"sublunary" poems
The mother is first—
she is for all and down to earth.
She, the mother Fathima,
descended from uncharted Heaven—
that pivotal frontier
only the Prophet of all prophets has seen.
Then, there was no Adam, nor Eve, nor even Jibreel.
Every star across the seven skies
wishes to kiss that golden dust.
Not to mention the Moon at the center,
waning and waxing—openly and secretly—
unleashing its longing to rub
this non-sublunary piece against its forehead.
She knows—only then
the rough seas beneath her will calm,
bathed in the soft raining moonlight,
rubbing off upon a lucky, blossomed forehead.
Oh, if only—
scarcely could they ever see it!
The galaxies, since their inceptions,
have longed for it.
The bliss of the eyes—tucked away from the scene.
Paradise lies beneath the mother’s feet!
It finds its core, its resonant lore,
in the shadow of the original feminine—Fathima.
There, the original matter explored;
Paradise breathed beneath her—
but she touched down at the heart of the Earth
without stepping or touching on Paradise,
only to give her stake away to others.
No land she would take on her way back, indeed.
Not in her name.
Do you know where Fathima’s grave is?
Dec 28, 2017
Dec 28, 2017 at 4:01 PM UTC
Every blue patch on the sky keeps an eye,
cherishing clouds dancing, hovering over.
The songs of deep blue ride the heady air,
only to be stunned, all of a sudden,
at the first sight—
sung down on a perfectly placed mural.
The Queen of Sheba tiptoes this way;
King Solomon leans to the ground,
only to find seas of silent blooms
musing, dipping in sun-kissed dews—
on gently tilted roses that will not fall,
not from this picture-perfect, navel-high!
Velvety, the rose rises from the ground;
the forever-green Earth hangs low,
in the dew on the rose that will not fall.
Blossoming, eyeing an acute high,
evermore hopeful to scale upward,
toward the faraway, awaiting heaven's pool.
There, the spotlight does not move—
neither north nor south, nor up nor down—
until Queen Fathima, the Queen of Heaven,
steps on the "as above, so below" slope.
There, the newly resurrected Earth will be primed,
its minted atoms vibrating beyond bounds,
rising, for the first time, atop the navel-high.
Perfectly wrapped, the atom's circle finally turns on—
the stepping stone that holds no pi-decimal hole.
Pure Scientia hangs on the door of Paradise,
awaiting the numerically perfect Queen Fathima to step.
God willing, she will work in beauty:
the most sought-after, perfect works of art—
the lost masterpiece, not in translation,
but hidden within the pi-decimal abyss of Earth's depth.
Lo, the gleaning Sleeping Beauty peeps,
trailing the role model Queen.
Fathima—the first woman to enter Paradise—
walks the walk: perfect, straight, numerically precise.
As if she always knew, back from the Earth,
of the murals ahead, hanging on Paradise’s wall,
mathematically exact!
Mirrors of imagination, new wonders on Heaven’s way,
etched in the murals at the golden section, navel-high.
She zooms past the ever-spinning atom’s perfect span,
cemented at the entrance of Paradise.
Yet leaves no footprint—
for she never did, even on the sublunary Earth.
A new wonder blooms in the classic old eyes:
oh, Pi, still irrational, still pondering,
at the measured, eternal navel-high!
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC
A sprinkle of blue sparkle
off the lapis lazuli sky.
A throw of stars
from the full moon night.
We will take in abundance
while rowing the waves
once in the River Nile.
Hear! The crave of oars
breaching the shore.
Reaching out and close
to the pyramid foundation.
That’s scientia is pure rigid
yet so open loose.
One dozen milky ways
can hover in rhythm
over this stony knot!
That doesn’t mean
the Mintaka stars will give
up their shares at all
They will sit on the top.
Without the pyramid moving
a step from the true north.
Between this relative sublunary
and over the moon mural
if and when one spaces up.
The silent Moon takes a pause
humming the prehistoric lullabies.
With a patch of the blue sky
and a starry sprinkle from the night.
Maybe then we will take a break in
behind the closed doors of the great pyramid!
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC
I thought I love and then I saw you.
I love only You before creation of moon,
before light giving birth to mortal stars.
My past 'lovers' lost meaning
like a candle without taper waiting for a spark.
I never loved anyone.
It was just mind construct, dream of dead heart..
I always loved you and only you I will love.
I am God, fragments of morning kisses, every atom of your soul.
Creator is silent when He sees Himself in me.
As a result of my unconditional love
the moon will dance in the opposite direction
to the logic of all ascentors of centuries
in half-tons of my wistful soul full of unfathomable fondness.
And if the sun shines on man tomorrow with an unrelieved face
it's only when you and I unite in the love flames of our bodies
bringing God into the world, one soul of all Gods.
Trinity in two bodies will bless every human being
in every sacred touch of your kiss.
The etheric stars I will feed with heavenly light
of movement of your lips when you say 'i love you, art of my life'.
The breath of fantasts comes to the world
once in a million years, You.
God Himself gave me power
to bring the stars aglow under your feet
and burn with passion your heart and spirit,
the only one I adored, adore and will adore
in non-local reality of space and time, forever.
Ingenious Metaphysician of sublunary world I am
spreading astronomical theories of unconditional love.
No sun comparable to true love of your heart.
You are the axis of my universal soul.
You are the light inside black holes.
I am limitless love without concept of being loved in return.
God you are.
I am God.
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 3:05 PM UTC
As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say
The breath goes now, and some say, No:
So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move,
’Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.
Moving of th’ earth brings harms and fears,
Men reckon what it did and meant,
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.
Dull sublunary lovers’ love
(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
Those things which elemented it.
But we by a love so much refined
That our selves know not what it is,
Inter-assurèd of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.
Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.
If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two;
Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th’ other do.
And though it in the centre sit,
Yet when the other far doth roam,
It leans and hearkens after it,
And grows ***** as that comes home.
Such wilt thou be to me, who must
Like th’ other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.
2.7k
i’m boy with broken jaw
my face and flesh of citrus
fingers dripping resolute
by weight of sweetened tendon
the motion to which i descend
i last resort upon thy tenderloin gloss
touching me under sublunary breath
he melts darkness to sugarfisted ******
i taste of all he ever wanted
it’s a dirtyparadise out here behind the neon nickelcade
day-glo slithering below my belly
just ten bucks, and you’ll get your turn
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 2:18 AM UTC
In between the floating
day and night
that keeps this sublunary
planet live.
It's still an unseen night
from where the sunrise.
If only one can tell
from where the things dip out
only to scurry away.
I wanted to ask
but every one I see
is another punter
knows not when
that's time is up!
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 12:30 AM UTC
'' In Love With The Euphrates''. (Eng.: 'yufreytiiz ", Greek: Ευφράτης)
A Love-Eternal, as long as its waters flow, far before the 'Now'.
One tiny soul, yearning at the River’s banks, below the palms with their soft, feathery foliage, waving in a languid breeze.
Staring at his bright shining surface, the emerald translucency ,here underneath the azure sky and shining golden solar disk.
The curves of its lines, made of very fine, soft sparkling sand and swaying reeds ,the alluring splash of its waves.
The mighty Euphrates smiles, beckons with the spirit of its life-giving waters:
'' Come, ... come to me....''
"ONE CAN NOT BE IN LOVE WITH A RIVER!''
…a furious mass, roars, somewhere out in the gray, remote coldness.
But this glowing heart beats every earthly comprehension and that-is-what-common.
A body, unclad as when life first began.
Sliding into the silky warmth bringing waves of its waters, and floating, blissfully drowning and surrendering to Euphrates' tender caress.
Nothing so sincere and pure….
The rapture of this insignificant, transient creature ....
The mighty Euphrates beholds, with his empathetic, loving spirit., as with a fatherly smile ...
And both enter that fathomless centre far beyond matter, time and the sublunary.
Euphrates’ clear blue whisper mingling with the energy of that passionate violet light, which is softly about to explode in radiant scarlet and purple rays of light and energy.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 3:10 PM UTC
We trace the pow’r of Death from tomb to tomb,
And his are all the ages yet to come.
’Tis his to call the planets from on high,
To blacken Phoebus, and dissolve the sky;
His too, when all in his dark realms are hurl’d,
From its firm base to shake the solid world;
His fatal sceptre rules the spacious whole,
And trembling nature rocks from pole to pole.
Awful he moves, and wide his wings are spread:
Behold thy brother number’d with the dead!
From ******* freed, the exulting spirit flies
Beyond Olympus, and these starry skies.
Lost in our woe for thee, blest shade, we mourn
In vain; to earth thou never must return.
Thy sisters too, fair mourner, feel the dart
Of Death, and with fresh torture rend thine heart.
Weep not for them, and leave the world behind.
As a young plant by hurricanes up torn,
So near its parent lies the newly born—
But ’midst the bright ehtereal train behold
It shines superior on a throne of gold:
Then, mourner, cease; let hope thy tears restrain,
Smile on the tomb, and sooth the raging pain.
On yon blest regions fix thy longing view,
Mindless of sublunary scenes below;
Ascend the sacred mount, in thought arise,
And seek substantial and immortal joys;
Where hope receives, where faith to vision springs,
And raptur’d seraphs tune th’ immortal strings
To strains extatic. Thou the chorus join,
And to thy father tune the praise divine.
1.7k
We're young.
God we're young.
We're young and rebels all.
Rebels with every cause and to every glorious effect.
We melt the sun away,
And howl at the moon.
We carry our dreams in our jeans,
Our heads in our hearts.
Screams soaked in ocean surf-
The highest highs and lowest lows as but tide on our toes.
The big black always behind us,
The big bang always ahead.
We cut the chains of a criminal cage,
Search for the red in our veins.
In all of us a personal summer,
Pushed by fear of future winters.
A timeless truth over a thousand permutations,
A thousand generations, a thousand germinations:
We are.
We are fires in the night, stars in a sublunary sky.
We are mutable gases born by open wind,
We are illumination, awakening, engendering.
We seek the world and spurn the rest.
We are young.
God we're young.
-c. c. Condry
Mar 12, 2011
Mar 12, 2011 at 8:18 PM UTC
A light
At the end of the tunnel
Leads to salvation
Or so they say.
If only motion
Could be as easily halted
As it is begun.
The train
As she forges onward.
Whistle-blowing steam
Pressing blindly
Through the heat,
And the darkness
Behind her.
Before her.
And what of our love?
Inferno's tinder.
Coals crafted in
Sublunary sentiment
Solid.
As the product
Of a century's pressure.
Of a century's decay.
Beneath her.
Within her.
Above her.
Our ignited passions ahead,
Distant and unattainable.
Joy and deliverance
As determined
Solely
By the absence of darkness.
Despite her.
If only motion
Could be as easily halted
As it is begun.
I'll choose never to believe
That it is salvation
Alight
At the end of the tunnel.
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 9:18 PM UTC
There are roses.
A sniff of that—
turns the trees into sharp thorns.
Sit still.
Secured. Guarded.
Then there is a Tree,
meticulously crafted,
big-footing from the deepest deep—
not only skin deep
but the beauty is on—
deep-bone skeleton.
The pixels on the upper layer stay clear,
and perfect balance holds below, through every layer.
A day fades from the rose,
dimmed—even at soothing eve.
Not quite.
It walks in chiaroscuro,
through shades of tangerine,
slipping into the thick of night—
never growing thin—
until it catches the set sun hiding,
eyeing the new moon’s skin.
It stands,
ready for bold conversation,
as the stars emerge,
whispering
through the seven skies.
Wide-eyed death—
inevitable—
rushes in
on beauty’s stake.
But how long did it last?
Before the blink of an eye,
the tree was back in bloom.
In watching galaxies—top of mind—
it grows again,
quietly,
on the sublunary Earth.
Math of the matter
couldn’t be closer,
nor farther—yet it is,
as surely as cumulative math,
with countless truths under the skin,
unfound until the equation fits.
It can appear with precision,
or stay hidden from sight—
under the sun, or the moon, alike.
Sharpest sharp cuts: linear.
Deepest deep, yet curves—
smoothest golden spirals.
The solid full-stop dot
in Ma spaces
springs the sweetest—
a panache showcase
that conquers height
and endures time.
A sniff of it stirs the water—
boundless,
no sea, no ocean, no river,
just flow, forever.
It bumps into paradise above—
roots stretching,
never ceasing.
Deep down, it rocks the pearls,
up high melts the clouds,
rains soft on the glass—
which breaks
into pieces of a star.
Breaks open wide—yet no angle.
Deep down, it never fractures.
Every line, on every lane,
curves inward
to its digital bedrock:
non-linear, vibrating numbers.
Day in, day out—
no ending at the end.
A topological fold
opens and rewraps.
There is a tree:
overhead and on the ground.
Keep an open eye—
it keeps up!
Jun 5, 2025
Jun 5, 2025 at 8:38 PM UTC
The universe
She feeds us in unseen ways
She takes us within
She gives us what we need
And when the lesson is learned
She moves on to the next of us in need
We need only listen to learn
She bears the fruit of knowledge
We choose feast or famine
Life is a cosmic buffet
Yes, the universe
She feeds us well
Somewhere between the earth and moon
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 3:18 AM UTC
Dull sublunary lovers need
the help of 3D glasses
to ever seen things differently,
or grasp just what romance is.
We poets see things differently
because we take more chances.
The seen and unseen, we embrace
without cardboard enhancers.
Could Love even express itself
without our helpful similes?
Honor or Courage, without our help,
would be just pale facsimiles .
We are the guardians of the words
that hollow men would empty.
Poetential is our flaming sword
against their verbal entropy
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 11:23 AM UTC
sunrise sweet silence
sanctuary surrounding solitude
sorrow springs since summer’s
shimmering sparkling sunshine
squandered sentiment
sundown’s smoky sunset
saddened sombre skies
starlight specks swallowed
shaded sublunary shadows
soon sunrise showers soft soil
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 10:04 AM UTC
There are secrets
In her stares.
Or am I just seeing things?
Her smiles stream
Like sunlight
And she speaks
In songs
That spin circles
In my head.
I can't stop thinking
That when anyone
Sees those eyes,
We're all reduced to
Single streams of light
Streaking through
Steep shadows
Cast in her mystery,
Suitors left swooning
Over stolen second glances.
We're stargazers.
Sublunary spectators.
Secret seekers.
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
I was born –
The horizon leaked me, a slivering line
Choking the azure, circling the Sun
Bleeding light
From his corner,
Colours poured forth: meat pink and red wine
From melted spectres. A solar-shunned
Final fight
I rejoiced
In the silence of it all – the glorious quiet
Of black void, of absence, of the dark
Dark night
Though angels voiced
To souls through holes, singing disquiet
Using stars as windows to mark
Constant sight,
I ignored the heavens.
With a slowly blinking eye
I, Night, moved above the sublunary
Displaying a Borealis here or there
Singing my silence in frosty airs
Living on shadows, breathing earth
I ignored the heavens.
My death arrived
With supple sparks of changing tones
In the fabric of my widowed veil
Sun woke up, made dust to bones
And sliced my sky with a fire sail
I disappeared, let him reign
Over and over and over again.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 6:32 PM UTC
With the sun shining
on top of the pack.
Highlighting the day
up to the sky
tomorrow will come.
Burning in golden delights
a dreaming heavenly light
will uphold the earth’s
column on the high!
Tomorrow upon the evernew
apex of the dawn once again the sun
spilling the sublunary black box
will jot down one more heavenly
interpretation of its dreamlight.
Imagining on the tucked away
pure earthly wonder!
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 10:54 AM UTC
Oh, Luna
Carrier
Take my serenade
If this earthly love escapes
Then loving doors forbade!
Come, send my plea
Whilst I trace her constellation
And you, both
Hidden from mine eyes
Trace her hand, her heart, her eyes
To the other’s harmonization
If but for one night
Pity me, or give my heart
To her
The one, I know it true,
That you and I, Moon,
Both smile upon.
She whose eyes
Like lunar seas
So deep that hide such mystery
Whose hair enwraps my world
Like many-a brown meridian
From top to bottom
With energy
From end to world’s end.
Whose shadowy nature
Like paradox
Alights with creamy luminescence
To outshine her companion stars
And rears my gaze Heavenward
And implores my footfall north
To cross infinity on cadence and tune
Wishing to be where she stands
Her sublunary perilune.
Oh, I’m mad, I’m mad
Poor, Moon my only ear
For you are not the woman
Whom I wish, this song, to hear
And yet I dream
Beneath the Moon
Which I hope she dreams into
That this dream
Beneath the moon
Is one she dreams of too.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 9:54 PM UTC
I stumble through these dark streets.
My dry mouth and slurred speech.
I called you but you won't receive,
My drunken pleads and memories.
Contorted minds and lucid dreams,
I'll sink into sublunary.
-Melanie Munoz
May 21, 2025
May 21, 2025 at 11:53 PM UTC
The moon falters and sways
She sits in sublunary
She pants
She waves
Growing dim and dying
Her aching
Her sighing
The sky darkens
Her cold limbs stretch to the east
Her bare body, bathed by the beast
His love lays in defeat
May 25, 2025
May 25, 2025 at 9:57 PM UTC