"mesosphere" poems
**Butterflies Flutter In The Bottom Of My Gut,
As My Soul Hungers For The Ripe Taste Of Home,
My Fingers Clutching Onto The Memories,
Of Shooting Stars Bouncing Of The Mesosphere,
Of A Mother Doe Feeding Her Young At Dawn,
Of Bees Feeding Off Of The Lilac's Rich Nectar,
Of The Sky So Blue Smiling At Me,
I Am So Close--Only A Few More Hours Until,
I Escape And Go Back To My Home,**
Home Sweet Home
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 8:41 AM UTC
A simple stroke stemming from a heart-planted seed
Ice white and sky blue freezing every generated thought to one with its chills
Intertwining shades of brown fuchsia splattered to a black space - manifesting into dreams
Blue, yellow, and purple churning with hydrochloric acid forming butterflies
Pulse shooting through into the darkened mesosphere darkening fuchsia's mark
Darkened fuchsia turned deep red lustful passion
An unfathomable crescendo beading sweat with final strikes
Reaching the thermosphere - revealing an exclusive sight of our aurora
It hangs in the gallery "Of Our True Selves"
The finish product is almost disappointing
+ crowned saint
circa 2015
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 4:20 PM UTC
Pining to be loved
I sought asylum within these pages
Every line, every word, every rhyme
Was a reflection of the sorrow that ruminated
Beyond the looking glass.
Yes, I fathomed I was alone without a
Guiding star, without a lodestar to lead the way, O, but now I am liberated
By The Sovereign of Songbirds
Who solaces me by his mellifluous musicality.
(Yes, I am free)
Soaring beneath the stratosphere, thermosphere, mesosphere, and exosphere
I saw all the suffering underneath the sun
And remembered what it was like to slumber.
Rest is something I took for granted
Feeling it was only forged to flee lament; oh, but that is only half the freedom
Of truth: Yes, we are reborn when we slumber.
So lull me and lead the way; furthermore, I am liberated.
The Sovereign of Songbirds enspirits me
By the clairron lullaby, by His voice.
(O, I am free)
Dreaming, I lost sight of all that made me human;
Limitations forgotten, I drifted heavensward. I forsook
All I held beloved.
Why must phantasy mean sacrifice? Must the fantast
Be sundered in order to claim transcendence, ascendence?
Yes, I was burned by The Incendiary Sun but
My heart has survived. It leads the way to liberty.
I am risen by The Sovereign of Songbirds who resurrects me.
I am summoned from the ashes like a Phoenix Rising.
(O, I am free)
(Se’ lah)
Apr 9, 2021
Apr 9, 2021 at 7:49 PM UTC
Oh see the thing! Glass mesosphere and ink:
The soil contumely in the field of green
From times when man among the sand could think
A second longer, in the stone tureen.
His hand to wrist to arm is a bone at a blink.
Though pink birds innocent, they hope to glean
With blinding Wednesday eyes, they love to drink.
He, Woden-bloody, gathers what they've seen.
We gray collected in a city's link
Descend and nest on pavements, there to preen,
And watch enchanted victims gaily sink
By the cardboard box, attracted to the sheen.
A street magician can the world reverse
With subtlety and somewhere to rehearse.
Mar 5, 2011
Mar 5, 2011 at 8:17 AM UTC
I once tried to steal the sun
From out the clear blue sky
I tried to build a ladder that
Would lead me very high.
I climbed right on up through the clouds
Right through the mesosphere
But when I got to ladders end
I faced my greatest fear.
Though I was standing atop the peak
There was much room between us
First I'd have to conquer planets
Mercury and Venus.
So I slid down my giant steps
And landed in the gravel
I'd devise a towing ship
Capable of space travel.
Done constructing I hopped right in
And headed towards the stars
But had to make a U-turn when
I realized I passed Mars.
Now headed in the right direction
The distance began to shrink
Hypnotized by stellar beauty
I didn't want to blink.
I passed Venus in a breeze
Flew past Mercury with relative ease
And though my fuel lines tried to freeze
The sun remained a flaming tease.
I arrived upon my destination
Brimming with anticipation
****** in by the gravitation
Of my endless fascination.
I grabbed my rope
And fashioned a lasso
I didn't know sun catching
Could be such a hassle.
I threw out the rope
And it snagged 'round the star
But when I tried moving
We didn't get very far.
I sat and tried thinking
Of what I could do
How could I move this star
From out here to you?
So, I headed home
Yes its true, I retreated
I wondered how I'd face you
Without feeling defeated.
You welcomed me home
And asked me about space
But that's when I saw it
Right there in your face.
I did not need to venture the skies
Just to bring the sun down here to you
Instead, from now on, I"ll just look in your eyes
For glowing deep inside them are two.
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 1:46 AM UTC
The sequence idles for a bit then undulates
shall I leave or stay wait for you to collapse
on me like a ton of bricks or a roiling wave
My starvation for your presence and the increasing
loneliness I have, palpitates its manifestation
on tear stained pages and overwhelmingly cheesy tropes
that make it seem so unbelievable, how did all
of my life here and the past lead me to be writing
all of these sentences to deprecate all my life's choices~
I am an armada with holes in its hull
a meteor burning up in the mesosphere
the girl you met sort of once and forever marked you
I'm insane for launching headlong into loving you
Life is passion and I have to have it~
clear skies and gantries releasing my rockethead into space
I just wish settling down was not the only stigma
that prevented your engagement in the leap of faith
and direct contact was all you wanted for all these nights
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 6:33 AM UTC
A wind mill sliced through the air in complete silence.
Energy travels near, but won't travel far, land locking itself to what it already knows.
Screaming. Bright. Rigid. Slime. With a hint of basil.
Just reach out and taste it, as the warmth of it's rotations engulfs you.
Maxwell Edison is stuck in the Pentagon and no one is going to save him.
I can't hear you over the sound of the wind mills.
But I don't need to hear your voice to listen to you anymore.
"It's been a minute." You said, to me with the breeze messing up your tawny hair.
You dip but I never would dive, because I'm afraid of breaking my neck.
My questions remain unanswered. Must we know our names today?
The reigning king of time and space
showed me that I can make the clock tick faster and the days move slower.
So I'd spend my nights flying through the mesosphere looking for lost breaths.
Oh, joy joy, he would say when watching trails of smoke and cloud accumulate in the sky.
I will never stop this ride. It will never end and I will never come back down to earth.
My ever spinning song for you is stuck on repeat. I will end the night and the day to create the space of nothing where we have been all along.
"Laissez les bons temps roulez"
exclaimed the taxi cab meter, hiking up prices that made our wallets weep.
No one is going to save you.
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 2:14 AM UTC
The cold, dead girl prefers the huts lonesome, especially the haunted huts
She detests pin drop silence
So for her, the sorrowful wind moans
lugubriously through the oaks and pines
The candlestick looks scary
Suppose you're a spirit medium
Call her quietly
She will respond and pass through the troposphere, the stratosphere, the mesosphere and the thermosphere
She is a good ghost
She resides in Sirius
The dead sinners stay in the inner core
Life and Death are inextricable
The unending afterlife ...
Time knows how to fly
A gleam of hope knows how to try
Rain knows how to cry
A novella knows how to lie
A desert knows how to remain dry
The Mimosa pudica knows how to be shy
A poetic mind knows how to be a clear sky
and everyone was born to die
everyone is born to die
everyone will be born to die.
Feb 21, 2024
Feb 21, 2024 at 2:23 AM UTC
Get HIGH
Like 50,000 feet high, start doing jumping jacks until you're dead tired & inhale like there's no tomorrow,
face it, there aint one, so just
Spread out and cool off where the Strato & Mesosphere meet,
I know a guy who can hook you up, he looks shady but he's good, and besides he's got connections to some solid S-Rank Ozone,
we're talking military grade,
stuff that makes you think you got wax wings dig?
Yeah, snot impossible these days to make it look any cleaner than it did since last era, the last time we inhaled
fresh air,
its funny how one only misses that thing when its gone, but then if there's another way for nostalgia to function i'm all ears.
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 1:29 AM UTC