Tag Archives: stars

Impatient For The Stars

Daisie sits on a swing in a small park

just off the two lane highway,

somewhere in Kansas.

We’re on vacation, finally, heading

to Northern California, to Mt Shasta,

and the ships in the air.

I sit on the swing beside her and we

pass a huge plastic cup of fast food iced tea

back and forth between us.

There’s a splinter in her heart tonight,

and I don’t know how to soothe her.

We’re chasing something beyond this world.

The park is as tired as a resigned sigh,

and the swings and jungle gyms and spring animals

have seen better days. Still children happily play here.

The sky is so huge it could swallow us, like God swallows

the universe in his eye, and we may stay until the stars come,

so we could look out on the night through God’s eye.

A long way to go to get where angels or demons or

otherworldly beings make sense of this restlessness

and unquiet, this desire to escape flesh and gravity.

Out of tea, she places the empty cup by her feet,

and we look up at the sky, impatient for the stars,

for the voice that quiets the terror and dislocation.

Advertisements

Slash of the Moon

Daisie sat on the edge of the river, cold beer in her hand,

just brought up from the cold water where it was sat to cool.

Her friend was asleep in the tent, but she was wakeful, restless,

and sat in the darkness beneath starlight and slash of moonlight.

She felt almost weightless, as if she was straining to break free

from the earth, from gravity and the world, back up to those stars,

from which she’d been seeded, either by supernovas or malevolent beings,

to nothingness of light, the dream that was without wakefulness.

Out in the water, she heard splashing and an animal cry, hissing, angry.

Her eyes had adjusted to the dim luminescence from the stars above,

and in the white shadows, she saw a mermaid, with black, black hair

and glints on aquamarine skin, and eyes that shined, fish in it’s mouth.

The mermaid, bared it’s teeth around it’s  kill, angry at being seen.

Daisie’s breath caught, cold fists clutching her lungs, her heart racing.

Eye shine in the bone pale moonlight, they gazed one at the other.

Then the mermaid, with a flick of her tail and a big splash, went under.

Daisie sat there in the starlight, the cold and gripping fists slowly letting go,

and looked out dumbly were the wild and hungry eyes of the mermaid had

gazed out upon her, one of the last wild things, and comforting in it’s harshness.

Even here, only an hour away from Gatlinburg, untamed beasts still lived.

Daisie sipped from her beer, and thought of her friend, sleeping, without a care.

The alcohol, and the cold, the weightless untethering, the flicker of the mad world,

all unmoored her from her flesh, her spirit walking in the stars, on the true moon,

that was Artemis’s skull after the waking of her last daughter’s eyes, so long ago.

Angels Lighting Candles

We’ve made it to Colorado, up in The Rockies.

The Red of Autumn is turning brown into white.

Our car is out of gas, we huddle together on

the steps of an old stone church, out in nowhere,

beneath the sky full of stars, angels burning candles.

The wind is crisp, becoming harsh through the night.

We cling to each other in the alcove of the doorway.

We whisper the secret words the angels taught her.

We whisper the verses that promised that we’re loved.

Will one of the angels come down and kiss our heads?

Who will come in the morning? Friend or Enemy?

Can’t trust a Jesus Thorns to have made a tender heart.

But we’ve got nowhere lese to go and nowhere to hide.

We’ve got to make it to the sea, so we can see again the sun.

Will those angels send a friend? Do they believe we’ve bled enough?

Absolutely Weightless

I go to the cemetery after school,

stay until the sun falls, the stars come out,

And all is quiet, even as the city rolls on.

Dead people won’t hurt you,

they won’t give you any shit,

that don’t ignore the calls for help,

or slap down your troubles.

And the grass still is soft and green,

and the trees still grow tall and haughty,

and the sky still shows you the world above,

and you can still lay down, dream of something better.

All these names, one beloved, once above.

Some have flowers and treasures left.

Some haven’t seen a visitor in years.

I sit quietly, listen for them, know I too will be gone.

Dead people won’t hurt you,

they won’t give you any shit,

they don’t ignore the calls for help,

or slap down your troubles.

And the grass still is soft and green,

and the trees still grow tall and haughty,

and the sky still shows you the world above,

and you can still lay down, dream of something better.

Lambs don’t gambol here, but angels watch over you.

Stone wings can pierce the sky, so the night can slip in.

The stars I watch, and imagine, other worlds around them.

Laying in the cool grass, I imagine I am a ghost, absolutely weightless.

Dead people won’t hurt you,

they won’t give you any shit,

that don’t ignore the calls for help,

or slap down your troubles.

And the grass still is soft and green,

and the trees still grow tall and haughty,

and the sky still shows you the world above,

and you can still lay down, dream of something better.

Tanya Was Dreaming

Tanya was dreaming, halfway to heaven and the stars,
and she comes down now, shaken awake,
and writes the words of her soft visions.
The music Matthew plays, on the little 4-track,
through the cheap headphones, still whispers
those angel voices in her ears, heard in the sky.
The night is warm, and gives rest now,
as she writes the words, and sings them for him,
the marriage that comes from their marriage.
Her voice clear as rain, warm as the stars,
along with the enveloping tones, the soft wings,
flight for a restless mind.
Tanya and Matthew cuddle on the couch now,
his arms around her as if in prayer, as if in thanks,
and together they dream in the sky.