"observatory" poems
Are you the surge, triggering the flight of the transcending bird?
the ultimate mystery, unspeakable, that liberates the seeker.
While awaiting the wingless flight, the moment of soul's effulgence,
you too are a mystery , like the all encompassing spirit, I am one with
The universe is not wholly cognizable,constant transformation
one to something drastically different, and the story never ends.
Known physics, could tell the story,only halfway, the rest is dark
I understand the helplessness of space observatory at Herschel
peering at vast Magellanic cloud galaxy, a mystery in the move.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 6:37 AM UTC
Her mind is an observatory.
A really fun one. You know,
With rock candy at the entrance,
And a gift shop full of unique keepsakes.
Like compassion.
And warmth.
And when you step inside,
Her constellations are painted upon the dome ceiling,
Telling a story only visible
To those willing to connect the dots.
A story of glowing blues
And scattered specks
Of burning red,
With a dark void
Occupying the gaps
You so desperately wish to fill.
She has an entire solar system
Inside of her,
Hidden within the stars.
A heart as gold as the sun.
A soul as old as she wants.
And when she speaks,
You fall in love.
Because you don't have a choice.
Her voice echoes amphetamines
Along the walls of my skin.
Her smile shines
Like the crooked panels
On every straight paved sidewalk
I've ever known.
And when I look into her eyes,
The universe stares back.
I think she's a goddess.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 9:04 AM UTC
I point to the stars,
you say they're in my eyes.
I laugh and brush it off this time.
We're here at night,
but I miss the sun.
You tell me you are looking at one.
I ask you what your favorite planet is,
and then you do the same.
My butterflies are getting harder to tame.
I'd love to go to outer space,
see all the planets and the stars.
It's time to leave though now, so you walk me to the car.
Jan 27, 2018
Jan 27, 2018 at 1:29 AM UTC
O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep,—
Nature's observatory—whence the dell,
In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
'Mongst boughs pavilioned, where the deer's swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.
But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refined,
Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.
3.6k
peeress: a woman holding the rank of a peer in her own right.
what tools fo you require?
a microscope, binoculars, perhaps an observatory telescope...
you ask to peer into my soul,
the heart of the matter,
and I object
not,
asking only for a workman's wages,
of honest preparation,
have you the tools to see me properly,
and when you love what you see,
will you have them by your side
to see the future close by,
and so far ahead?
do you possess within thy
secret places,
an archeological brush
to wipe gently away my ancient earths,
or a toy red shovel to remove fossilized
10,000 year old grains of old hearts,
or fresh, damp from this morning,
of words and sand from my inner
beach, even then, the tonnage may
require an industrial excavator
to clear, hold and perhaps contain
all that poetry, all that love that it contains,
so I ask, you, myself:
*Do you have the proper tools,
the necessaries and the necessities,
to find to store to relish and to delight
in what you may find?*
be an explorer,
and write of all your discoveries,
hurry, for the word
time
means in soul terms & the heart's specialized verbiage,
never enough
so girl scout/ mademoiselle peeress
you s t i l l
have much to assay/essay/uncover
re the meanings of love...
for there is as much to learn from the
quietus of love,
as there is, from the vibrant tumbling of
climbing to new heights
peer carefully...
5:44am
Wed Sep 10
Twenty Twenty Five
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 9:28 AM UTC
O solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,—
Nature's observatory—whence the dell,
Its flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
'Mongst boughs pavillion'd, where the deer's swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.
But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refin'd,
Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.
2.3k
Two Syrian women on Friday were locked in a cage full of skeletons in punishment for violating Daesh’s strict dress code in the militant group’s stronghold of Raqqa.
The London-based Observatory for Human Rights said one of the women fainted in the cage and had to be transported to one of the hospitals in the northern province, which became Daesh’s headquarters in Syria after the group took the city in 2013.
A spokesman for the local-based activist group “Raqqa is being Slaughtered Silently” also reported Daesh’ latest scare tactic against women found to have flouted the draconian rules.
Daesh recently locked a 19-year old woman in a cage full of skeletons, driving her to the point of madness, according to Mohammed Al-Salih. The spokesman did not specify whether the incident was the same as the one reported by the UK-based monitor.
Salih also said that there were “similar cases of women locked in cages with skeletons or forced to sleep overnight in a cemetery” for not wearing what Daesh deems as appropriate. More serious violations are punished by the amputation of limbs, or execution.
Video reports as well as accounts of escapees show that Daesh forces women living in its areas — whether in Syria or Iraq — to don head-to-toe garbs.
Meanwhile, the Observatory said Daesh has recently stormed homes in Raqqa and arrested 10 men suspected of spying against the group.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 4:31 AM UTC
A long time after bedtime
When it's very late
When even dogs dream
And there's deep sleep
Breathing through the house
When the doors are locked
And the curtains drawn
And the shops are dark
And the last train's gone
And there's no more traffic in the street
Because everyone's asleep
Then....
The window cleaner comes
To the main shop fronts
And polishes the glass
In the street-lit dark
And a big truck rumbles past
On it's way to the dump
Loaded with the last
Of the day's trash
On the twentieth floor
Of the office tower
There's a lighted window
And high up there
Another night cleaner's
Vacuuming the floor
Working nights on her own
While her children sleep at home
And down in the dome of the observatory
The astronomer who's waited all day for the dark
Is watching the good black sky at last
For stars and moons
And spikes of light
Through her telescope
In the middle of the night
While everybody sleeps
At the bakery
The bakers in their floury clothes
Mix dough in machines
For tomorrow's loaves of bread
And out by the gate
Rows of parked vans sit
For their drivers to come
And take newly baked
Bread to the shops
For the time when the
Bread eaters wake
Across the town at the hospital
Where the nurses watch in the dim-lit wards
Someone very old shuts their eyes
And dies
Breathes their very last breath
On their very last night
Yet not very far away on another floor
After months of waiting
A new baby's born
And the mother and father
Hold the baby and smile
And the baby looks up
And the world's just begun
But still, everybody sleeps
Now through the silent station
Past the empty shops
And the office towers
Past the sleeping streets
And the hospital
A train with no windows
Goes rattling by
And inside the train the sorters sift
Urgent letters and packets on the late night shift
So tomorrow's mail will arrive in time
At the towns and villages down the line
And the mother
With the wakeful child in her arms
Walking up and down
And up and down
And up and down
The room
Hears the train as it passes by
And the cats in the yard
And the night owl's flight
And hums hushabye hushabye
We should sleep now
You and I
It's late and time to close your eyes
It's the middle of the night.
Apr 27, 2020
Apr 27, 2020 at 9:27 PM UTC
The beginning of the end.
A sandstorm made a huge 400 floor library sink beneath the sand.
At times a tall tower can be seen sticking out of the sand.
There are wolfs bringing information from across the land.
The library overseen by a spirit of an owl.
Many have tried to find the library but they threw in the towel.
The library has a huge ancient observatory.
A huge telescope looking at the stars tells a story.
There are parts of the library that has been untouched for a century.
There is an extremely huge card catalogue.
It even owns books from ancient babylon.
The library has various gateways.
The bookshelves looks like endless hallways.
There are parts that are inaccessible.
The libraries knowledge is unsurpassable.
A huge staircase that is broken.
The timepiece on the wall is broken.
A Lot of travellers got lost.
The library is filled with snow, sand, moss and the one room is filled with a forest.
The library is full but it still has a lot of storage.
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 1:38 PM UTC
the hardest surgery is the one you perform on yourself.
Steady?
Ready?
No anesthesia but a chuckle of nervous humor
the first incision across your heart.
When you finish (many months later)
you put the scalpel down, wave weakly
to the clapping colleagues hugging each other in disbelief
from the observatory, sterile and eager
you give them a wan grin
and hope they've watched closely
so that now they know how...
how to do this.
At twenty-something, I was taught by Fear
who said nothing matters
and then at twenty-something-else I was taught by Faith
who said anything matters
And she wasn't the Sunday kind of Faith that you find
clasped between your palms, clasped like you're afraid
that if you let go the Faith will just tumble out and break.
No, she was the Faith that was bigger than God and so intimate
that sometimes I was the Faith, sometimes you were the Faith,
and sometimes the Faith was me.
So really, Faith doesn't have a name.
But Faith and Fear, they both breathe, they're each lung
and when I fill one, the other billows, after all
you need two to breathe.
And so then I, feeling bold, learned about Bravery.
I had heard about it in newspapers and history book indexes
and in our local volunteer firefighters.
Wondered if I could buy it.
Wondered how much it goes for.
But I couldn't find Brave until the moment I gave up on it
and said, ***** it, I'm so scared but I don't care anymore,
I'll just do it, Brave be ******
And surely enough, it was hiding beneath the tremors.
So really, Brave was the Siamese twin of I'll Just Do It.
which, by the way, wasn't in the glossary of this or any history book.
Everything changes, you know?
I'm changing, you're changing.
Oh, it storms me like the sea!
I secretly raise my glass to stasis, my faraway frenemy.
Don't tell the other Sagittarians, they'd exile me surely.
Change, letting go of my old faces
feels too close to dying,
feels too close to leaving you behind.
And I'm not ready to leave you behind.
Oh the West, keep your Mountains.
If only for a little longer.
I've excised my soul again and again
transplanted and sutured
but there's just no time.
Even with these visions from under the knife-
there's just no time to heal
before I'm laid on the table again.
*Faith hold me-
Fear teach me
so I can...*
Steady.
Please- stay with me.
Ready?
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 12:04 PM UTC
Black cylinder, clear skylight creamy center
rasberries or cherries, frozen strawberries
this is a color for winter
red cheeks coming in from the cold
mini switchblade with the blood of my enemies
this is the girl at the party happy alone
stubby legs stuffed into tight jeans
the observatory's great circle lens
the last stick of gum in the bottom of a purse
and at the same time the ruby the queen wore
twelve dollars for .15 onces
the weight of five quarters turns into a dime
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
I yearn to gaze into a lens
to view the outer space.
What my eyes will see all depends
on how I view this place.
Alive and well, stars burn with life;
while others, growing old,
will view these orbs with growing strife
until themselves are cold.
An asteroid falls across the sky
to find its resting place
in the minds of observant eyes
then die without a trace.
A satellite reflects the gleam
of our colossal seas-
vivid as a child's first daydream
to journey where they please.
I yearn to gaze upon these lives
in space that's all but void,
but I open my sightless eyes
where space is none but void.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC
In the heart of the cavern, light
that stands ancient behind time, beyond
phenomena, the observer of melodies;
This is where it all began,
those aeons lost when the mollusc
heeded the call to man.
Inward, stalked by worry and loss,
an inversion of the lines of time:
beyond the zero point of recollection,
where zoom microcosms of possibilities
a realm not realm, but like that
an existence beyond existence.
Here, arose an affliction, in
curled expanses that exist as some among
an infinitude of potentials,
worldlines, some dark and featureless,
others growing and meaningless
and some like here where sentient,
observatory, a shadow grows around
the probing ray of infant awareness.
and so the ascent, from light to light
through alleys of darkness. Vast,
the beginnings and interludes
between phantasmagoria; What
accedes of in slumber, the knowledge
of things and nothings.
And up even until the day when
the babe says 'mine'.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC
I am a dandelion in the hand of a child.
I haven’t the heart to tell her
that I’m a **** and not a wildflower.
So I don’t.
The stars are always aligned but I can’t always see
them properly. When the light is low and the moon is new
I can show you what Orion’s arm is pointing to,
a little cluster like us that hardly exists.
My mother used to tell me that my hands would be
too clammy to be held by anyone else
but she wasn’t counting on you.
Our fingers are woven tight enough that I feel safe
looking up-
we can take the constellations in turns, you first,
so that if the toe of your boot catches
a crack in the asphalt where moss is growing through
I can steady you.
And you would do the same for me.
The earth is so young. There will be
time enough for me to take you to the observatory,
to see properly how Orion stands ready
to catch the Pleiades.
We can watch it till sunrise, fingers intertwined,
blinking sleep from our eyes as the sun blinks the stars
from its skies, thinking:
that is you and I
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 12:17 PM UTC
November 6
this day
Brought me a feeling inside
Of deep depression seeping in
How I witnessed too much
How she cried over the ring
Of her parents broken marriage
Tears forming in her eyes
tilting her head up so they wouldnt fall
To reveal the pain she felt
But it radiated towards me
And how saftey pins and beads
Ment so much to her
An unknown meaning
But I felt her emotions gravitating
Towards me
How the boy
With rebellion tattooed in his mind
Had a quiet face
That showed how angry he was inside
But his smile was something
Rare and special that I had barley seen
how the girls
Could claim
To be my friends
But swiftly leave
And isolate me
Without a care
loneliness was something
That occured each day
more often
The the day before
How I have to see
you
The being I once deeply cared about
That I gave my all for
With someone else
How that boy
Stared at that girl
In a way I envied
No, not with lust
But with a love
Searching for every
Perfect thing in her
Observing
All day
is a habit
Which I hate
I discover
Things That
I should
Not know
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 4:07 PM UTC
I think that if you let me,
I’d treat you like the sky
I’d join up all your insecurities
and bundle all your flaws
I’d make a new constellation
and search for it endlessly
I know you don’t see yourself
the way I see you
and you still argue
when I call you beautiful
But all the things you cant stand about yourself,
are all the things I cant go a day without
I think that if you let me,
I’d build an observatory
Just to show you that
no stars can shine as bright
as you
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 9:33 PM UTC
A bacteriophage virus
Sits snugly inside a germ
Which looks up
Not comprehending that
It lies on the surface
Of the eye of an ant
Who stands guard outside her nest,
A miniature citadel.
The ant looks up at the sky,
Not knowing that her home is hidden
In the garden of an observatory.
And here the astronomer looks up
Through her telescope
Trying to imagine what wonders
She might find.
Only aware
That beyond our universe
Is a multiverse,
A greater Realm,
Infinite possibilities acted out
Infinite times
With infinite variations.
And perhaps,
A spiritual world
That makes our realm
Look smaller than
A pea.
Heavens Above!
Paul Butters
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 7:23 AM UTC
this space this place
a shelter from the weather
wind the rain unclothed
the deer would huddle
in habitual restlessness alert
except when in the forests’ deepest
dark their great pale eyes would close
today this sheltering of souls
does not escape the weather
but life’s maltreated pattern
its daily flux and disarray
to sit in this observatory
of evening sky’s condition
seeking only quiet and rapture
on high-backed benches
settled as giants enthroned
pale orange light above our heads
glows within an architrave
to reach across the funnelled
ceilinged surface to the aperture -
a heightened vision of the sky
we close our eyes prayer-like
to meet our solitary self
where teeming thoughts begin
mind images stream
discarding all intent and reason
until we raise our lidded sight
to this single square of sky
travelling the past and triggered
by undetermined thoughts
speech ringing in the ears
words flood and spawn
so intense this skied perfection
we are drugged towards
a kind of sleep: time waits
then a wakefulness resumes
and all is sound spun turbulence
from trees above that calm and fill
replacing or confusing thought
inside the noise of rising wind: a single
oaken leaf is tossed within the chamber
where it skids and quivers at our feet
unlike the deer who lack imagination’s marvel
we take our thoughts outside this present space
this containment empty of distraction save ourselves
our so-slightly shifting hands buttocks heads limbs eyes
towards a nether world we have no words to share
the salient features of this dreamscape we might glimpse
that is ourselves: distinct alone apart beyond
slowly shifting colour from grey of day to blue of night
the small square accumulates ephemeral
memos sent from our seated selves perhaps
to fly with the wind-tossed crows to roost
somewhere in nearby trees we cannot see -
with the handshake of Friends the meeting ends
and out of silence shyly we reconnect with speech
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 7:39 AM UTC
The thundercloud parking garage swallows me whole
and drains the authenticity from my smile.
The descending escalator sends me to my personal hell.
All I can think of is my counterfeit countenance
or the carefree singing voice of my mother.
I grasp at the sound, the long lost curl of her hair,
the sun of her eyes. It's like trying to catch smoke.
The tears before security tell me I'm not alone
though the final embrace of my mom disagrees.
She disappears, fades into the metal detectors.
I'm alone.
I float through the crowd, past half-machine men,
their brows furrowed in stone as they slice through lines
without one last look at the family they wish they had.
They race to winged robots that autograph the sky
like the parting at the end of a letter. The goodbye.
The stain mochas of Starbucks beckon me.
The neon magazines cheer at me from Hudson News.
Together, we watch the clouds gobble the planes,
mourn the farewell of the familiar, the leaving of love.
Rain pummels the windows like tears down a face.
Again, the machine men, the magazines and mochas
comfort and reassure everything will be alright.
Aug 27, 2010
Aug 27, 2010 at 9:55 AM UTC
In a dimly light corridor
She ran and I implore
Fear overwhelms her
I shouted and I warned her
Wary of the story
Of this abandoned observatory
Phantoms and ghastly things
Speak and panic they bring
She knows not this story
Of ghosts and their follies
Doing deeds for man
They did have a joyous plan
To study and create
A new era of sensory gates
They said five was ne'er near enough
So they sought the sixth in lust
What they did discover
Was the form of wanton terror
Driving them to insanity
Bringing this place dear calamity
She makes it to the door
And I become a ghost
Of this dimly lit corridor
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 7:11 PM UTC
Some of us never see beyond the veil.
Some of us live constricted
And act rough and unafflicted
Like a crocodile caught in the choke of a boa constrictor
Dying
Everyday
We wish to live.
Some of us never feel beyond our television set
And when the bet is on for the black stallion
We watch with eyes gone wide
And wide
And wider still
Until
The race is won.
It's done!
The illusion was fun,
But it wasn't your win.
It was symbolic and yes
Yes
Yes,
You took sides.
You thought you could know who was wrong,
Who could ride...
But that tide was a movement far distant from you.
And you laughed
And you cried.
You were born
And you died.
In your blank, black worn stare
You decided to confide
In the screen.
A box, a machine
Representing a reality you ceased to believe
Could exist.
Some of us never manage to truly face a challenge
Because life exists freely upon great silver platters,
And the whole great wide world waits like a buffet
Free of line-ups
So all food and thought is conveyed
To your brain
Like old, stale bread.
Somethings not right;
Beyond thought, left unsaid.
And through all doors of suffering,
You kick and you scream!
"This is not how they said it would be on TV!"
So despite all the knowledge,
And your free ******* college
University never taught you to truly acknowledge
The great Godly cosmos
Or the holy osmosis of truth and contraption of stars spread like roses
In minds
Afflicted by
The human condition.
We're all on a mission.
Some of us say there's a great old technician
Who paid our tuition
To the great school of life
Yet admission
was granted
to few.
Contradiction, I find to be honest contrast
Like AdBusters right next to old capitalist class
Or a pet on the cheek to a slap on the ***
Now the bell rings;
Nothing good ever lasts
But the point all along has been to learn how to dance
To the music.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 2:09 AM UTC
I see everything from up here
I am a watcher
I see disagreements in the streets
I see the remnants of war, and the flickers of the past coming back to life
I see a couple kiss
I see the calm this action has on others
I see the absolute strength of love trying to overpower hate
I see it in the mother’s eye
I see it in the musician’s chords
I see it the city move along
Without a clue of what I have seen.
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 5:21 PM UTC
I think if you would let me
I’d treat you like the night sky
I’d bundle up all of your wonderful traits and perfect flaws
And I’d create a constellation for them
I’d look at it with my telescope endlessly
And I know you don’t see yourself
The way I see you
And you still sometimes argue with me when I call you wonderful
But know that all of the things that you can’t stand about yourself
Are the very things I never want to go a day without
But if that didn’t work
Just know that if you let me I’d build you an observatory
Made of one hundreds mirrors
Each facing your direction
Just so you could see yourself up close in a million ways
I’d make you sit in front of them for hours
Just so I could prove it to you-
That all of the other constellations
Every single one in the night sky
Will never have stars that shine
As bright as you do.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 9:28 PM UTC