You were one
Of seven stars
In the sky,
Bleeding life into
The endlessness.

Until you gave
Your last breath
And left us with
Six stars
And a beautiful death.

Isabel 4h

We're made up of space dust
Does that make us stars?
Twinkling and glowing
And shining and growing
And someday imploding
In what used to be ours

It's 1 am and I have school tomorrow. What do I do? I write lame poems about stars

And the stars make love to the universe.
Under my breath, I breathed a curse.
Furiously, I rubbed the rainbow off my wrist
maybe if I ignore, all of this will be just a bad dream.

Still I know, my heart beats,
my heart beats for you.
Yet you, sitting with a book in your hand,
eyes focused on the myriad of letters and sentences, the stars in that little universe, the stars in your book,
while the whole outside universe is forgotten.
You are in your own universe
and I stood on the outside of the universe, silently watching,
silent cursing because I didn't want my heart to beat for you.

I cursed because
the stars make love to the universe,
yet I'm not part of your universe.
I curse because
you are so out of my reach.
You are my star,
yet I am down on earth. I look up at the stars
I look back at my star,
and I turned away.

I let my head fall on my desk,
hiding my face, while I contort it, while I use those imaginary scalpels and tweezers to fix my flaws, while I use my invisible vacuum to suck out all these feelings and lock it deep, deep within me.
I raise my head once again,
waking up from the anesthesia,
and I turn away.
I watch the stars make love to the universe in my head.
You sit beside me, silently reading while I sit beside you,
silently cursing.

VS 14h

But for the night
Lights are not bright
Nothing can shine
While out of sight
Can't be divine
Or exude delight
But for the night
The night, the night

But for the night
The glorious night
The night, the night
But for the night

But for the night
Stars can't take flight
Nothing can soar
While out of sight
Can't well rip-roar
Or shoulder heights
But for the night
The night, the night

But for the night
The glorious night
The night, the night
But for the night

But for the night
The night, the night
Stars they can't soar
Can't shine their light
Heavenly horde
Of divine delights
Counted as void
But for the night

Some days are the sun
Some days are the moon
And some days are the stars which burn out in-between

at 1d

(modeled after Daphne Gittolieb's "Why Things Burn")

The sun’s reign came to an end
when its arms no longer know
when to rise and when

to fall.
Somewhere in the heavens,
87 constellations threw an uprising.

I was there. When I walked beneath
your canopy of blue, your pistols
cocked towards the light.

You knew I was singing
lovers song, fighters
song, muzzle against my temple.

There is no difference
between the sun’s blood
and our’s,

sunshine and starshine. I am a body
of adolescence
fevers and you are of dead

philosophers. If we sing proud,
it’s an anthem.
I am so leaden, people have carved

constellations on me: Corvus. Corona
Australis. They bleed
opium smoke. Lovers song,

fighters song.
You tell me to kneel
and vow: ‘telescope,’ ‘empty

night.’ As you pointed
your silver sword of Polaris
a manifesto, I plucked a pair of astronomers'

eyes. Inky. Certain. All seeing.
We were brighter in golden
aiguillettes and it rained mahogany tears

till the sun set. 87 constellations
threw an uprising
in the heavens.

I never heard the battle cries.
Till the sun set, I held my witness
unmoved, like promises

waiting to be broken.

It's a modeling practice but I quite like it.
Anna 1d

As feelings get deeper,

your heart gets heavier.

You feel it in your chest.

As they will burst
                 ˚  ·   like a star      ✫ ·    
.       ⊹
    .      ·   
       ✵   in the universe.     
·  .    *     ✦
   .  ✵  

Association Footballer Ronaldo,
The new Wizard Waldo.
Oh what a fandango,
You bet he can tango.

Paul Butters

© PB 18\11\2017.

A follow on from my "Paulo Gomes" Clerihew.

Staring at the sky
One of my favorite pastimes
Watching the world go by

The crisp air
Biting my cheek
Wind tousling my hair

The grass is damp
Running my fingers through the soil
Forever leaving my stamp

Searching for my identity
Amongst the stars
This is where I find serenity

Josh 3d

Neatly coating the floor in thin white trails, woven into floorboards like cotton twine, sunbeams snake their way across hardwood.

Books scream to be read & my yellowed pages ache to detail my experience as a widowed reader of time.

Magazines pile, while my simple hands grow a day older.

Heat on my neck.

The driver of time exhales grandiose,
tells me to travel while I'm young,
visit regions on this globe that grow green with age,
listen to honest trumpets before I gray,
wade in pools of clear urgency.

He said:

"Find a walking stick out beyond the ether
laugh with veracity, poking fun at Saturn or the Stars."

What will the future hold? Only Time will tell.
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