"meteors" poems
Body of ocean, milk and sky,
We are tangled in the hope of night.
The lips of the milky way, creaming us,
Stains and is **** with a taste keening;
All is creation. My meteors crash
Into your ruptured Earth. I flame
Upon your must and moisted furrows
And my toes are locked, rooted in yours.
Body of ocean, milk and sky,
In the deserts of the day you are true
Oasis. The curves and waft of your sands
Seethe and sodden my barren plains,
Are erasing all my wandering memories
Of an endless sky and now your eyes
Are the only stars I know, and your skin;
A sheet that holds the heavens shimmering.
Body of ocean, milk and sky,
Your ******* are the heaving of grasses
And wind, loft and laden in the rounded
Hills, a hoard of ****** bread, bountiful,
Ripe and strange. Your hair is an endless
Savannah, your valleys are gold and honeyed
With milk, seared, filled by my penetrating sun.
In passion we play; low on earth and deep in sky.
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 2:49 PM UTC
Your lips tasted
like the stars
i never got to see
because of the cities
bright lights.
And once our lips connected,
Meteors fell down to earth,
And the ground beneath us started crumbling.
For it was the end of the beginning,
And I couldn't have been more un-afraid.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
12.5k
consider O
woman this
my body.
for it has
lain
with empty arms
upon the giddy hills
to dream of you,
approve these
firm unsated
eyes
which have beheld
night’s speechless carnival
the painting
of the dark
with meteors
streaming from playful
immortal hands
the bursting
of the wafted stars
(in time to come you shall
remember of this night amazing
ecstasies slowly,
in the glutted
heart fleet
flowerterrible
memories
shall
rise,slowly
return upon the
red elected lips
scaleless visions)
10k
Anguish pain, I felt inside
Meteors rain, two worlds collide
Crash of plane, the heavens chide
Hit by the train, because someone lied
Portrait of vain, efforts denied
Will I explain, as I stride
A sad humane, won't let go my pride.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 5:08 AM UTC
Everyone in me is a bird.
I am beating all my wings.
They wanted to cut you out
but they will not.
They said you were immeasurably empty
but you are not.
They said you were sick unto dying
but they were wrong.
You are singing like a school girl.
You are not torn.
Sweet weight,
in celebration of the woman I am
and of the central creature and its delight
I sing for you. I dare to live.
Hello, spirit. Hello, cup.
Fasten, cover. Cover that does contain.
Hello to the soil of the fields.
Welcome, roots.
Each cell has a life.
There is enough here to please a nation.
It is enough that the populace own these goods.
Any person, any commonwealth would say of it,
"It is good this year that we may plant again
and think forward to a harvest.
Many women are singing together of this:
one is in a shoe factory cursing the machine,
one is at the aquarium tending a seal,
one is dull at the wheel of her Ford,
one is at the toll gate collecting,
one is tying the cord of a calf in Arizona,
one is straddling a cello in Russia,
one is shifting pots on the stove in Egypt,
one is painting her bedroom walls moon color,
one is dying but remembering a breakfast,
one is stretching on her mat in Thailand,
one is wiping the *** of her child,
one is staring out the window of a train
in the middle of Wyoming and one is
anywhere and some are everywhere and all
seem to be singing, although some can not
sing a note.
Sweet weight,
in celebration of the woman I am
let me carry a ten-foot scarf,
let me drum for the nineteen-year-olds,
let me carry bowls for the offering
(if that is my part).
Let me study the cardiovascular tissue,
let me examine the angular distance of meteors,
let me **** on the stems of flowers
(if that is my part)..
Let me make certain tribal figures
(if that is my part).
For this thing the body needs
let me sing
for the supper,
for the kissing,
for the correct
yes.
9k
"YOUR eyes that once were never weary of mine
Are bowed in sotrow under pendulous lids,
Because our love is waning."
And then She:
"Although our love is waning, let us stand
By the lone border of the lake once more,
Together in that hour of gentleness
When the poor tired child, passion, falls asleep.
How far away the stars seem, and how far
Is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart!"
Pensive they paced along the faded leaves,
While slowly he whose hand held hers replied:
"Passion has often worn our wandering hearts."
The woods were round them, and the yellow leaves
Fell like faint meteors in the gloom, and once
A rabbit old and lame limped down the path;
Autumn was over him: and now they stood
On the lone border of the lake once more:
Turning, he saw that she had ****** dead leaves
Gathered in silence, dewy as her eyes,
In ***** and hair.
"Ah, do not mourn," he said,
"That we are tired, for other loves await us;
Hate on and love through unrepining hours.
Before us lies eternity; our souls
Are love, and a continual farewell."
7.6k
for those who are concerned; I dispersed within the vastness of outer space.
My body, once caged all the stars, are finally in its resting place.
Maybe here, I am finally seen by those who romanticize the deathly night.
I am at a tranquil state, where all the planets are aligned just right.
No deaths, no violence, no wars, no fights.
No existential pain or crisis to plague a human's state of mind.
I am bound within the molecules of space and time, dancing on asteroids, I am entwined.
Finally, my body is free from the darkest of pains that had wallowed in my rib cage.
All the bottled emotions that had forever kept me enraged.
I have exploded into a beautiful mess, now the size of silica.
I am in motion, twinkling for those bellow in such a sorrowful world, as they paint me in Starry Night replicas.
They'll be envious to hear that I am conversing with Van Gogh himself.
We are in the cloudless night, a painting in a museum, and history within books on a bookshelf.
We're sprinkled in the dark like a beautiful combustion.
All the answers written in the stars for what we once questioned.
He tells me "be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high."
And that was enough for me to just get by.
I am a galaxy, freed in the vastness of the universe.
Into this new life of neighboring planets and meteors, my body will immerse.
I am the stars you see on your lonely nights.
And this time, please take your time to analyze my light.
I know I'm a mess, but I can make it beautiful.
For what it's worth, I once took the form of a dying artist, whom was so mutable.
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 7:55 PM UTC
I was once a lost star
Trying to find home in every galaxy that i come across
Wandering through every asterisms
Tracing the images in my mind
Making me wonder if one day
I, too, will be part of an art in the starry night sky
Light years away, i travelled
Meteors, asteroids, comets passed me by
They said hello but after a while, already waved goodbye
And then I came across you
A star, which happens to be lost, too
We danced through the moons of Jupiter
We sang across the Milky Way
We even made magical rainbows
On planets along our way
And for the first time I felt
That not only I, was a lost star anymore
Together, we make constellations
Through the celestial space
With our incandescent light
That illuminates the whole sky
With that I came to realize
That we finally found our home
In each other’s radiance
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 2:10 AM UTC
for Sylvia Plath
O Sylvia, Sylvia,
with a dead box of stones and spoons,
with two children, two meteors
wandering loose in a tiny playroom,
with your mouth into the sheet,
into the roofbeam, into the dumb prayer,
(Sylvia, Sylvia
where did you go
after you wrote me
from Devonshire
about rasing potatoes
and keeping bees?)
what did you stand by,
just how did you lie down into?
Thief --
how did you crawl into,
crawl down alone
into the death I wanted so badly and for so long,
the death we said we both outgrew,
the one we wore on our skinny *******
the one we talked of so often each time
we downed three extra dry martinis in Boston,
the death that talked of analysts and cures,
the death that talked like brides with plots,
the death we drank to,
the motives and the quiet deed?
(In Boston
the dying
ride in cabs,
yes death again,
that ride home
with our boy.)
O Sylvia, I remember the sleepy drummer
who beat on our eyes with an old story,
how we wanted to let him come
like a sadist or a New York fairy
to do his job,
a necessity, a window in a wall or a crib,
and since that time he waited
under our heart, our cupboard,
and I see now that we store him up
year after year, old suicides
and I know at the news of your death
a terrible taste for it, like salt,
(And me,
me too.
And now, Sylvia,
you again
with death again,
that ride home
with our boy.)
And I say only
with my arms stretched out into that stone place,
what is your death
but an old belonging,
a mole that fell out
of one of your poems?
(O friend,
while the moon's bad,
and the king's gone,
and the queen's at her wit's end
the bar fly ought to sing!)
O tiny mother,
you too!
O funny duchess!
O blonde thing!
6.2k
The soliloquy of the night,
what we think as
falling stars and meteors,
make time and space immaterial
in the transmission of pain across light years.
Sitting here alone, a sentinel
to pain's interplanetary travel,
and witness of it transforming
in to other forms, eloquent,
I hear them when my eyes,
acquire a sense, primordial
receive the dark waves
of pain in my veins
a volcano palpitating to blow up
in to fireworks of emotions.
Everywhere eyes could travel, is filled
by night, thick, gooey, agglutinated;
then the meditative darkness,
dreams up a beam of gentle light,
out of its deep transcending yearning,
to speak to itself,to get an alchemy work on that pain
then, the pain itself becomes a haunting journey with words
this ,is how my love, my songs
in the midnight of my lonely soul, are born.
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 12:14 PM UTC
Your sun stroked fingers
smooth my dusted galaxies
spoiling orbiting blues
with swipes of stardust.
You kiss meteors, murmur
how you savored snippets
of Jupiter's moons in the
spaces of a poetic eclipse.
Adorning Saturn's rings
in your nebulous tombs,
rekindling your smile with
flames of lovers past.
The memory is still buried
within my core, a pounding
resonance that evokes the bloom
of summers kiss on Earth.
A welcome release for the
nights wandering stars.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 12:08 PM UTC
You ask me what I feel & think
(because the two are distinctly their own)
about the utter absurdity
& pointlessness of life
& out the windows cars go by
& up in space meteors fly
& sitting in this vinyl booth is me;
not alive long enough to know,
but who was seen many injustices--
yet knowing not a thing to do about them,
looks to those next to me,
who have only seen worse.
I do not know why the universe keeps expanding
or why my professor gives Monday exams
or why my poems are all the same
or why people in my life keep leaving
(or why I keep pushing them out?)--
messages marked "read" with no
response or
rhyme
or reason or
rationality.
Maybe the point is that
there is no point
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 11:55 PM UTC
Zeus and Amphitrite
edge of the sea
reflecting down
looking up
god or goddess
reflecting the same
draped in gold
Hercules Coronal Borealis Great Wall
superstructure feathered on the shoulders
skyward brilliance reflecting
shaking future stars
comets meteors meteoroids asteroids meteorites
rain down around
deafening sound of the greatest thunder bolt
hear me
hear her
**** this
**** that
roll good times
patience is virtue
zero point
generosity kindness affection pleasantness
waiting on the ecliptic plane
sun and heavens
where
hummingbirds dragonflies soaring creatures
rise out of the abyss
propelled and lifted
seahorse air bubbles octopuses chant
straight ******* propulsion ****** velocity
magic of the darkness
ready set giddy up
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 5:08 PM UTC
Drop by drop
How it was done
Condolence ripped eyes
Forever in the dusky light
Marching soldiers like water glides
Country by country for the moments pride
Still digging and digging for the new way
Like ant's used to do near a cozy place
Elephants were humble to nod and stay
Loosing temper was not his game
Like pond still and shinning on a full moon day
Meteors fall just to burn in the way
Bam.. explosion
If they land to celebrate a day
Elephants might not live to sing
A Happy.... happy Birthday
Who might survive
I guess ant's would stay
Coz they'll be hiding in their cave
Manisha
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
This girl whom they thought
Was always whole,
Giving smiles and laughters
And of love was full
She blends her blues
With the night's darkness
Called the meteors for wishing
Wandered the unknown farthest.
Another day
Tomorrow a sunrise
Time to put on the mask
Give them a show
Fake a smile.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 8:40 AM UTC
The doubt is with the night
forever hanging in the head
it sips all the fire
the flickering stars, the
bickering meteors
the maelstrom spews hate
over the pinned madness
the magnetic field emits hate
over the pinned sadness
if it sincerely wants
to be accepted
look no further than
how life has been enacted.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 8:44 AM UTC
Nothingness.
Imagine nothingness.
That nothingness which is nothing of the nothingness we are all familiar with:
Not that nothingness which is nothing but empty space and time
Like when you open an empty room.
No.
That nothingness where nothing truly exists:
Not space,
Not even time.
A singular point.
Imagine a singular point.
The ultimate singular point that contains all possible points
In the development of the universe
Come out and expand
From the birthing of time, the instance of The Big Bang,
(Which by the way is not a large explosion, as the words imply, but a silent rapid expansion)
Pushing the envelope
Where nothingness begins.
Chance.
Imagine chance.
The random occurrence of events:
Of fundamental particles colliding and uniting
Or annihilating each other,
Giving rise to protons, neutrons and electrons;
Giving rise to the periodic table,
To compounds, both organic and inorganic,
To macromolecules.
Billions of years.
Imagine billions of years
Gone by,
And billions of galaxies filling the sky:
Stars and quasars and pulsars
Planets and comets and meteors
***** nilly hurtling through
Dark matter and ever expanding space,
Yet inanimate still
,
A single cell.
Imagine a single cell
Form inexplicably so,
In a staggeringly highly improbable way
As carbon molecules combine,
Start to throb and pulsate:
Chance bringing forth life
In a barren and otherwise
Lifeless universe.
Consciousness
Imagine consciousness
Purposive, willful, deliberate
Feelings
Imagine feelings
Love, compassion, hatred
Imagine all in a universe that came out of itself from nothingness.
It is hard, of course,
For after all, we are creatures of somethingness!
But at this point
You must have seen the Point
Of all the ramblings and turns in the trajectory of my thought
Tracing the evolutionary course of the universe
From nothingness and that singular point
That without God
All things are
After all
Pointless!
.
And so,
Let us not deplore, as a great poet once did,
That this world “so various, so beautiful, so new
Hath no joy, nor love, nor light
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain…”
For what else should we expect
Of a cold, unfeeling universe?
What?
Give us some Novocain?
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 4:36 PM UTC
I wish I could love my life and love myself
a little bit more,
fall on my hands and knees at every chance
and praise the life I lead.
I wish I didn't hate myself quite as much
and I wish I didn't recoil at the idea of my life,
the Grimm's fairy tale where Hansel and Gretel got eaten,
Rapunzel never threw down her hair
and Snow White was never kissed by Prince Charming.
The hatred burns hotter when I think of myself,
poor little rich girl,
sat in luxury in front of a warm fire,
belly full,
as thousands of kids in Africa bloat to death with paper thin limbs,
families in the Middle East are massacred and scattered across their countries barren landscapes,
innocent, too soon nearly corpses whither away in hospital beds,
sinking their teeth into whatever life they have left, clinging on.
I'm stable on the mountainside.
My family have never even seen a gun.
I haven't missed a meal in my entire nineteen years.
What the hell do I have to complain about?
My unhappiness disgusts me nearly as much as I disgust myself.
Sitting on a damp bus,
watching beads of rain rush down the dusty windows in diagonals,
like meteors crashing into Earth,
I curse.
I curse the vehicle,
I curse the safe home it's taking me back to,
the three course meal it's taking me from.
It's ******* sick.
I wish I could smile and mean it.
I wish I could love and not hate.
I wish I could love myself.
I'm so sorry for not being able to fully appreciate my life,
for taking it for granted,
for sounding like a spoiled brat.
You probably hate me as much as I hate myself.
I.
I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I
*******
I.
That's a vowel I'm going to try and use less of
(at least after this poem),
I promise.
Oh the irony.
I am not looking for sympathy.
I am not looking to be compared to a dying child on the street.
I am not asking for a single kind word.
I just ask for a bit of forgiveness.
I don't blame you if you can't seem to find any.
Just know I'm sorry
and I'm going to try.
Now.
*A
E
-
O*
U
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 4:25 PM UTC
TELL THE MOON SHE’S BEAUTIFUL every time you see her:
in the too-early mornings when the sun is starting to rise,
in the late afternoons when she’s settling in the clear sky.
Tell the moon she’s beautiful, that she’s more than just a reflection of the sun’s light.
Tell the moon she’s beautiful even when she is bathed
in the red bloodstone shine of starry brethren.
Tell her she is beautiful even when she hides herself in phases.
Notice when she’s gone.
Look at the constellations and tell her that you miss her. She’ll hear it anyway.
Pepper her with compliments to lure her back to her full glory.
Howl with the wolves in your adoration.
Has she made you nocturnal?
How late do you stay up staring?
Is she brighter than any star in your sky?
Tell the moon that she is beautiful—
tell her how she lights up your nightlife.
Tell the moon that she is beautiful.
Tell the earth that she deserves better—
that she and the moon are beautiful,
too beautiful for your ink-stained fingertips.
Tell the earth that she is stunning,
from her deepest oceans and across every mountain.
When you tell the moon that she’s beautiful, sign each love letter with Mother Nature’s signature.
Seal the envelope with kisses of sun rays,
and send your words up to the sky on the backs of meteors.
Tell the universe
that she
is beautiful.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 11:16 PM UTC
When will the day bring its pleasure?
When will the night bring its rest?
Reaper and gleaner and thresher
Peer toward the east and the west:--
The Sower He knoweth, and He knoweth best.
Meteors flash forth and expire,
Northern lights kindle and pale;
These are the days of desire,
Of eyes looking upward that fail;
Vanishing days as a finishing tale.
Bows down the crop in its glory
Tenfold, fifty-fold, hundred-fold;
The millet is ripened and hoary,
The wheat ears are ripened to gold:--
Why keep us waiting in dimness and cold?
The Lord of the harvest, He knoweth
Who knoweth the first and the last:
The Sower Who patiently soweth,
He scanneth the present and past:
He saith, "What thou hast, what remaineth, hold fast."
Yet, Lord, o'er Thy toil-wearied weepers
The storm-clouds hang muttering and frown:
On threshers and gleaners and reapers,
O Lord of the harvest, look down;
Oh for the harvest, the shout, and the crown!
"Not so," saith the Lord of the reapers,
The Lord of the first and the last:
"O My toilers, My weary, My weepers,
What ye have, what remaineth, hold fast.
Hide in My heart till the vengeance be past."
3.8k
the seduction of eternity
ice house Shekinah
sad hag with a revolver
a carnival of skinned rats and bullets
during the blood soil days
pets left on the dark side of the moon
a deluge of morality in a palace of tears
structures of consciousness under compression
the tongue of eternity
a veiled Eros licking
blood shot distant moons
flickers a selfish dream serenade
pollen of discontent
like a pregnant superhero
dressed in a candy wrapper
treading a visionless ezoic brain
bugs; war zones of memes and genes
all matter is metaphor
near death objects
meteors of grinning spiked crowns
we are memetic plucked limbs, clawed minds
sulfurous dust
short lived bloated yolks
mice in a supermarket with tape worms
and a trade mark
we are something boiling
we are memetic plucked limbs, clawed minds
sulfurous dust
short lived bloated yolks
a holocaust in a supermarket
with tapeworms
and a trademark
we are something boiling
In the bowels of eternity
graves of meat and mud
crucifixes in a screaming
abyss
creations
rabid belly of shadows
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 2:35 PM UTC
Oh do not die, for I shall hate
All women so, when thou art gone,
That thee I shall not celebrate,
When I remember, thou wast one.
But yet thou canst not die, I know,
To leave this world behind, is death,
But when thou from this world wilt go,
The whole world vapors with thy breath.
Or if, when thou, the world’s soul, goest,
It stay, ’tis but thy carcass then,
The fairest woman, but thy ghost,
But corrupt worms, the worthiest men.
O wrangling schools, that search what fire
Shall burn this world, had none the wit
Unto this knowledge to aspire,
That this her fever might be it?
And yet she cannot waste by this,
Nor long bear this torturing wrong,
For much corruption needful is
To fuel such a fever long.
These burning fits but meteors be,
Whose matter in thee is soon spent.
Thy beauty, and all parts, which are thee,
Are unchangeable firmament.
Yet ’twas of my mind, seizing thee,
Though it in thee cannot persever.
For I had rather owner be,
Of thee one hour, than all else ever.
3.5k
a battle ensued
across the skies
meteors and comets
impacted
upon each other
fierce were the explosions
a trembling quake
rolled through the planetary spheres
neutrons and protons
collided
monstrous and massive
destruction
befell the galaxies
which were ******
into the battle's vortex
combustible fires flared
burning for millions of years
the war didn't abate
the kinetic energy
compelled
more
devastation
catastrophe
lasted
until
eternity
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 7:18 AM UTC