We stopped tasting the stars
for half the time they turned to ash
before reaching our tongues
and sampling the nightsky became
a bitter chore
and we turned to dreaming instead
There once was a Witcher
who drank ale from a pitcher
and during Christmas time
he tried to hide in a barrel of mulled wine
but the bard was a snitcher
(Wrote this a while ago on social media but wanted to post it here for Christmas)
The sky ablaze, in dance alive
in shimmering waves a cascade
down shivering necks craned up
in winter dreams, in frozen clarity
the rippling, beating heart of sky
as it surpasses all the waves
breaking on those tiny earthly shores
only the sky
is sea of light for all the waves enough.
As the rain pales between your eyes
worlds overlap, somewhere
behind cloud covers
and leave you
lost to imagination
and streams of images
from other sides,
in fragmented data raining down
across the moon
pooling on your brow
And we will rise on morning wings,
and bedsheet-wrinkled gossamer,
folded around foggy eyes
like so many letters of parchment,
unwritten because the world fell asleep
and there was nothing
to write about last night.
I’m the ghost wired within your chest
howling with escaping storms
and gnawing on iron ribs,
fiery tongues licking up your sternum
as my ideas burn silhouettes
into the cavernous walls of
your hidden depths,
branding you in your eternal darkness
with images of light
and the desire for wilderness
you can’t erase ever again
I take my blade of words,
whet it on dreams and pain
and carve my space into the world,
sharp angles and rough surfaces
to smooth out later,
but I am here, I live here now
my words live here now
But you need a child,
to leave a piece of you in the world,
to leave something behind when you go.
Listen, dear, families fall apart,
names are forgotten,
lines end with the war.
If you want the child,
to love, nourish,
to protect and let go:
have the child.
If it is your memory you want,
plant a tree,
write a book,
make a big donation
so you’ll be engraved
into a beautiful little metal plate.
Send your name to a new planet,
make an invention,
teach someone a skill.
Frame that holiday picture, write name and date on the back.
Share that fantastic cake recipe.
Send that silly postcard, write down that random thought.
Turn all those little fragments of yourself into gifts to hand down to those who love what you love.
I started a secondary blog / website to collect all my thoughts on Anne McCaffrey’s stories, because my distributed rambling on that topic on other platforms was getting a bit out of hand.
Go visit unicornandpegasus.wordpress.com for more on that.
It’s named after the short story collection I’m currently reading, called “Get off the Unicorn”, and the Pegasus trilogy (“To Ride Pegasus”, “Pegasus in Flight”, “Pegasus in Space”) which sparked my interest in her work.
It’s a pretty niche subject, especially since I haven’t read her more famous Dragonriders novels yet, opting for the weirder stuff instead which nobody in my social circle knows.
The blog is still under construction of course as I started it today after lunch on my phone without any planning.
Sew shut the lips of your pockets
lest you lose words on your way,
trailing breadcrumb fantasies
of time and space in your wake,
those thought-sounds brilliant as stars
making it too easy to triangulate
the coordinates of your pirate cave,
the hoard of your secret discoveries.
Keep your favourite smooth word-stars
in the pockets of your coat,
palming them at winter bus stops,
warming your fingers to the world
as you try to blend in,
with their chestnut heat
and planet solidity.