"planetarium" poems
Out of lemon flowers
loosed
on the moonlight, love's
lashed and insatiable
essences,
sodden with fragrance,
the lemon tree's yellow
emerges,
the lemons
move down
from the tree's planetarium
Delicate merchandise!
The harbors are big with it-
bazaars
for the light and the
barbarous gold.
We open
the halves
of a miracle,
and a clotting of acids
brims
into the starry
divisions:
creation's
original juices,
irreducible, changeless,
alive:
so the freshness lives on
in a lemon,
in the sweet-smelling house of the rind,
the proportions, arcane and acerb.
Cutting the lemon
the knife
leaves a little cathedral:
alcoves unguessed by the eye
that open acidulous glass
to the light; topazes
riding the droplets,
altars,
aromatic facades.
So, while the hand
holds the cut of the lemon,
half a world
on a trencher,
the gold of the universe
wells
to your touch:
a cup yellow
with miracles,
a breast and a ******
perfuming the earth;
a flashing made fruitage,
the diminutive fire of a planet.
42.1k
From blossoms
released
by the moonlight,
from an
aroma of exasperated
love,
steeped in fragrance,
yellowness
drifted from the lemon tree,
and from its planetarium
lemons descended to the earth.
Tender yield!
The coasts,
the markets glowed
with light, with
unrefined gold;
we opened
two halves
of a miracle,
congealed acid
trickled
from the hemispheres
of a star,
the most intense liqueur
of nature,
unique, vivid,
concentrated,
born of the cool, fresh
lemon,
of its fragrant house,
its acid, secret symmetry.
Knives
sliced a small
cathedral
in the lemon,
the concealed apse, opened,
revealed acid stained glass,
drops
oozed topaz,
altars,
cool architecture.
So, when you hold
the hemisphere
of a cut lemon
above your plate,
you spill
a universe of gold,
a
yellow goblet
of miracles,
a fragrant ******
of the earth's breast,
a ray of light that was made fruit,
the minute fire of a planet.
6.8k
my mind is a planetarium
where each memory is a meteorite
and every apology burns like a dying star.
enclosed in the vast celestial stretch of my skull,
planets tend to vanish without the courtesy of a goodbye,
but i'm just happy to have housed them for a little while.
my projector is faulty and sometimes,
the images i try to convey become obscured
("asteroids may be larger than they appear").
i can't help but speak in broken constellations,
and hope that you somehow understand
that i have nothing but the best intentions.
not to mention, i've seen a lot of visitors, though
none have ever stayed for long, after they've surveyed
that i'm nothing more than a bunch of chaotic galaxies.
i rubbed the collection of stardust and debris from my eyes
and to my surprise, found that you hadn't gone anywhere.
instead, you were there, floating through my solar systems.
you've got me orbiting around your finger
like the rings around the sixth planet from the sun.
i come undone a little more with every word you breathe.
my bones are made of moon rock, aching like cold craters,
waiting patiently for the radiant warmth of the sun,
or your breath, or your touch, whichever is closest.
the most stellar display of stars i have ever seen
are not in the belt of orion, nor anywhere within the milky way -
instead they are lightyears beyond, resting comfortably behind your lips.
- m.f.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 2:44 AM UTC
Staring at the ceiling sky
Past lover's faces
Eyes
Dotting
The midnight moonless skies
Stars twinkling
Their light having been cast
Many light years ago
Each one for their time
Had in their eyes - for me -
The golden glow
Meteor showers of montage sequences
faces
scenes
times
fly by
Trailing ribbons in the ceiling skies
The dots when taken together
Tho eons passed and separated
Pieces and bits form constellations
Eros
Aphrodite
The Mother
Sancho Panza in drag disguise
A female Damocles and her sword
The Companion Star, still glowing here in the Western sky
Looking backwards in time
Their presence was once present
Now, all have vanished
Moved on to other places in space and time
Aware of all I have been given
All I've learned
Remembering I loved each one
And when the moon is right
and the ceiling is dark
and there is no sleep
for me tonight
Their light still shines
On my ceiling night sky.
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 11:25 AM UTC
Remember
When we were kids
And a planetarium
Was a most wonderful place
Everyone simply obsessed
With outer space.
It was strange
And new
And beautiful
It was full of wonder
As was everything
A galaxy of stars
And empty space
We were flying through it all
To a new planet
For us to discover
Floating towards the future
It was like a dream
But as we grow up
We realize
Falling stars are chunks of ice and rock
Not wishes
And stars and the sun
Are ***** of flaming gas
The wonder fades
And you realize
Outer space
Would truly be a lonely place
Alone out there
But I guess it would still better
Than here
And you yearn
For that wonder to come back
But even if it would
Someone would take it away
They always do.
Growing up is sudden
And shocking
And changes you
Forever
And you wish you could go back
To planetariums
And outer space
But you can't.
We are all stars
***** of fire
That will eventually die out.
But some of us are falling
And hoping someone will catch us.
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 10:11 PM UTC
It really was a great time,
me an Gnat went to the planetarium,
and watched the stars
swimming above us
in the Olympiad of useless love,
we had calzones
across the street
after,
and laughed at each other's jokes
out of politeness.
I took her back home
blowing a Djarum out the window,
when she asked for one.
I wanted to ****
she wanted to ****
So we ****** on the fouton,
truly bored with each other,
but having nowhere else to go,
no other ***** or *******
on the horizon
and comrades in our loneliness.
But it was good and tight,
and I ate her out,
because I'd always loved the maple syrup
of her ******
and I don't think
her
or me
coming
was out of lovelessness,
I think the rawness
of her and my *********
was pure.
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 8:54 PM UTC
heated flavors and
icy noises, up in the
high strata with
a singed mind of
transcendent swallowed thoughts
your molting feathers
fall down to the cobble stones
proclaiming the words
of your mind
up in this planetarium of
a passing breeze
you replace the stars
with gleaming clumps
of barb wire and broken wings
that rattle through the night
screeching frequencies
of your lost-in-precipitation mind
you see the dreams
of the masses
devoured by green,
which clash with
the medley of floral souls
within your grey matter
you breathe out a brink-filled
sigh of infinite--
all those emotional droplets
in that spiderweb mind.
perhaps one day
they will see with your eyes
or even the eyes of your eyes
but for now you are stuck
shouting at them to love
a love greater than that of Lady Black herself
but their ears are stopped up
with the spoon-fed lies of how
to live and they settle for
contentment, and not
passion
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
They met
When but sixteen,
She called herself
His ****** Queen,*
And he her ****** King.*
Thus they remained
Til seventeen,
When his lowered drawbridge
Breached the moat,
And for forty years
He paddled her boat.
But coldness grew,
The ice-palace too,
She was an Ice Queen,
His armor tarnished,
His sword was sheathed,
The Lady and her King
Severed bonds,
Relinquished rings
And set new realms and dreams.
He's a western-style S.O.,
He didn't know
Cowgirls rode backwards.
He's now a sexagenarian,
And the Ice-Palace,
A planetarium.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
Come closer, beckoning
witch finger,
curling, crunching
in shade.
Summon the night
gallery, hanging Homer and Waterhouse as distorted oil
oozing into a
disappearing act.
My feet are a detached movement
upon semi-real
floor of tar-black
tile.
Scraaaaaaaaaping———
Where is the lapel suit
of my Rod Serling dulled
by bad agents of
thrills.
Have him string me
up, a hoisted body settled into daVinci
wings of plain wood and
curvature like a waxy bird's.
The pig's blood waiting
above my head,
Serling signaled
for drama.
I see the false teeth of the planetarium
twinkle, an engulfing omnitheater's
air that I am crucified.
Serling behind the casque of gauze
to young Shatner and wandering
starships of lean men and
the end of this star system into
galactic
odyssey.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Was Mister Spock ever tossed from
Olympus and forced lame in
the heart, a shell that is far
from hollow—what only
a mother could hold.
The bow figurehead, awaiting
corrosion.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 3:01 PM UTC
I no longer need a telescope or a planetarium to see the galaxy
I'll just look into your soul and the whole cosmos I could see
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 4:16 AM UTC
And someday the truth will seep
Schizos, and friends who took too much, will be right
Truth seeping from the sewers and dampening
the carpet (basement first, upper floors later)
Then it will seep through our eyes
and our ears, some veins may burst
with all we found out
Our dark eye lidded friends holding the cigarettes
their stories will be true
There’s a New World Order being crafted
We didn’t land on the Moon. No sky
just a big planetarium around
The relatives of politicians, their children, etc.
picked out for some reason (which hasn’t seeped to us yet) from
random families at the hospital, or homeless on the street
Plastic surgery happens, so they all look believable as a family
and then everyone gets hypnotized not to tell, with pills and chanting
Cause secrets are never safe
just look how they seep
They live in satellites (watchtowers within the planetarium sky)
and wear nothing but white and clip their fingernails perfect, everyday
They think they know all
But he’s not as close
as yogi bear guru atop a peak point
that seeps up his ****** hole
He collects his bark and snow
at what the men in the tower label, 4 AM
then he sits and convinces himself
that everything’s fake, even himself
Convinces, for the least amount of reason possible
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 11:26 PM UTC
The sleepy man at the museum
directed me to the balloons.
Ten out of ten shots went astray
proving my eyes are lame
and so my aim.
The galleries were eerily deserted.
(is people's interest in science flagging?)
I looked down the infinite well
for awhile eternally falling into it
recovering from the realization
they were merely infinite reflections.
The man's smile told he knew from my dazed look
I was lost in the mirror maze.
(Was I stuck in all the wrong exhibits
for my age?)
I got a ticket for the sky in September
finding peace in the dark of the planetarium.
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 11:06 AM UTC
I treasure your thoughts for they mirror mine
and I often feel like the sky
So blue
but I am
just another reflection of you
the true source of life and all I can do
is jot ******* drops of truth
frigid fractalized isolated idioms
Verbose vapor flakes seeking fictional synonyms
headlong ing to be with you
more than me and I am not really blue
This much is truth
pooling thoughts in my planetarium booth
brainstorming ways to lightning youth
But I am not You
I am see through
a satellite out of view
conduit of the more true, Luna
who is more of an effec-tionate of you
morpheous of midnight master of black, whole, new
presenting red eyed roses nightly reflected by you
(but see me I am through)
Liquid glass
Preview
The deep the blue
and I am not blue
scratching the surface and rippling clues
like Voyager's travels
I am echoing shadows of the beauty
you innerview
snapshots of interstellar War Stars out of sight
I am through, see
you hold mysteries I only understand by sky light
when I move you move and you move with might
the final frontier is my domain but you hold many more
leagues unknown and forget me knots
Consider me the wife of Lott
in the massive wake
a primordial parking lot
present yet nought
Blue
In my ever reaching expanse
am just fuel for flame
fleas and moth flee in the aether of my veins
Which provide little shelter
From larger wings of change
While great and small exist in all
your leagues of superfluous membrane
Cool azule from whence life can be sustained
Be Tickled by the fingers of my admiration make waves of mutual celebration
But do not be humbly demurred
Be for me what I can not be
Blue
Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 12:16 AM UTC
I. I am the reason I never had more than a minute’s chances with anything. Sitting on steps with you became the same thing as being in love, because we were together--you, me, and cigarettes. Strange became anything, holding court in a playground planetarium and I took closer to be a state of mind.
II. Nothing ever dies, and I have beautiful sore spots that flower like fields in blood and lymph and bruises. Your fingerprints were black on my neck and it was nothing short of spectacular that heavy silence and the same song on endless repeat even failed to slow you down.
III. My greatest love is the possibility and words that mean nothing to anybody except someone I used to be. I was the stranger and I shot myself four times to spend eternity in purgatory here with you.
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 11:14 PM UTC
As we lay in the grass he shows me his night sky
Let's look for Mercury, Venus, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto
even though we know it's not considered a planet anymore
who cares
More or less let's not forget about Mars
and show me the night stars
Lets go to Alaska
and use the telescopes in NASA
Show me the galaxy
in its pure form of ecstasy
Show me your favorite constellation
and point me in its direction
And just between us let's let gravity
bestow beautiful calamity
between you & I
Show me the universe
in which we'll immerse
With the sweet scent of flowers lingering around
there's bound to be a meteor shower sneaking around
Let's go to the planetarium
and enjoy all the pandemonium
We're bound to see a shooting star
that isn't even that far
And with the tips of your lips
make a wish
as I give you a sweet tender kiss
-elissette
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 3:31 AM UTC
*plastic stars on the ceiling of my bedroom,
without my glasses look like splotches of a galaxy
painted a million miles away.*
.
*take off your glasses and
marvel with me
at the plaster planetarium of my room.*
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 1:51 PM UTC
planetarium drifts across the black
rotation of stars changing position
soft roar, a jet lifts
red light blinks into the distance
unseen southern cross
below the horizon at this hour of evening
cooler air of floating leaves
satellites drift on mapped orbits
tiny connections
govern all in this darkness
major explosion
invented & recorded with the silence of
space junk polluting frontiers
the vacuum of nothingness
plane gone
different land nearing
other meanings ascribed to night
gods & other beings of fiction
trap & trick & bear false influence
dark again in a northern land
planets emerge with their sparkling colours
full moon
ceremony of paper lanterns lifting heavenly
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
I got this idea I'd write you a poem,
One you could read sitting safely at home,
Or keep with you, out and about while you roam.
Some kind of impassioned ballad,
Celebrating all the things I held sacred,
A mirror to illuminate this sky that I’ve painted.
So I laced up my heart, and I shrugged on my soul,
I popped open my noggin, and I went for a stroll,
Right down Memory Lane, and left at the Rabbit Hole.
I kept on 'til I hit a velvet rope with posts of brass,
But I musta gotten too close to the bulletproof glass,
'Cause a big grumpy guard threw me out on my...
I realized, still rolling, it's all one massive museum,
Motionless memories mummified so I can keep 'em,
Lined up and locked away, as if they could be stolen.
Arduously ordered—organized for instant access,
A mental palace fit to make Sherlock get jealous,
That Dewey Decimal dude's got nothin' on this.
The slides replay every minute on the minute,
Time-compressed, Tetrised-in, so each moment fits,
Laser light shows engraving insignias inside my eyelids.
Tear-rusty gears grinding waterlogged cogs in reverse,
This melancholy machine, made to reflect you in verse,
Portrays a planetarium, perpetually projecting my universe.
Apr 20, 2021
Apr 20, 2021 at 5:43 AM UTC
Our house is burning down.
The flames are lashing and tearing
every(our)thing in it's wake.
From the bottom to the top,
Our daughter's doll house,
our miniature planetarium in our bedroom,
my compilations of writings about you/I/us.
Don't rush for the door, dear.
There's still a chance we can subsidise these
gallowing flames that's trying furiously
to charr our ship in the message in the bottle
and our memories into ephemeral ash.
Stay.
For all the reasons to save what we have,
what we've longed for so long,
what we've built from the pit of our hearts.
So,
Stay.
We'll find our way through the maze
and through every well wishers curses.
We'll fix everything that needs to be tended to
and we'll grow to love each other once again.
I'm staying.
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 11:05 AM UTC
Sometimes my sky's the ceiling of a planetarium dome
Enveloping my tiny world'
The moon hangs low-
A lantern for the streets
In our snow globe world.
Contained
Compact
And wrapped in local clouds by day.
Both eyes in play - the vision slips
and now I know the nearest star is countless miles away
And Alice- like I shrink.
A camera, carried high sees me, my home, my town
Resume their truthful place upon the globe;
A dot, if that, a fleeting speck in time no more.
Look up and up and endless up, beyond the plastic dome
To endless possibilities and none.
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 3:03 PM UTC
Being bored just strikes a chord,
To want things I cannot afford.
Instead I write some silly thoughts
About how easy to get lost.
Searching the planetarium
For the contents of my cranium.
If it is all the same but all unique;
Tell me why the people freak?
Fighting the wars and strive for gold,
A pursuit they not know two fold.
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 6:04 PM UTC
Please me____
(In) the- in -crowd
You lose me
(Out) the- out
Fury
never
works
out with
Gary_____
Don't ugly
goose me
No pretty, please
me so deceiving
Whole entire
City is leaving
Hot fun summer in the city
A curse like a bad omen such a pity___
Face me
Camelian
Stan the evil
man
To the ugliest
Fight at the
Grecian slam
Huncheback of
Notre Dame
The Pompeii fire
flame
Ugly ducking tamed
Modern
Video-game
Chavez
Fizz Roz
Heading towards
The Planetarium
Pretty tragic
Ending up in a
sanitarium
((Magic))**
Strikingly
matched
Twin of topaz
The Solarium Jazz
Going to Saratoga
Song Sara Smiles
But travels all the way
To Minnesota
So drained Rotto
Rooter
At the Polaris Mall
Christopher Columbus
Clockwork on a bus
Oh! Ohio red roaster
Never pretty at the
Bull's eye Rodeo
Rodeo drive*
Devil and Domino
Virgo meeting Hugo
Taurus
The Pluto Bull
of lotto
Gina eating
Italian Alfredo
Mudpack stinks
Frank and Dino
Sammy the
Rat pack
Moms
Baking soda
Dominque
Mystique
Trapeze
Doing Yoga
Please without
the pretty
Bo ditty
Feeling gitty
Not to be flattered
So bloated
fatter
Role Gotta give
Beauty beast wider
On Fox Five
Harley Quinn rider
Arizona
Eating
Tapioca
Life is a ***** not
a beach diet
Never do we pray
Pretty please to preach
May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 5:58 PM UTC
This week started on Thursday,
or,
since it started the week,
Monday.
It was as miserable as a Monday.
A C on a math test- my worst ever.
Then debate after school,
running fact after fact,
knowing more than anyone but unable to think fast enough.
Friday was Monday, too.
I ran crying out of one class,
walked sobbing from another.
"Too much pressure!"
I screamed at the trees, at the dirt,
as I ran,
fell,
stomped,
completely out of control across the backyard.
I've never had a breakdown before
but that was it.
Saturday was a Sunday,
with too much work and not enough time.
Volunteering and cleaning and a break
for twenty minutes before moving on to the next thing.
Sunday was Sunday, too,
and I never did finish that essay.
Today was Monday.
Sleep deprivation
piled on stress
piled on putting an entire planetarium show together
in three and a half days.
Five miles to the orthodontist,
five miles back,
and now my face hurts beyond the headache.
Tomorrow will be Tuesday,
and sort of Friday because there's no school Wednesday.
But it'll be Monday, too,
because I'll have nothing done
and be as useful as a dead turtle
from the exhaustion of this week of endless
Mondays.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
i am but another suckling child to a star-shaped **** galaxies spread along my sutures. my skull is a planetarium in memory of you, but i’m often unsure if you notice.
my vision is blurry.
bad feelings collect like dirt in high-traffic areas, i’ve been told, and i see so much. maybe it’s time to cleanse my corneas, drizzle salt under my eyelids to remove the layers of sleep and dust and hurt that the world has left in my care. then, when i burn from dryness, your cool water will nourish me, clear me of the clouds.
i lay down and let you paint my body in contrasting colors, white dwarfs to red giants, and nothing could ever be better. i remain forever in your arms.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 5:55 PM UTC