~

do you believe?  

hold that thought!

what you are about to take is a journey.  my telling of this journey is brief; we poets are after all not well known for our long attention spans.  this is a tale of astronomic proportions, an epic years in the making, and now centuries old.

have you ever considered this?  the starry host above us cannot lie.  its movements are as sure as the movement of the clock; as predictable as the tide, a sunset's hour and as precise as a moon-rise's geo-placement at our horizon- precisely where it will rise and at precisely what time.  it is after all  precisely the study and understanding of such things that allowed us to place mankind on the surface of the moon, to know precisely where she would be before she got there, therefore permitting us to plan the journey well ahead of time, a journey that took three days of travelling once it began...  and then returning those men home to us.  but back to our larger journey.  

such things only require an understanding of relatively simple mathematics and a knowledge of each unique planetary orbit.  the only questions remaining then, ones that require acceptance of less proveable things, is do the events of the starry host above us reflect back or point to us, to humanity? are they a fortelling of earthly events and eventuallly a coinciding with earthly events? some have trouble believing such things.  for me, it is not a leap to accept that the visibly established order above me (what we call astronomy) is simply a mirror of the order below, here surrrounding me.  but then that takes us back to the first question... do...   you...   believe?  for this part... it requires acceptance ... acceptance that some things are true, though i cannot see them.  some call this "faith," though i think "acceptance" is more relateable, and therefore a far better word.

if i have not lost you yet, thank you for reading this far!! please continue the journey.

like me, have you ever wondered... what is (or what was) the Bethlehem Star?  according to some who research historically astronomic events, the “Bethlehem Star” was no star at all.  but more on that after the poem... for is that not the purpose of these walls?  

below is a poem birthed out of their research... the poem mine, the research compiled by smarter folks than i.

Virgo's child

~

oh, planetary royalty,
and mother of the sky,
your celestial stage of six,
a ballad echoing our hopeful cry;
pirouette the stars amidst,
sets a course for rising king,
closer with each night's descent,
hope, your brilliant union brings.
conjunctive encore heaven sent,
today our song in advent sings!

oh, wise men of the east,
following a westward star,
the king you sought
you found because,
discontent you were,
to be a distant onlooker
from your home afar.

hallelujahs here composing,
with stunning care the stars portending,
in universal magnitude,
oh fallen man your dirge is ending.
in retrograding motion,
encircled thrice your halo spun,
Virgo’s child in coronation,
the starry night foretells,
and with splendid sky’s array
the joyful birth of king pronounces

oh, wise men of the east,
following a beckoning star,
bearing gifts you came,
and on bended knee
you offered praise, for
empty-handed for a king,
is no fitting offering.

look to the sky, you men of earth;
behold your king in humble birth!
a stable for his sleeping head,
here rocks a mother’s babe;
what Adam lost, in him restored,
oh, Virgo’s child, and living Lord.

~

*post script.

~ Cast~
the six acclaimed celestial actors/actresses of this starry dance

Role ° Played By ° ​Meaning/Symbol

Moon ° ​the Moon ° life cycle symbolism
Star ° ​Regulus​ ° ​King of stars (regal king)
Planet 1​ ° ​Jupiter ° ​King of planets
Planet 2 ° ​Venus ° ​Mother of planets
Constellation 1​ ° ​Leo ° ​the Lion (heavenly kingship and tribal significance)
Constellation 2 ° ​Virgo ° ​the ****** (maidenly and earthly significance)

the basis for this write can be found here...
add: http://www.
to: bethlehemstar.com/setting-the-stage/what-was-the-star/

in summary --
whatever it was, the Star of Bethlehem needs meet nine qualifications to plausibly satisfy what is written in the Biblical accounts:
1. The first conjunction signified birth by its association to the day with Virgo “birthing” the new moon. Some might argue that the unusual triple conjunction by itself could be taken to indicate a new king.
2. The Planet of King’s coronation of the Star of Kings signified kingship.
3. The triple conjunction began with the Jewish New Year and took place within Leo, showing a connection with the Jewish tribe of Judah (and prophecies of the Jewish Messiah).
4. Jupiter rises in the east.
5. The conjunctions appeared at precise, identifiable times.
6. Herod, puppet King under Roman rule, was unaware of these things; they were astronomical events which had significance only when explained by experts.
7. The events took place over a span of time sufficient for the Magi to see them both from the East and upon their arrival in Jerusalem.
8. Jupiter was ahead of the Magi as they traveled south from Jerusalem to Bethlehem.
9. Jupiter “stops” as it enters retrograde motion “over Bethlehem.”  On December 25 of 2 BC it enters retrograde and reaches full stop in its travel through the fixed stars. The Magi viewing from Jerusalem would have seen it “stopped” in the sky above the town of Bethlehem.

according to astronomical research of historical events, the “Bethlehem Star” is, at least by this explanation, no star at all, but was instead Jupiter’s rendezvous (planetary conjunction) with Venus in 2 BC.  this is a tale of two planets normally radiant and distinguishable forming a single-looking, indistinguishable, and never-before-in -their-life-time-appearing large and radiantly brilliant “star”, which when coupled with each of the previous eight facets creates a most noteworthy series of events, all of which match words written centuries previous, and pointed their gaze to a pivotal and altering point in mankind’s history.  

now back to the beginning question...  do...  you...  believe?

(publication of this write is intended to coincide with the first of the four Sundays of Advent, 2015.  tis the season for Merry Christmas, my friends!)

The arrow does not quiver,
pulled from tongue to articulate
language from the heart;
Glowing red ash of comet dust,
fills pointed Orion's arch.

Scorched cigarette  eyes that
burned only for astronomic
Recognition,
mapping a planets line in black.

Pick pocketed mind--
Struck out a balanced path
Of magnetic luck drawn,
Invisible moment poised for action;
A bow and target thought.

Emerged from the forest of before,
lying out here on nature's open floor.

Hushed silence descends on the crowd,
astronomic anticipation deafeningly loud.

And an audience of many a twinkling light,
an audience of burning green eyes keep us in sight.

The spotlight is trained on a boy perched on a red box,
He ignores the creaking seats and the rude whispered talk.

The silence is blessed,
as Jupiter smiles down from above,
As the grass tickles our cheeks,
Necks arched
We need to behold it.

Clasped in embrace, lips coiled in fear,
Something is stirring, monsters of society rear
Ugly heads to turn away,
Their anger, their fright, their life...
is on display

A star gazing ******, new to this universe,
new to the way the galaxies converse.
New to the language of this astrology,
I now write previous lives eulogy.

Even though this masquerade leaves us dissuaded,
its lines ensnare us, to overlook mumbled words
and taut stagnant blank faces.
This dancing boy cries out in many voices,
now he's loud enough to be heard.

And then we see it and it's in the sky,
I don't want forever and I don't want why,
I just want to hold stardust in my hand,
To recall, remember, rewind.
As  I will never understand.

In front of our eyes, they speak the final words
linked together by their unity.
One does not surpass the other,
and in their eyes we find serenity.

Who cares what you are
Under a star
Who cares how you feel
Because nothing is real
There's always more than you or me,
the world is bigger than what we see.
It's not just our stretch above,
there's more to accept and more to love,
And two hands on either side,
lead me to open my heart. Open it wide.
To swallow the stars and swallow the sky,
Swallow this terrible tragic lie
Whole.

Looking into portals to Heaven or looking into
the realms of the mind,
Whether someones is listening,
up there- I solemnly believe to find-
That someone is "vested in your success".

SO OUR LOVE ALWAYS

A pastel blue backdrop
behind three glass frames
not a cloud in the sky
not a plane flying by

Yet I cannot learn to love
the sky without the trails
smoky puffs of vapour
line a day with uncertainty

For a blue sky is bland
without the odd trace
of imperfection, even
birds in formation become
the aforementioned.

"I can't stand to sing
the same song the same way
two nights in succession"
Routine it seems is its
own imperfection.

Give me a grey sky in June
And thunder in peace
A stark croaking crow
Can be sheer bliss

All things aligned,
Excitements amiss
For the brain needs
A puzzle, a challenge...

Confrontation, **** your
Hollywood films and
Normalisation, your
predictable habits

And false gestation;

Astro-Turf fields
And palm tree islands,
Man-made beaches
And glacier skylines

Synthetic audio
and bastardisation
of the arts, your
contempt for nature

Shall be your Achilles
for the world we live in,
the forests and canopy's
are the very providers

Of human abilities,
rid us of them and face
extinction, this is the
nature of colonisation.

The earth which houses us
is not formulaic, It's a collision
of astronomic proportions
every detail as vital as another

Mankind can be primal, Oedipal
and graceless, but respecting your
home is not an optional gift, for
we cannot survive as a species adrift.

The beginning of a story
Read with me, if you desire
At dawn a huge explosion
Filled the void with fire,
Cooled and hardened into rock,
Orbits now another star,
A life sustaining prison
Caterpillars in a jar.

A thousand, thousand, thousand years,
Then a thousand, thousand more
Passed as though an eye blink
Before a creature crawled to shore.
What miracle was engineered?
Creating ocean from a fire,
Creating algae in the ocean,
And life from muck and mire?

Was the engineer benevolent?
With a careful laid out plan?
Or is the earth a failed experiment
Where the byproduct is Man?
And if Man was unintended
What results were meant to be?
Would earth have been a better place
With just oceans, land and trees?

Maybe chemical reactions,
On this random, rolling stone
Were responsible for all its life
Chemicals alone.
Astronomic odds against it,
But the odds of Heaven are high as well.
I cannot comprehend it.
That story someone else must tell.
Phil Lindsey June, 2015

where did my clouds go?

the sheep-like
the candy-floss-shaped
the cotton-made
the sugar-tasting
the light-footed-type
the cauliflower-silhouette
the joker-carved

the clouds you extra designed for me
a little before
the astronomic warlike mushrooms
erupted?

To begin: a poem entitled “Lines to Serve as an Introduction to the Show, Written for the Lowest Common Denominator; Hastily Amended to Address our Pale Horse Future”

There are no literary devices in this poem
no simile, no apostrophe-
there's no dissonance, no assonance,
no distancing my consonants,
in constellations of conversation,
an astronomic lack of conjugation-
there's no elevation in
the elongation of thoughts-
With this piece, my synaptocratic,
idiosyncratic oath I recants.
I'm just a guy quick-drawing
inspirado from the sky,
full clouds and dark wishes,
kisses from other's Mrs'
red wine and all that comes after.
The truth's in repetition,
the revolution of the wheel,
all art's born of friction.
Hell, God said
'Creation is lonely work,'
and on the eighth day,
hoping hands will hold flimsy dishes,
he filled us with desperate artist wishes-
Sad, bold lumps of clay rising
like Play-doe,
hell, ask Plato,
we're forms arriving at the real
manifest desk in a city,
where writers write dying,
praying for real forms arising,
just in time for the plying
of fact in layers peeled back,
while cracks in the truth
erode faith from way back-
Stopped dead in their tracks,
feel like thieves who steal moves,
but the ecstatic hack,
the stark raving yet pragmatic
hack will still muse;
muse for the muse
and on the grandest conquest
will invest, digress, come upon
an ingress and disappear into
a land beyond the beyond.
All in search of the mustang *****
who won't ever wear a saddle-

I've met the muse
She was the queen in the land of the blind
and what she lacked in depth perception
she exploded in all the truths of all the world
because to her all truth appeared equidistant
So I met her for a simile, but missing an I
all she could offer was a smile
but it was she who taught me
the demography of cool
“artists create from nothingness”
she told me
“and so when they begin it is with nothing,
so they live among Ginsberg's ***** streets
where the rents cheap and they chip away
at the void until where once nothing
now is something”.
“Remember,” she said, “creation is lonely work
but once created celebration demands a crowd;
so those with nothing are surrounded by those
who need something; something to fill the
emptiness they cannot fill themselves.
But the crowd ***** the creator dry
and like weeds temples to the boring
emerge on those once ***** streets
and the artists still have nothing and
now need something to stay – but with
nothing they are forced to move:
move on, move out, move away,
leaving behind those who only know
how to follow to lead”.

**** slick, you're sly, you heard my simile-
in a piece that promised no imagery,
and that wasn't the only one...
Do I contradict myself? Abso-simile-lutely
This realm is rife with ******* platitudes and
be sure, this poem here contains a multitude
We have many names on the list,
some you've forgotten, some you've missed:

I'm sorry Lawrence Ferlinghetti
we here ain't getting
any closer to a rebirth of wonder

I'm sorry Jack Kerouac
there ain't no going back
on the road when your directions
start with you are here
and here is a windowless room

I'm sorry Billy Burroughs
the algebra of need is thorough
but ours increases not geometric
but exponentially

We have many names on the list.
some you've forgotten, some  you've missed

Beat.

Let’s discuss the things that do not change
Assign an essay to compare/contrast
Take a look at what you know:
The world does not live in iconoclasts

The endless rivers run with dead blood
The timeless mountains reek of blistered soles
To you,
There is no time or place worth holding.

Please tell me how steel will last longer than stone
That man’s words will disappear
Evaporative steam on a bathroom mirror
When it hits your hot-head with the morning glow

One hundred and sixty million years ago
A rock was nudged off its course
Plummeted assiduously through the outer Sol
And struck home with astronomic force.

The firestorm slaughtered the dinosaurs
And let tiny little pitiful things
Pick up the carcasses and make human beings
Out of the ash and amino acid.

I tried to throw a pebble into a pond
Aiming for a single Oxygen atom
And imagined that I killed those fallen beasts
when the ripples broke that watery peace

Flames are eternal,
They hide in our stars and shine bright in our eyes
The heat of life is louder than the pound of the hammer
And burns away the chaff quicker than the sickle

Someone drew a ******* below the overpass,
Crossed it out in a sanguine circle
I thought to myself,
“It is no more!”
Then realized it was already home

draw light, speak in darkness
seek peace, make war.
seek to starve that which you fear,
And only feed it more

Come now, let’s take our thoughts to the battleground
Trample god’s land under our earthen boots
**** each other with chemical bombs
To prove we they are the chosen group

Expedite that famous entropy
Nudging souls out of bodies
Subvert the Earth’s hegemony
So that man may taste that godly fruit

They might have already come
from a far distant planet upon the death of their sun
they might have already come

I think I've seen them
and not the little green men
we suppose.

They may walk beside you
are there aliens inside you?
do you even know who you are?

and are we aliens then
to the little green men
we suppose them to be?

I wonder what kind of creatures
they see.

do they see powers lines and sockets?
several billion different rocket ships
stranded on the 'third rock'

are they taking stock of us and
wondering what to do with us?

I think they're already here and we are being funnelled through some astronomic tunnels by some warp factor tractor beams.

Seems unlikely to some,
but preferable I think to their own death underneath a dying sun on a planet far away.

they might have already come
and yet I'll go blindly on
believing I'm  the
chosen one
and we all know
that's not right.

With borderline incisions
Listen to the inhibitions you've forgotten
Forms are feelings sealed against themselves
As your breath is reaching astronomic levels
The ceiling lowers itself to your head
You are retired but just might reconsider it
If after all you are whatever you fear the most
Life is just a dance between a ghost and a serpent
Now is the time to settle down and rest in your hurting

If only she would come a little nearer
It's so complicated to relate to each other
These emotions we've hidden
Sometimes our feelings are as sweet as wine
And drums keep time with our inner rhythm
Breath is our mind
So we savor each moment
My heartbeat is reaching astronomic levels
You bless the elves that drown in your sorrows
Punch me in the gut
I am bending over backwards
To read between your lines

I’m bucking trends—
Tendencies—
I’m going against
The flow of the universe.

It’s what I’ve always done,
Really,
What I’ve always preferred.

In the case of the you and I,
The cosmos seems to speak
Quite clear—
However, I’ve been just too stubborn
To lend it my
Practical ear.

Where you stand, you’re
The queen of my dreams,
Fair or no—
Propelling me against the
Astronomic flow.

What Poetry Is

You want to know what Poetry is
For the Modern World that’s used to twist
And bend, and tremble in disguise,
Pretending that it’s “neo-wise”,

That, saturated long ago,
To Saturn children pure throws
And that, to Titans owing much,
Them used to Tartar to dispatch?

All right! A Poet’s like them both:
The one who’s innocent and opposed,
Who Might of Elements represents,
Midst Insurrections resurrects,

Condemned by Stupid to be Fool –
The “Holy” one, that’s “not-so-cool”, –
To “crazy” be, by Madness’ Slaves:
He disagrees – and Potent shakes…

And he embodies in his Soul
The Realm of Spirit and its toll,
And pays the price, being poorer than rat
For this demise, - for dice and bet.

And what’s the Principle of that Realm?
The Paradox that overwhelms
It’s Dialectics in it’s One:
Where this is achieved – the Feat is done.

For Feat – the Hero must emerge:
The one who knows Abyss and Gorge,
And finds of Bridges narrow Paths
And Lyrics brings to date with Math.

So here Poetry rises up –
That bears Lion’s skin and club…
You want to hear what’s its Core?
I’m sure you won’t it adore!

You may be frightened, I assume:
It’s not an incense, nor perfume,
Not stench or filth (how this to grasp?!)
It is united Blow and Clasp,

It’s burning Water, boiling Flame,
In Stone and Paper ink and grain,
And Womb of male, female’s Fertile,
That makes their dancing super guile!

And from the Ages to the End
It is for Spirit’s Purpose meant:
To shape the edges of the World
By means of writing spoken Word,

By means of giving birth and cry –
To Death’s decay anew deny –
And this Denial built in Height
To depth of Heavens demonstrate;

From demonstration realize
What’s Understanding’s true devise
What’s motto of deciphered Names
For all the creatures and their games;

To down put the secret Rules  
To make them open, make them Tools
For the Creation’s further Path –
Till its genetic Coding lasts;

To rime those Codes – and to expand
Like RNA transform and grant
To distant corners Distance dense
And build up Flesh Forms of immense

And unforeseen and various Race
(With no “Racism” in the space!) –
And so Tolerance multiply
Through all that vary, - live and die;

To stretch and measure, - and connect
All torn and broken Fragments left
Inside the Puzzle great and one,
That’s called “Existence” to be done –

It’s astronomic Earthly Crust
And Milky Way through dirt and dust,
And stars that burst to planets be,
And satellites that dare break free;

It’s Search of Freedom through the Choice
By Will that seeks to gain, rejoice
And nations build (imagine them,
Imagination’s strata-gems!);

Inhale – that’s Inspiration called,
Exhale – the Story to be told,
Partaking – sharing its Breath,
Abundance, knowing no “less”;

Love guarded both by Truth and Rage,
Good using Evil as her page
Within the Book of Wisdom live –
The Field that’s here to plant and reap;

Creation Day – for Dead and Born,
Of Sacrifices growing Corn,
Redemption that reveals itself
And Judgment that through doom light delve!..

You still don’t know what it is?
It’s Pride with no conceit and grease,
With no arrogance at all –
It’s Truth, not Lies, and so be called!

It is Rejection – to assert,
Like Dominantsept and Cord, –
Of Spheres’ Music, Echoes’ Cube
With force of *****’s pipes and Tubes,

Where voices Interweaving find,
To Poet – Finder – make in mind
All Superseding understand
And all that’s found implement!..

So, now you know! It’s time to hate
Me, who’s just called you to create –
Should you of Genius of Light
Be each and every Perfect Knight,

And not to look for ****** “Excuse”
That is detested by the Muse,
But Explanations give instead
For all who once of clay were made,

Destroying Envy’s jealous sting
And building fiery Worship’s Ring
For all that brings to Common Sense
And Meaning: trust me, it’s immense!..

I cherished your sweet sizzling nectar, your smooth
soothing arms, your hands like lurid limbs, heavenly,
triumphant thighs like glorious green trees pointing
the way to serenity, your chest heating up with rising
electric ecstasy, shifting my emotions, drifting deeper
in your masculinity, in your flawlessly flexing physique,
your seductively strong *** warm, ******* my thoughts,
your back a palace of musical notes exciting my soul
as I croon to your lovely tune, trapped in your wondrous tomb.

And when we made love together, our bodies applying pressure
towards each other, tasting the perfumed air and your hair,
feeling your poems of fiery spice like a flaming furnace,
streaming through my muscles, making me scream your name,
to feel your breath on my flesh, your astronomic long ****,
so hot and hard within me, incapable of resisting, wanting
to give into you, to feel all of you, to be plunged in your
strumming guitar, overpowered by your tall and astonishing
manhood, how you could add, subtract, multiply, and divide
my existence all at once and leave me sprung on your specialty.

some nights are easy, i see all of the signs
that show me what I don’t have, I am sure to find
but some nights are melancholic
hyper focused on relations forged to be platonic,
and it’s ironic.
im ironic.
you sold me the story and I bought it.
I thought I fought this.
but when the signs lead back to you,
what am I supposed to do?
and now I worry my messages won’t even come through.
yeah it’s ironic,
i can’t stop it.
no matter how hard I try to block it.
it follows me from guy to guy, the demons i run from i always find,
but im fine,
it’s fine.
really I don’t even mind.
we can just talk from time to time.
you can think im crazy because
i can’t communicate right.
but I try.
i swear i try.
a symbiotic semi ****** far too nonchalant nightmare on my phone,
dripped in silver linings i pickaxe out of stone to subdue the fear of being alone.
and you know.
don’t you know?
and you give me nothing but just enough so I don’t go
but every word you say is thickly coated in your ego

it’s a game im always losing,
and a choice that you’re not choosing,
the same flower that was blooming
is now rotten petals from my assuming

its ironic.
i swore it was platonic.
but this ache is catatonic
the way i crave you is chronic
how can the two be synchronic?
i carry love like it’s astronomic
i never said it, but i thought it
maybe im the one who’s toxic

i count on you to disappear,
you never let me down.
i wish you’d just tell me,
you’ll always come back around.
how sad does that sound?
the hidden meanings ive found?
you painted me red and wondered why i looked like a clown.
i just laugh. im the joke.
i don’t get it so i smoke.
you are like a door stopper that’s always in my way.
i can never slam the door closed so i have to sit with my rage.
and my nostalgia is milk that’s soured with age.
a nightmare i masochistically recreate,
and then complain that I can’t escape
so I find new malignancy that I can blame.
to match a new frequency I can alternate,
a virus that consumes all of my drive space,
baby blue flowers in an empty landscape

I said you can’t hurt me,
but you knew I couldn’t
stop it.
i found the vulture,
inside of the ostrich.
and you found the victim
inside of the goddess.
i can’t help
but find that ironic.