"starburst" poems
the job of the artist
is to be
luminous and dangerous
*luminous to others
by being
dangerous to themselves
when the words are ripped from the chest,
atmosphere disbursed by the body’s projectile messes,
starburst fireworks,
luminous and dangerous,
luminating the shared night,
laminating your truths,
in poems disguised*
and so the job,
our work,
begins
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 8:34 AM UTC
*The sun emit flames,
Into a starburst of light,
Sprinkled through the day.*
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 4:00 PM UTC
when i gaze into your eyes
i get transported forward into a new dimension
where i'm just an observer of countless entities and stars
I count my stars that i've been blessed with
by such a vision.
and every twinkle in your eye
could be another starburst creating new life
and epochs of infinite emotions.
so when i stare at you in awe
and i'm at a loss for words,
what you are staring back at
is a traveler looking at the cosmos
that is your beauty
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 5:23 AM UTC
***Gazing at the star filled sky
Makes the silent night worthwhile
These bright spots of light
Birthed from starburst galaxies
This diamond studded night’s canopy
Brings glimmering hope in my eyes
Chiseled with perfection
Lights are not going to shut off till eternity
Looking at the night sky
Is gazing into eternity in this lifetime***
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 2:11 PM UTC
Love is the scent with the lotus born.
It is the silent choirs of petals
Singing the winter’s harmony of uniform beauty.
Love is the song of the soul, singing to God.
It is the balanced rhythmic dance of planets -
sun and moon lit
In the skyey hall festooned with fleecy clouds –
Around the sovereign Silent Will.
It is the thirst of the rose to drink the sunrays
And blush red with life.
‘Tis the promptings of the mother earth
To feed her milk to the tender, thirsty roots,
And to nurse all life.
It is the urge of the sun
To keep all things alive.
Love is the unseen craving of the Mother Divine
That took the protecting father–form,
And that feeds helpless mouths
With milk of mother’s tenderness.
It is the babies’ sweetness,
Coaxing the rain of parental sympathy
To shower upon them.
It is the lover’s unenslaved surrender to the beloved
To serve and solace.
It is the elixir of friendship,
Reviving broken and bruised souls.
It is the martyr’s zeal to shed his blood
For the well-beloved fatherland.
It is the ineffable, silent call of the heart to another
heart.
It is the God-drunk poet’s heartaches
For every creature’s groans.
Love is to enjoy the family rose of petal-beings,
And thence to move to spacious fields -
Passing by portals of social, national, international
sympathy,
On to the limitless Cosmic Home –
To gaze with looks of wonderment,
And to serve all that lives, still or moving.
This is to know what love is.
He knows who lives it.
Love is evolution’s ameliorative call
To the far-strayed sons
To return to Perfection’s home.
It is the call of the beauty – robed ones
To worship the great Beauty.
It is the call of God
Through silent intelligences
And starburst of feelings.
Love is the Heaven
Toward which the flowers, rivers, nations, atoms,
creatures – you and I
Are rushing by the straight path of action right,
Or winding laboriously on error’s path,
All to reach haven there at last.
4k
1. That thing she did. It was so innocuous, so accidental, so minor, yet it awakened you. It consumes your headspace. Follows you through hours and days. Makes appearances in your dreams, kissing the edges of your mind. Because of it, you know what it feels like to want someone so much you grow a second heart. Such a gesture should be easily forgotten, but you can’t forget the belly-rolling starburst of it, the oh. That thing she did, it told you who you are. In one split-second act. It grabbed you by the collar, looked you in the eye, and said her. It’s her. Are you brave enough to listen?
2. You want to feign your own fall just so she will lean over you, blocking the sky, beautiful and concentrated. So she will hold your wrist and feel for your rabbit pulse. So you can blink up at her with an excuse for not looking away.
3. She’s sitting there sketching a tree in the margin of her notebook, and she is a miracle. You would die for her. The thought startles you. You want to kiss her, want it savagely, which startles you, too. Your hands stay balled in your lap, half-clenched and trembling.
4. You move and it’s just enough to push the two of you together. Which is, god, the best thing you have ever felt. She draws her eyes toward you with the soft look that takes you out every time. Her arm is pressing yours, solid and warm. You flush and can’t understand why, but you should. That blush knows everything you haven’t yet figured out.
5. You watch her when she leaves, always. You can’t help it. She’s furiously lovely, so much your chest is sore at the sight of her. She hurts you, this girl. She moves you.
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 12:46 PM UTC
five years ago, June 2018,
I, poet Sir Humbug,
wrote:that the job of the artist was to be
luminous and dangerous
<>
*the job of the artist
is to be
luminous and dangerous
luminous to others
by being
dangerous to themselves
when the words are ripped from the chest,
atmosphere disbursed by the body’s projectile messes,
starburst fireworks,
luminous and dangerous,
luminating the shared night,
laminating your truths,
in poems disguised
and so the job,
our work,
begins*
<>
five years on,
somethings have changed,
indeed, the dangers of
being luminous,
clarifying and exposing,
the requisite badge of courage,
need-be more desperately earned
the work is more risky,
as the rules of now are none,
and the risk of good taste,
thoughtful caring,
exposing you innards outwardly,
so easy to demean
and sadly
that titillates the iliterati
like a fire-working fireflies flashing,
their in-concert of ligh attracts the
oohs and aahs
but too,
the restless for glory,
opinionated blowhard,
whose critical boundaries of ill will
are
boundless
yet,
write on, right on
to be where courage be the
sticking point!
your verbs must be pointy,
your direction true,
adjectives of modest innovation,
craft harder, then harder again,
for the work must be honest
in a manner most delicate
now is the time of
subtlety -
if one must bang pots to be heard,
that you to are but a noisemaker, a loser,
an addition to those
lost in the din
quiet passion,
thoughtful insight
to inside, to the tender parts,
will rule the day
and the blow smokers
will rue the day,
as their pretenses chafe and flail wayside,
and your words,
be like sightings of new lands
where you take us utterly beholden,
willing explorers to places most wonderfully
luminous and dangerous!
Jul 10, 2023
Jul 10, 2023 at 11:25 PM UTC
pineapples.
why do we like them?
i don't know.
they are prickly
and pokey.
and kind of ugly.
and man, are those things ******* hard to peel.
apples.
why do we eat them?
i don't know.
they are shiny.
and kind of boring.
and you can't eat half of it anyway,
because it's too close to the seeds.
strawberries.
what kind of fruit are they?
their seeds are on the outside.
and their flavor of starburst doesn't taste anything like them.
and sometimes they get really squishy and covered in mold.
bananas.
why do we eat them?
i don't know.
maybe because they are yellow.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 10:14 PM UTC
I love you,
Wildly, silently,
Imitating it's idly,
Displaying my affection quietly.
Timid, I am, of course.
Enjoying our discourse.
And everything you are,
I'm so heavenly immersed -
Yes, in your quirky quarks from quasars,
Running its benevolent course.
Still, inside, I thirst.
To let you know,
I'm yours.
Lost in a loving serge. . .
With quarks from the hottest starburst.
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 12:50 AM UTC
Yeah, so giddy I'll confess...
Light-years past crazy baby.
Constellations of bruises,
a silver sort of stench of starburst blood drops,
sickening rainbow... purple, green, yellow... of healing.
Anyone else would be too.
But its a gift really.
What hasn't killed me's
made me stronger, right?
Strong and brave enough
to grasp the icy tail of a
rushing shooting star
and hold on, sharp and cold and clean,
ever tighter while mountains and oceans fade.
The lunatic soul locked inside the body
constricts with each breath and beat.
Until it surrenders with unbearable brightness.
Supernova in a straitjacket.
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 10:50 AM UTC
As I opened my pack of starburst. I saw that I got a yellow one. Immediately I was upset because I was hoping to get a pink one. Then I realised that this mentality is polluting lots of people. Y'all sit here and want these pink starburst, but you overlook the yellow ones. So mainstream. Yeah the pink ones are good but the yellow ones are different. They have a little zing to them. I guess most people can't handle that. Don't stress over being a pink starburst. Embrace being a yellow or any other colour of starburst. You are different, and different is beautiful.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 6:23 PM UTC
A warm summer night long ago,
the brightest star to the left of the moon
exploded into a shower of stardust
that, as it fell gently,
through the layers of the atmosphere,
combined with the rain,
and the laughs of lovers,
and butterfly wings.
And by the time it reached the ground,
it had materialized as the shimmer
in your bright blue eyes
that gazed at me
in a way that almost mended
the most broken parts
of my soul.
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 1:48 AM UTC
I would much rather
spend limited time
with you,
being caked in smiles
making rhymes
about starburst limes,
than limitless time,
building rhymes
with empty lines
from missing you
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 4:17 AM UTC
1)
this part sparkles -- like your smile
which sparks a grin in me
to heat the heart and ribbed
adore
the laughter waiting in the covers
from our wink and whisper
beds of personalities
spring and comfort, stain and dust
but love, sweet love to swoon away
and lust the anchorage of speaking
as we do each tone and syllable
a light, touch, tinge to waken flames
and dancing light
familiar of my origins
a conjured shape in what you single out
each focus frame of sentence what
to what we ought to do
what sunday shall we both approve?
in sync we dialogue
in mood of dire wrack of blah
in boon of happy overflow
our musing 'tra la la'
ideas, toys to turn and pirouette
or taunt the sun to match our beaming fun
2)
this part sparkles too,
but gives itself to me
so i might quench the burning
brightly lighting sultry flesh
i gaze, and overyearn
to tumble in the sheets
that billow layers--layer-winds of time
you tug and pull i toss and tear away
to open bare the inward soft
that peach-like drips from chin
in breathless constantly
voracious tonguing whim
an asterisk for starburst flick delight
salts deeply into savor sweet
the loin-surge powers me in your embrace
to deep, deep clenching ahh
our skin undone as with a solar flare
across the earth a flood of radiating us
lips and bones
coalescent sense
no match for 'bliss'
or moan moan moan
unending veins traverse to toetip axon
ancient crown of hugs from two to one
3)
this part Is the whole
unknown we meet again
again, again from words
to trusting vasts poetic patience
chance to sound the voice of
yearning manifest from tips to core
and back again we plan on more
in hoping wonder possibles revised
the real of you too natural
to rebuke the care beyond
the searching for
to inhale sight of being there
to step from cab
and offer kindness
mystery of universe
transmuted into meeting once,
twice, every moment new
you bring an often baffling array
of sublime other than i knew
you reinvent me too
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
There’s a light
In the darkness
There’s a crack in the door
Bursting through with sunlight
Shining evermore
Aug 13, 2010
Aug 13, 2010 at 6:52 PM UTC
~
*"...Though I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil..."
-- Psalm 23:4*
This Achilles' heel
— die for yellow
the abruptness has come
sick shoddy steam engines
bellow
Big blue undone
don't bite the sun
seek out satin
adrift in the flatlines
of this soaring dystopian stockpile
just as the flaming Icarus
fell in exile
Unlock the nearest far
but lose a hand in the cookie jar
cockpit burn
— what new color
do we learn?
Promise me you'll live
beyond yellow
and on re-entry I'll play
the hedonistic fellow
falling from the summit
— Breaking atmo
with so great a speed
like it or not
I'll soon be eternally
freed
Starburst
and static talk
ionized trails
and blisters of aftershock
Remembering the capsule
under the tongue
remembering the break-up
under the sun
Sensing fascination
in an endless stretch of graveyard
Duke of the avant-garde
this abstraction is now
my calling card
We're at the threshold here
reshaping into debris
and I'm wondering
just so wondering
if you will ever find me
Aug 16, 2021
Aug 16, 2021 at 7:48 AM UTC
Ok.
So it's Valentines day.
I'm alone,
but I'm in love again.
The chemicals in my brain are firing pleasure sensors
or whatever that science **** says.
It bothers me that I live a lie no matter what truth I embrace
but whatever
I'm in love with his smile
his laugh
how he and I know exactly what each other is thinking
telepathy is our ESP.
If he knew was me
he would know it was him
still is him
by the way
I'm in love with his poetry
his voice
Every new thing I learn
Is a starburst in my heart
I know I look like a stalker
the way I follow him
but seeing him is my sanity
I have to believe
he will love me one day
if I want to live
another day
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
GOS'POZHO! NE GO'VORYA' BALGARSKI
(Madame! I Don’t Speak Bulgarian!)
( for Onelia )
I stand outside
your world
all voiced & unvoiced
consonants
(& yes I know voiced consonants can become voiceless
but only in certain positions.)
‘mislya...’pisha
(to think...to write)
It’s all Cyrillic
to me.
Only able to enjoy the shape of it!
б
There is an O
with a scarf billowing
over its right shoulder
that really is a b.
(Reminds me of Isadora Duncan driving to her death
her scarf getting caught in the wheel.)
A capital Ɓ that is a v
(Oh yeah? Yeah!)
A large З that looks like a pair of *******
looking down from above from the side.
(And Lord save us
it’s...a z!)
An X that’s a h!
(I see...I see!)
Ф
An apple being cut in two
by a knife
once again
looking down from above
...that’s an f.
(Yes? Yes!)
Something that could be
a starburst
Ж
(zh...zh...zh)
Such a treasure!
Or a strong man
clasping two ladies by the waist
swooning to him in a tango
one on either side.
An Я
looking the wrong way
(Ya? Ya!)
И
Two capital I’s
hanging out together
with the I (i...i...i) on the right
with its hand on the left one’s ***
(naughty vowel...naughty vowel)
Й
And an other two I’s
up to the same shenanigans
but with half a halo over their heads
as if they only wanted to be half good!
Maybe one day
I’ll learn
A little Bulgarian
(dogo’dina... dogo’dina)
((next year...next year))
But right now
it’s all
pictures
to me
that dash across
my imagination.
Stra’hotna ‘roklya!
Iz’ghezhdash prek rasno!
(Fabulous dress!)
(You look great!)
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC
I hope that your the one.
Accompanying tomorrow into today.
The time shared from one conversation to the next.
Painting vivid pictures in each other's eyes.
The moments where time stands still, sitting in each other's embrace.
Rushing to get to the phone, hoping that you'd pick up soon as it rings.
Relaying different thoughts, new things to think about.
How much I've missed you, when could we meet again. Do we require permission to do the things we keep to ourselves.
The smiles that reveal how close we keep each other in thought.
The way you look wearing my favorite color.
The start of our imagination getting the best of us.
Spending time with you, becoming my favorite habit.
The smell of my cologne staining your shirt.
The times when all you need is a look. A slight procrastination that leads into different topic of conversation.
The comfort of voices revealed in low tones.
The perfect day dream, your head laid on a pillow.
A random date somewhere out of the ordinary. Drive in movie. Arms stetched out, pretending to fly like we're kids again.
Big head pretty girl pictured perfectly in my dreams, a pack of starburst filled with pink wrapping.
Real life situations seen as practical. Late night conversations, the need to vent.
Not a thing to do but listen to you speak your mind.
The build up of stress from work, fake friends, the perfect invitation to relate to your favorite vice.
Not everything has to be about *** I want you for you.
Imagining you walk from one room to the next.
The spark of intellectual stimulation, aspiration, the reasons I miss you as much as I do.
The fragrant aroma of your skin lingering, an incense of thought wrapping around the senses.
Waking up finding myself still in a dream.
A kiss to wake up to. Ensuring the future.
The sun peeping through closed blinds, the wiggling of toes.
The smell of decaf. Coffee in the morning.
Fitting perfectly inside the cup of my hands, the swirl of cream, a couple tablespoons of sugar, swirling about in perfect motion.
This is how I picture us together.
All in perplexed but interesting truth.
The simplicity of it all
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 11:30 AM UTC
My love is like a bag
a bag of candy
pick the candy you like
anything..
m&m;'s,starburst, Hershey's chocolate.
But I prefer chips
the chips you can't stop crunching
but how do you know the kind of chips they are if they are in a raggedy black bag?
so dull and boring
try to open the bag
don't be too rushy, but have a firm, steady, constant pull
see, it open, but you took too slow
It's okay, just take one piece
and another and another
and wait, you're eating too much
leave some for myself and please put some of the chips you took back
Because you are not the only one taking from the bag.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
I wanted to be light so I swallowed the sun.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 10:38 PM UTC
It's like we're these two predestined stars
Bound to clash into one unfortunate,
Yet bedazzling starburst
Yes, it's destructive, but seeing it from afar
It's one of the most remarkable collisions of a lifetime
OUR LIFETIME...
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 8:22 AM UTC
You wake up each day looking for love.
Then one day it falls from above.
It’s sent so sweet it must be true.
Your heart will taste the new virtues.
And mundane life will reach its end,
when two new lives begin to blend.
For the night is when bright souls entwine.
Like the light of stars as they align.
So ignite their fuel, let loose their shine.
Or spend a life lost, looking, for some godsend.
Why not look for someone who you can spend,
an eternity alone with you?
As if they came and rescued you.
So fly to them like a dove.
Hold them close they are your love.
Apr 16, 2012
Apr 16, 2012 at 5:54 PM UTC
Expanding at the speed of light
The universe unfurling
And on our little ball of rock
Our world is ever swirling
The cries, the pain, the saddened hearts
The suffering and the sorrow
Eighty spins around the sun
That shorten our tomorrow
Angels of mercy intercede
And speak in dreams and visions
Lonely hearts find each other
And God heals our divisions
To grow, to live, to hope, to dance
To sing with each new morning
The starburst of the Creator’s love
Sends our spirits soaring
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 6:36 PM UTC
you are alive. you are here, presently, surrounded by reasons why you must stay alive. even if the noose of your grief holding up your happiness shows no signs of letting up, stay. if you can't count every reason to die on your fingers, grab your friends and start using their hands to count the reasons you need to be here, with these people, these places, these moments. think of old men smiling to themselves as they drive by their childhood homes. sure, it was sad for them to leave. but they gave the wound a while to heal and sixty years later their wife is waiting for them at home with a plate of cookies and their son is just about to have his first kid and their daughter is the most beautiful starburst ever let out of heaven and that old man, that old man is happy. everybody has a crumpled suicide note if you dig deep enough. everybody's adolescence is stained with forgotten kisses and broken beer bottles and ****** knuckles and several prayers to dine with the dead and you are not alone. you are not alone in wondering if this is the end. the show will go on with or without you, and you need to love the sound of the applause because, baby, your big scene is coming up.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 12:37 PM UTC