Best Supernovae Poems


Premium Member I shall find a way or make one

(Inveniam viam)

Far beyond these eerie things, where limits have no scales
Fish are replacing gills, with turbine aerated tails 
Sea level’s losing all meaning, for the humpback whales 
Ships piggyback them, harpoons syphon wind from their sails 

Today I woke up early, lately I’ve let dreams flow 
Into an abstract yonder, where visions often go
A wave came over me, up from my downy pillow 
When tidal forces passed away, many moons ago 

As the ocean waved goodbye, I called for an encore
Behaving like a poultice, the beach drew back old gore
You could’ve bowled me over, sent ripples to my core
Never again I’d sleep soundly, near this bloody shore 

After a fretful lie-on, facing truths with each turn 
My sundial running on empty, stars can’t always churn
Moribund in dimness, til an old spark can return 
Reigniting glory days, (let supernovae burn)

Overhead the vacuum grows, just to make more space 
Stretching my dysmorphia, to align with gods face
No one knows for certain, who enhanced his human race 
Gave an artful hand, outsmarting evolution’s pace 

As life spirals forward, in a world out of control 
Entropy dismantles, stripping back our maker’s role 
The poet in me keeps goofing, digging deeper holes
He’s a junkie rhymester, overdosing on this soul 

So hail all billionaires, who never walk down my street
Flying above fake cripples, with power in their feet
Prodigies of bad and worse, scheming to make ends meet 
Leaves an aftertaste of smugness, one that will repeat 

As for those big questions, some take a straightforward twist
Two things I thought might go away, stubbornly exist 
Not death or taxes, I’m already over that list 
Each day I arise, how come lies and bullsh!t persist?

First there was oblivion, til I woke up and saw 
Now fully awake, dead ahead looms a fatal flaw 
But so long as I can dream, and able to guffaw
It only hurts when I laugh, Don’t you think? vents my jaw 

By David Kavanagh 
Hms

Premium Member The space between stars is not empty

          
        The space between stars contains countless hidden gems
            A locked tight treasure trove, opened up by our lens
       Prisms split apart light spectra, and dopplers change shifts 
             We watch galaxies do cartwheels across great rifts

         The space between stars, zooms us backwards in time 
              Before gods arrived, to claim the cosmos divine 
            In turn challenged by telescopes on trellised stilts
             Optics probe heaven, to find it’s still being built 

           The space between stars is empty, No! not a chance
      Black holes wolf down photons, spinning neutron stars dance 
                 on nebulous clouds, stirring up pillars of dust 
            Remnants from a time, when supernovae went bust 

               The space between stars, is black magic synergy 
                Far-out matter thrives, tripping on dark energy 
                All goes unseen, beyond the human naked eye
         Minds can sense its presence, but are stripped bare of why 

              Of course we share gravity, and are loosely bound 
                   Tests our reason, so hermetically profound 
                    The draw of the universe will never expire 
                   Its paradox tears apart, yet keeps us entire

Premium Member chorus of youth

the ivory sun
is
the
harbinger of rain and tears,
awakening the sleeping
streaks of gold and sage,
to rise and rage
in sakura s i l e n c e,
as the sound of
d r i z z l i n g diamonds
reminds me to reminisce,
how you and I
danced to the 
blissful beats
of electro-pop,
oblivious to the
fluorescent fogs
blinding the morning
stars,
singing in
contrasting cadence,
the chorus
of youth,
where innocence
plays hide and seek
with the demons
hiding in the corners
of fragile conscience.

sometimes
I fear the seconds,
crawling in slow motion,
too afraid to let go
of the grief
nestling
in my heart
as a poetic memento
of how I’ve
known the synonyms
of trust
and tranquility,
amidst the childhood tremors
that tangled
my inner peace
into knots of
dreariness.

tonight I rejoice~
raising a 
rose-tinted glass
      of 
moonbeams
to celebrate
another sunflower dawn,
adorned with
mellifluous memoirs
of us,
a friendship
woven into
the spine of
galactic supernovae,
where your
laughter reverberates
across the sizzling skyline,
like music
to the wind and waves
of angels,
residing
with hyacinth halcyons,
engrossed
in the picturesque
presence of
your
pristine utopia, 
where love still flows
like a river untouched
by the seasonal storms.

so, in this
w o r l d of woes and throes,
let me be
an echo
of your ink and blood,
for I still
breathe the petrichor,
petals of p e a c e 
thriving
in the
meadows of mourning,
as your tender name 
is the 
crystalline cue
urging my muse
to 
praise the 
mystical musk
of graceful magnolia
that lingers
in
starry stillness...


Premium Member drop-dead delirium

if tears of the sun were the metaphorical keys
to unlock twisted trinkets of the searing sky
would you feel the festering forest~
homing arctic orchids within these veins?
or am I to remain detached and numb;
caged in a cursed collision
like an evanescent epiphany 
   of a misled marionette ~ 
   screaming for a cathartic elixir….

tonight my intuition is a passive-aggressive gaslighter
manipulating the inner voice ~ like a pathological liar
freezing the floral clairvoyance…
while curiosity keeps crawling
           amidst crestfallen opium

I ponder:  do frost and flame, as I breathe in bleakness~
transcribe how the echo 
   within the fog filters reality
curated in the midst of melted angst
fluctuating like stone-blind blackness~
a drop-dead delirium kissed by the darkness 
    of a silent sepulcher? 

I’m a prisoner of splitting supernovae
caught in polarized pyretic disruptions
for everything feels like exaggerated deceit
 when truth seems like a mere dot above~
       a hyphen of irrational ratios
 carved from calculated confusions,
         betrayed by the violent strings 
            of my violin heart…

Where Love Has Never Gone Before

Where Love Has Never Gone Before

...the legacy of a poet...


A man is not a man until his love becomes idolatrously immense
Since time began, his love eagerly evolved with his ideal intense
Now in suspended animation, his love spirally stagers in suspense
Within his venal violation, the Angels will deliberate in his defense

I, a simple poetic voice, shall take love thru the divergence of mind
Upon its choice, the viral verses shall reach the calamitous confined
Be love a black hole, or be it a quintessent quasar an astral aligned
Take a journey of soul, as love elaborates the embryonal of remind

Welcome to love’s eternal eclipse, where reflections of reality reminisce
Realms of refractiles in bliss as the Supernovae combust in a chaotic kiss
Words of love through dimensional drift of hellion holes and heavens lift
Descending with love in a demons shift ascending admits a seraph’s swift

Phasing thru portals of terrestrial time, beams of light of maximum prime
Exploiting love, a new paradigm, celestial symphonies’ in chambers chime
As love exponentially expands, touching multi-verses and lachrymal lands
Within the frozen fires, it withstands, landing upon seraphical sacred sands

The voices of love must be heard, of heavens and hells the winding word
Be it in the solitudes forever blurred, or melodic musicals of the songbird
For now, it silently sails in morning view, nestled of night by natures crew
Thus it is time to bid adieu, by the one word that has brought me to you.





June.20.2018
My Muse, Mortal
Sponsored by: Gregory R Barden

The Lights

Oh, how cold you are, heavenly lights! But there are the earthly lights that promise weary travelers a rest. Interrupting for a moment the eternal movement from dark to light, we stretch out cold fingers to a fire and look up. The Universe gets cold, galaxies flee, supernovae explode and turn into interstellar ghosts, stars fall and their long-long tails as the portents of our coming wanderings, measure the distances of empty spaces. Oh, how hot a sip of coffee is! How sweet is a random kiss in the dark!

get some rest and go 
to where cold heavenly lights 
eternally shine

14.08.2019
Shooting Stars Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Nayda Ivette Negron


Beyond the Skies

Looking beyond the skies, see the stars so far away.
Shining bright through the night, till one of them brings us day.
Rigel, Arcturus, and Sirius too.
Which one a red giant? Which one a massive blue?
Through the right set of eyes, you can see them up close.
Or look to the other moons, the planets,
quite gazed upon the most.

The red world, the ring world, the big orange ball.
The burning world, the ice world. Can you name them all?
Floating in this emptiness, around the sun we race.
Floating in this black void, this place we call space.

And beyond our own neighborhood there's more and there's more.
Looking above the clouds, to see what's in store.
Andromeda, the crab nebula,
the famed horse head.
So far apart in this universe,
almost forever we're spread.

There's pulsars, there's quasars, and neutron stars.
Neutrinos, and black holes, and moons covered in scars.
Comets and asteroids and big clouds of gas.
Some objects that don't seem to move at all,
and some unbelievable fast.

Looking beyond the heavens, there's just so many things.
From huge supernovae to impossibly small strings.
Every where you turn, there's always much more.
So much do discover, with an infinity to explore.

But the most amazing thing we know,
of to which the universe has given birth.
The most overlooked place of all,
the planet we call earth.

And because we're down here, and we look up there.
Just maybe, there has to be.
More life somewhere?

Unsang Song

Unsang song

To the body that buried crying souls turbulence is emotional
Womb for a wormhole life is optional,
One night  stand for  stars die quicker than supernovae and wrapped in
Mummifying sheets .thighs for dear dairy to hold record of men who came for visit.
The same thighs measure a how deep is the cut to the fetus should be.
No tiny hands or feet for lullaby songs.
back door clinics welcome unwanted life for the cost of living give life no meaning.
                                                     
pillow talks to seek a place under the skin where lust resides,
for what reason should a latex determine the fate of responsibility?
rough talks heat of pleasure where demons dance for the sad tune of reality.

palms rough like surfaces of hard rocks,
tin men walking around with empty chests,
when prides are sold over the counter for a one night stand.

Friday afternoons are used for slaughter,
on the fourth termination, count increases every fortnight,
body heavy with smell of death around the waist like a waste site. 
who smells the coffee  when waters keep breaking for pleasure?

by:TSHEDISO SEROKI

Just One Comment

You made us cry and you didn't care
About the words you spelt as blade so unfair
That hit all my body, then it suddenly melt
Because of that venomous comment
But it is my fault cause I forget
That stars end up into black holes
Now I'm counting my tears when every night falls
Yet I can't deny the supernovae calls
I'm grateful for all what you've said and done
These hopeful souvenirs will never be gone
They are graved in my heart as history in stone
Will I forgive or will I forget?
I'm confused about first step to next
You don't understand how I feel
You don't know the sore in heart so real
So deep that I can't bear
It was a lie as if I was living a dream
Until my ears heard those words & now I scream
But I've a moon & white dwarf with whom I eat Ice cream
Best friends full with laughs that will never disappear 
One is shining as a star, precious as a pearl
The other is strong as the see, calm as the breeze
We will not meet again so please try to forgive
© Blkl Amina  Create an image from this poem.

Origins

ORIGINS

I
It began in the dank basement of the Thallasic column
steeped in abyssal brine of a thousand supernovae
so much alchemic sludge churned up, expelled by the co-tidal vice into the epeiric sea
 
A million points of organic flotsam and jetsam; Indra’s vast net billowing, swollen and bloated by myriad regurgitating fountains, shattered vents, open ocean scars 
from which inky bathyl streamers wave to and fro
a trillion interactions, a revolution every second

The colossus flexes, stirs.
 
 
II
The inland sea carved a path awash with silt and sand-grain memories of a thousand shores
the alluvium mire replete with vagabond deposits
buoyant and bobbing
ethereal strands of angel hair wafting through the abyss
nerves and sinews and veins
myriad natant snowflakes tripping atop organic ooze
vast web spanning to the lapping fetch on clay-layered littoral ledges.
 
 
III
The swirling brew, rain-pummeled and vent-swollen 
dividing, sub-dividing, swept by bitter sea brine 
its mind’s eye under a thick film squints open.

---Life was not wrought in the witch’s cauldron---
---The Cauldron itself came to life---
 
The Universe awoke from its eternal slumber, and Thalassa stirred
rocked and bathed in a vast  organic web, star lit and floating in a Nebula of Dreams
 

IV
Information-gathering units
each body a corpus of datum
splitting, spinning, joining, fusing 
probing, flattening, bloating, separating
spawning countless non-appendage heralds
crawling, flying, walking, swimming, floating
 
WE ARE THE MANY IN THE ONE
WE ARE THE ONE OF THE MANY
 
WE ARE THALASSA

Ancient Aliens

Investigators still search the entire globe, 
to determine if life in outer space exists-
Did they influence mankind in ancient times?
Is it too hard to believe we could coexist?

It’s been a controversial theory for millions of years, 
from the age of the dinosaurs to Egyptian era-
If they have visited the planet will they return?
Or are aliens just a fantasy created chimera?

The Milky Way could actually be filled with aliens,
they could be silently stalking in the solar system-
Researchers say they are an intelligent creature, 
filled with deep knowledge and sagacious wisdom. 

There could dwell in oceans beneath the shells of Jupiter, 
they provide a more stable environment for survival-
There is also the impact of solar flares and supernovae, 
but are we still awaiting their earthly arrival?

Area 51 is a classified place of Edwards Air Force Base, 
where the government conducts training and testing-
The Central Intelligence Agency has a restricted area, 
with conspiracies of seeing UFO’s, but there’s contesting. 

Since the mid- 20th century there have been many signs
of extraterrestrial life; they say they have actual proof-
Can we trust those who say they’ve been captured?
Can they really be living under Earth’s natural roof?

There are many complicities on if these facts are true, 
many believe they are just scientific conductions-
What about the crash in Roswell, New Mexico in 1947,  
why all the secrecy about the mankind alien abductions?



Ancient Aliens Poetry Contest
January 29th, 2018

Diamonds and Sylvia Plath

tiny diamonds, 
like two tamed supernovae, 
in earlobes; a shiny 
forehead which would do 
to powder; Sylvia Plath
bookmarked with my love letter

31.o8.2019
Writing Challenge 3, August 2019 - Six Lines
Sponsor, Dear Heart- Wiishkobi Ode
Syllables Per Line:	5 7 7 5 7 7

The Angels Danced

The angels danced with joy when I was born. They wept tears of sorrow when I died. The rest of the time they took no notice of me. They did right:

only shooting stars
as well as supernovae 
are of interest


22.08.2019
Angels Danced Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Lu Loo

Sleep

Fiery Lotus blossoms in my mind,
as I sleep the sleep of the blessed artist,
pinwheels of spinlets of gold of finest finery,
gold from the dresses of pouting princesses,
that spin and blossom in spires of artistic desire,
that make my third eye grow wet in perspire.

Gold leaflets of pages of musical notes,
sheafs of pages of pages of poetry,
they flow and turn their pages within my thoughts,
glory of music and poetry telling immortal stories,
that turn in sheafs of golden leaves,
that flow and flutter in the winds of mysterious time,
the pages of art turning for my mind to ponder and perhaps redesign.

Fluttering fauna of faerie tale words,
they whisper worlds of fantastc fare,
as my inner eye stares at the stars now rising,
constellations of imagination,
that swell in saguine supernovae of hope,
a hope for the world of the artist to flow forevermore.

I take the fiery lotus in my trembling hands,
sifting through the essence of those golden spinlets,
as the gold of those princesses dresses cast a spiders web,
that encases my third eyes desire to see all the world has to offer,
sanctifies it and offers it to the universe,
the dream of my artistic desire.

Those gold leafets of musical notes,
those sheafs of pages of poetry,
I write them into a diary of life,
a diary that rises as a new full moon in my consciousness,
as I desgin the desgin of reality with my imaginations daring,
my third eye standing still,
as it obsesses with my creation,
fixated in staring.

That saguine supernova,
its explosion of creation shaking my soul to the core,
this explosion of creation lets me see more,
more than I could have ever hoped to before,
and I see now that the universe has more to offer me,
than I ever thought that for my soul it held in store.

Let me sleep the sleep of the artist,
let me sleep in rhytmic engrams of mystery,
as those engrams imprint emblems of creations magic upon my soul,
and I shall extol its virtues,
I shall praise those virtues,
in every other night that come to pass in my lifes time,
that sweet sandman song of arts song most sublime.

Cartography of Love

I.

ROMANCE begins 
with a supernovae
 as two

hearts decrease space between
walls and fears; the ice-floe
of painful life melts,

once powerful thoughts and
conviction now powerless,
against a force of Nature

If Lust then a brilliant lit
moment;  if by divine guidance
True Love as eternal.

II.

Ages and Time and Ages roll by
the music plays upon hours 
and thoughts as ivory keys;

   fear burning minors of 
weeping fossil time
four walls closing within me

The loneliness of a fractured
 soul and it's heart's broken
shattered pieces bleeding

    blurring terms of surrender
;the etiquette of death:
  none shall bury raw feelings into the ground

III.

All industries of silence
rituals and formalities

they burn deeply 
they weep tears

life as muteness 
rigorously executed

the form of History
a blueprint of Life.

IV.

my Hand deeply within the bowls
of my gaping Mouth!  Offensive to me!

an ode begun in grief and anger
now mired within surrealism -- abstract!

a hole dug deeper and larger than Mind
a Mind deeper and larger than holes!

i scream with my illegitimate voice
raped, pillaged, torn, and sworn

  by lovers, brothers, father and mother
my soul's water broken -- still born 

   you cannot answer useless questions.

:: 04-11-2019 ::

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