day moon, whimsy…

day moon, whimsy…

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oh dear fair moon
might I take a bite of advice
for how did you appear
in the middle of my day sky
but I suppose
you are always there
with a certain-curtain pull back
so how do you bare, then?
the view,
not ever an interloper
nor a guardian at our door
a lone-cold observer
from shore to shore,
sights from rocky atolls to fading cliffs

the observances of millennia-
maybe this is jealousy?
I’d invite you to dinner
to hear the stories of your grand tour
but can not trade for that
to bear the calamity that will ensue
so, alas, stay where you are
perhaps another lunar trip will do
oh my dear fair moon
our singular notion
our most loyal companion.
I look up, to you.

notes… the day moon always gets my eye, I call this style stop and start, like letting the words flow and then turning the faucet off suddenly, not a staccato like I do sometimes, this is deliberate to show chain of thought, or at least that is what I am going for, kind of like a fence, a smooth line and then a post… if that makes sense, if it does not, I suppose you will just move on… as always, all comments are appreciated.

in the presence of the sun… –{{O}}–

in the presence of the sun… –{{O}}–

in the presence of the sun

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among the heavenly bodies we round
cycles
orbits
life rises, drowns and rises again
all in this procession
far flung on the flight wing of a galaxy
cast out in an endless ocean
can this be the only outpost of hope?
of life?
in all this, just a drift
an arm, a wisp of stars
our star, the one
the one we call, the sun
which has defined our direction for all time
such as can be counted and summed
in the presence of the sun
gives us a center
a ballast
a balance, with focus
a singular form in the form we always have known
our nook, our den
our private fortress
this little blue marble of life
a miracle boat afloat
in just this time
in my eye
to our minds
tethered to a galaxy drifting
our fate
lie and awake
open and closed in mother’s eye
all in this –
the presence of the sun.

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are we a marker, an outlier, an anomaly, can we be? just this little branch, this dash, this splash of hope dangling off a limb of one of endless-countless galaxies, can we be alone, even in our own stretch of these woods? the possibility, yes, the possibility is there, but I choose to believe otherwise; why? I could argue the numbers, the sheer amount of possibilities that lay forth with such numbers bound out into infinity, but something inside, a gut, a feel, an instinct, maybe foolish pride, maybe I want to believe we are not just dust on a mere wind blowing by, sure, that is a fair assessment, but what else? can we pretend to know everything, in our little stint, our production run here, the perspective is almost hard to fit, not long ago this was it, terra firma, just the earth, and now the discussions turn towards mars and beyond, but these are just the closest neighbors, there is so much more, where the voyagers have now gone, barely a scratch off the heliosphere, can this twist of tiny now fate be all? the trinkets on my mantle tell a story of a life that will be swallowed and gone, blink, and yet, we live on, multiplying, generations like a constant beating heart of creation, our self importance tethered to a rock, rolling around a common star, ours, as if the sun will blink when we are gone, or just continue on, until she too runs out of the gift, the surge, the power, the sheer will of chemical interactions will cease, and then what of these, these stories, these lives, what will survive if not beams, remnants, something beyond what can be held in hands and hearts, something more, something higher, and how will we know this transformation or communicate with the others? or is there nothing, just nothing, perhaps. but I would rather invest in the wavelength, the energy ribbon, the promise, of hope. of life. for we are alive now, nothing can change that, not even the stoppage of time, so I believe, choose to believe, we survive.