He is in love with questions
And the lilting world of words,
With the fabric of philosophy
And the taste of fresh ideas.

He is in love with the smell of green
And the shifting sands of dreams,
With the hunt for profound moments
And the hunger-lust for purpose.

He is in love with his books
And the zodiacs cross the planet,
With patterns of chain reactions
And the way we cog and gear.

He is in love with pools of stardust
And fanciful notions of theory,
With darkness, deep and coveted
And the fabric it is made from.

He is in love with one who left
And the poisoned past he bathes in,
With being perpetually lonesome
And floating twixt life’s sabulous banks.

He is in love with memories, and the universe,
And nobody else.

With my choking heart, I’m grasping at dust,
And I am in love with him.

11/20/12
Argentina Rose Oct 2014

You may not have been birthed in the soil,
and granted,
you will not blossom
when spring melts winters wake
but inside of you
grows a thousand gardens
full of exploding stars.
You are of the earth
and your ashes
have been constructed with stardust,
and set free with the wind.
So you may not have a pretty face,
and your body may hold stories
of too many moonless nights alone.
But if you reach inside,
you will find a forest
for a ribcage
and a restless ocean heart.
So don't ever let anyone tell you
you are nothing.
You are a galaxy
holding a million different planets,
and my dear,
that is not nothing.

Alicia Jul 2014

some nights you will feel
like there are a thousand galaxies
exploding in every inch of you
and you are burning too bright
to ever be looked at directly,
and some nights you will feel
impossibly small, like your
whole body could slip through
the spaced between atoms and
never reappear in this world again,
and some nights you will feel
like a paper doll, carefully crafted
and easily blown away, fragile,
too delicate to ever be touched,
and some nights you will feel
like each cell in your body is
made of the strength that holds
the whole planet together,
and that is okay because you are
made of stardust and miniscule
atoms and breakable bones
and the building blocks of
everything in the universe,
and you are too alive to never
feel anything more than human

Adam Childs Dec 2014

Feathers glimmer and shine
As though covered in fish oil
I lubricate the brain
As I slip through the sky
With a frictionless flicker
My lightening wings
Brain waves rapidly fluctuate
Perfect balance held
Between left and right
Each wing a hemisphere
As they beat and beat
Accelerating into hyper speed
80 to a hundred or more
Beats per second

As though injected
With a sonic speed
Synapses bursting and exploding
Exponentially connecting
Blistering wing speed
I become electric
My circuits exploring
Rippling and flickering through paper
My brain comes alive
Flashing multicolored lights
Like the cities nights

But still spaces collect around me
As I am buffered from the world
Perfectly still though standing
On an invisible ledge
I hold my mind in place
While I hum in space
Head down I drop my beak
Into a funnel of concentration
As I tunnel into trumpets
Penetrating deep I flower  
In new knowledge

Polar aspects of mind
Released through coherent communication
Set free with coordination
I seek to marry chalk and cheese
As I hold the balance
Between two worlds
Flashing synapses firing
And combusting
Against pointed concentration
My mind juggles two balls
Expanding into their fullness
Expressing vibrant color

My slippery slender beak
Slips and slides in
As I flutter through pages
I discover new unexpected surprises
Problems solved, Startling adventures
And puzzles completed
I find the sugary syrup
The delicate delicious sweet spot
With the thrill of falling domino's
Spilling and cascading
Many ripples fanning out
Through my mind  
I find freedom

Each ripple massaging my mind
I am catapulted into outer space
I dance from fact to golden fact  
As I am propelled forward on stardust
My momentum shoots me forward
I bounce and bounce
My mind becoming unbounded  
I enjoy this great Hummingbird delight

Catrina Hemker Mar 2014

i used to cradle her bleach-cracked hands in mine
and decode the stardust resting within her fingerprints
     up until the day that i lost touch with the art of reading braille
     and she stopped slinging tall-tales for me to fetch
and rest the plot-twist at her feet

often in the post-script
i'd find my train of thought highjacked by the sunlight illuminating the rainbow of earth-tones ablaze
in her frizz-ridden curls
as if she'd been washing her hair with the damaged case of beer
she'd gotten for half-price at liqour depot
     she never did quit drinking
          but neither did i

at least we tried

though sometimes
in the middle of the night when nothing was alright
and we'd barely survived another fight
her face would catch my glance
cast aglow by a flood of lava-lamp light
    
     the sea of freckles resting at the crest of her cheeks
     rose lips perma-pursed in half tilt
     her resting heart-rate so high that i could almost see it
          pirouetting within her chest

it was then that i'd love her best
     amidst the ruins of who we were
     just moments before

a love poem, for the girl i can sometimes spot in my reflection.
katie Jul 2015

When I was small
I walked on fairy dust and
my dreams were as tall
as skyscrapers towering
above the universe
inside of me, was the galaxy.
I was born of the cosmos,
full of light and love
passionate in my quest to
give this to others.
But as I grew my star began to fade,
stars need love and light to survive
and deprived of both my blazing fire
transformed into weak candlelight.
At school I had learnt it was easier
to hide your light
than to stand out as different
and be extinguished in an instant.
So I kept myself to myself
at the back of the class,
knowing the answers but not
shouting them out.
I daydreamed, and doodled
stars on the corners
of my books, all the while
I could hear the universe
calling out to me to trust,
that we are all born of this
cosmic stardust.

Denel Kessler Apr 2016

We attempt rescue, unable to bear
the stardust-coated dragonfly
beat, beat, beating
frantic on the glass.

We entice him to perch
on our extended lifeline-broom
nurse him in a box, where he flutters
quivers, lies quietly blue.

My son cries bitterly
as we place a minute cross
upon the dragonfly grave
while intoning our final goodbyes:

We honor those who have fallen victim
to this fatal architectural trap, lured
by skylights of enticing white-light death
and the paned illusion of freedom.

In admiration of winged determination
and perseverance in the face of futility
we carefully tend the fragile, curved bodies
lay them here to rest under the mock orange.


years of gauze-weighted detritus
swept beneath these ponderous shrubs
a reminder - what seems like freedom
                                                         ­           often isn’t.

We lived in a house that had outdoor skylights.  Insects would be lured by the light and die trying to fly through the glass that imprisoned them.
I hated those skylights...

Hey lovely poets!  Thank you so much for being a supportive, amazing group of people.  I'm truly honored that you take the time to read my poems.  The Daily is just icing on an already sweet cake.
: )
Alexa Dark Nov 2014

The Universe
It's full of stars, planets, stardust
It's infinite
And in all of its infinity
I can't find anything, anyone
I would love more than I love you

Ilion gray Jun 2014

I catch a trillion tiny
Universes in my palm,
They crash and burst
Atomies or angel's
Crossing the endless
Ever
Stardust
Rushing
Down
To escape heaven.

Mothers body was a graveyard
A temple disowned by god.

There are slashes on her
Legs and arms
The kind the devil gives
Crawling he squeezed in through
The cracked corners of her
Dreams
Where there are frozen moons
And regret lives,

I heard her speak
with the most ancient
Of ancients
The faceless one
Who gave us breath,
He whispers loud as thunder
In an unspoken language,
Her blood clings to bone
Her body still as stone,
Though her mind has left,
Lost to wander,

How intimate
And
Infinite-
her walk
With death.

i wonder Feb 2013

I wonder who we are,
who I am.
if I am we, then what is they?
Are we stardust collections? Are they?
Perhaps, perhaps not.
Maybe the better question is not what we are,
but what we do.

Roopali Mar 2016

A rose is a rose,
No matter where it grows.
Some saw thorns,
Beauty some chose.
Criticized by some,
Valued by loads;
People's opinions,
You can't change them by force.
Perfection is desired,
Even if it's freestyle prose!
Our lives might be cumbersome,
Let's accept the challenges they pose;
There's a bit of stardust in us all,
No matter hellish situations might come how close,
because, a rose is a rose.

Inspired by Robert Frost's 'The Rose Family'.
celestial Apr 2014

i think you have
clusters of stars
in your veins
because you
are brighter
than the night sky.

Deborah Perne Nov 2014

Seeking asylum
In the quest for freedom
Looking for wonderland
Just a glimpse of heaven...
Driving out of the city
Chasing liberty
Lost in wanderlust
I am stardust

Next page