be with you and you with me
And there will never be sorrow
I will be a part of you and you will me
And happiness will always be with us

I will be with you and you with me
And there will never be sorrow
I will be a part of you and you will me
And happiness will always be with us


2017
Art Jun 24
When matter reflects on itself,
consciousness materializes
into something more tangible
and realizes all of existence
is floating above its head.

Matter turned and governed
by gravity’s hands.
Spun and pulled by
creative fingers,
shaped into round colorful bodies and
tossed into blackness
to dance alone.

Some are given partners,
little moons to set their mood,
to spin their silvery light around them
and sing their songs at night
to put their children to sleep.

Some stay awake for the song,
some watch their slow dance,
and some look up at the milky sky and
wonder if matter thinks about them back.
All it took was a night out in the deep woods
KM Hanslik Jun 21
"How's it going", I am only
a lonely planet here
spiraling my way toward
you & the sun & every other catastrophe
I can find along the way.

"It's been a while", I am floating
my head is too light to remain attached
my hands are too heavy to pick up, so I'm
a collection of things that are gathering dust, just kind of laying
in the closet where someone left them.

"How are you?" I tell myself it's because I'm too good
for them, but I think the truth is that we're all
alone & caving in on ourselves,
dying planets,
I think the nights are for drinking ourselves away
I think we can't be saved.

You're just another dusty star,
& my galaxy is far, far away.
rob kistner Jun 7
_

a lightless
void
of
soundless
vacuum

spinning
masses
of
revolving
­orbs

hurtling
fragments
in
crystalline
vapors

molten
cores

min­gled
gasses

dead husks

black
holes

a
frozen
dance
of chaos
on the
tentative
edge
of balance

attractions
and
repulsions
of precarious
fragility

magnificent
obscurity

unquenchable
wonder
­
unrealized
dreams

untethered rubble

relativity’s
fabric
tangled
in the cloth
of
time

reality’s
illusion
set in
fantasy’s
foundation

the ultimate
frontier

unfounded
fear

hope
adventure
catastrophe

hu­mankind’s
triumph
and
sad folly

the
seductive
promise
of
a future

our
salvation

infinity’s
threshold

the eternal
question

the elusive
answer

the
everlasting
bastion
of
never-ending
truth

a
­constant
listening

a
longing call

home of
the
gods

the
fountainhead
of myths
religions
and other
odd
superstitions

a reason
why

a source
of
mystery
font of
knowledge
cause
         Lmm mmk om m, ,,,,lk,,,,,,j,,.  gl',,,k,m mml,l,,,lkll,lllkllkllkk,lk,lll,kl,ly,kkll,,,l,ll,kll,l          ­                 L       l.                         ,                                                                ­         ,                                               ,of
fiction

Heinlein’s
cathedral

the unknown
of
the
unknowable

ever
expanding
everything

and

nothin­gness
absolute

…space is

_


rob kistner © 2008
(revised 2018)
my personal contemplation on the infinite vastness of space

it is from a series of poems I created between 2007 and 2010
which were an exploration of minimalist structure
focused on lines of few words, emphasising single word lines
I published them on a blog I entitled "re~flect"
Cece May 26
Hey!
I’m tending to my garden today,
Do you want to join me?
It’s filled with wonders and wishes and wisdom and walkways.
Stone paths, little picket fences, and plant boxes stacked on windowsills peacefully observing people who may pass by.

I’ve got flowers of all different types.
Earth lilies, Mars marigolds, Saturn daisies.
Neptune forget-me-nots, Pluto peonies, Mercury chrysanthemums.
Planet flowers!

I’ve got trees
that have fresh stars ever week,
ripe and perfect to pick!
I’ve got moon herbs
to make moon dust infused tea!
I’ve got vines that grow with droplets of sunshine
and bloom bearing the brightest of bulbs.

The path stones are asteroids.
Sometimes they land in my garden!
How cool is that?
It’s been hard work, and I should know.
I did it!
I built this garden myself.

It’s not just any garden.
It’s a space garden.
Could you tell?
One carefully crafted from the far corners of the universe.
Planets, stars, moons, you know.

Anyways, feel free to stop by anytime.  
I could always use the company.
It gets a little lonely
being the only thing alive in a garden.
A space garden.

A space garden that doesn’t really need tending,
but I like the illusion of productivity.
I like its beauty.
I like the wonders of a space garden.
I like the calm atmosphere and pretty planet flowers.
I like my space garden.
Even if it gets lonely sometimes.
A weird little one
Martin Narrod May 25
Again?

Little bits of paper set little boys and girls awake. Paper is the voice, it is the rush, and it plays against the spirit of the rough. Some had hands in favor, some made famous from their toils. Across the bridges, into harm, extreme liking finds a way to plant their dreams. A courageous haunt for storytellers fashioning fictitious love in the vocals of these pleasure scenes.

A gasp at poison sells us. Two legs is all it took- the fanciest of the 399 lives, stitched across the faces of all his slaves. Some hide behind the moon, in the shadow of its glow. Some depart him, only to remark, and take up the King James Bible in a fight to eradicate some half-lie half-truth tale. Some take up their histories. Some track down their accusers. Some just watch the show.

If ever was a prophet, material or fake. A flip of the light switch rewinds the days, while a new trial of words ghastly fails. If ever was a wind to whip the rocking torments of joy into a smooth flowing dressage of subtle paper cuts and clues, lusts on paper and booze, petite memes cloaked in the vast inertia of the West. Rags piled high as riches, short denim shorts worn publicly before each and every oval and square, curious domain names gang bang the brain to forget the old complaints, renege on values once comparable or the same.

Only in this world, today, strangers bed each other and misspell the chants beaten into their acute proclivities for breaking the law, while purposely opening their mouths on soap boxes, and orchestrating the papers’ coolness through the grid and onto the plane. The work of the slaves is the accord to which forewords tune gravity.

This is the paper taking down cities. This is the worship building anarchy in its own members. This is the end of the call and the beginning of the caste. These are the mute and colorless stains on the walls, and the childhood loves of an adult that colorfully decorate the dormitory in his past with the clutter and occupancy that curtails to no complaint. There is the paper and there is the gain. Will any of them ever be human again?
Clutter boys girls boy and girl taking keeping god Jesuit anarchy human being accord fragrances scents stitches earn threads needles gravity awake sleep tire tiredness acute oval obtuse inertia West Kelsey paper papercuts utes travel wonder wander pleasing booze fake real prophet world America dream poems poem poet 399 slaves master sex sexual grasp gasp sell sales earthly boredom experience sexuality
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