She walks amongst the Stars
and fuses, catching particles of woven energy,
in calmness and serenity
through porous, seeping, vein filaments
what looks like, frozen reflecting ice ferns.
Is it the activity of sensory
Spiritual depth ?
Is it electric current ?
Dressed in atmospheric lights
flowing through transparent tiny droplets
its lightening rivers, seen in the iris of the eye.
Volts, like the nervous system
and tattoo's permanently, of an image
in ones mind
an invisible face,
hidden by a visible veil
of Blue
moonlit beach
shadows flit furtive
tide recedes
waves curl up
dark fingers flick across sand
gambling with the sea
pale moonbeams
thread gold filaments
sewing trails
stitching lines
weaving form in shaken dreams
stirred, not yet awake
dawn appears
black waves surge closer
as tide turns
sleep departs
shadows slip 'n slide away
back into the sea
Beauty beheld
in pupils
irises
expanding Spirit’s filaments
mind
deciphers
delicate
impressions
flowering nerve shiverings
heart petals unwrinkle exposing tender core
temporarily holds what is
to falter, fade
then dissipate
senses alert in
perceptual observation
bows gratitude
personality evaporates
as Beauty returns
into Source’s palms
we
ache
for
a raw rare repeat ~
__________________
Placed 7th : Brian Strand Premier Contest
On Beauty : Feb. 26
Amid great darkness
A beautiful light appeared
Carbon filaments
Incandescently lighting
Moving man out of darkness
You’re a hollow tree, listening
to the tapping claws of the sky.
You sit sideways staring over your shoulder.
A rib cage full of shivering cavemen
looks up into your throat.
Wintery seas leak over ice-bound rooftops.
Bedsheets stiffen into ersatz snowdrifts.
You find yourself observing the world
through the top of your head.
You find yourself observing raw endings,
frozen filaments on buffeted window.
Roads might be passable. Wind-whales plow through,
pushing insomnia ahead of them.
The cold is a color yet to be decoded,
but you breathe through it, see through its fractured eyes.
You count crow-calls, go deaf when they stop.
The passage between you and the chill floor
is umbilical, you may have to bear down.
You skirt around your skin.
Scrape eyes with rigid lashes,
letting your mind thaw under parked cars.
I spend my nights with galaxies,
with spirals of fire and frozen light,
mapping the curvature of space
where time itself bends and listens.
Yet when I turn my telescope inward,
toward the small universe behind the eyes,
I find the same geometry at work—
the same quiet architecture of wonder.
Neurons stretch like cosmic filaments,
dark-matter threads of living thought,
webbing the mind the way gravity
laces the heavens together.
String theory tells us the cosmos hums,
that every particle is a vibration,
a note played on an invisible string
tuned at the birth of everything.
So I imagine the brain as a starfield,
each synapse a trembling constellation,
each memory a resonance
echoing from the first light.
The universe learns itself through us—
through these brilliant cords of mind and matter,
where physics becomes thought
and starlight remembers how to dream.
It began low,
in the damp cellar of the sea,
where star-ash soured into brine.
Alchemic mud heaved upward,
vomited from vents and wounds,
a million drifting scraps of almost-life
black streamers waving
as if testing for breath.
I was there
or something that would become me,
salted and blind,
carried inland with the silt
of forgotten shores.
Angel-hair filaments brushed past
like nerves learning pain,
snowflake cells stumbled and split,
tripped over themselves
in the green dark.
The cauldron churned,
rain-beaten, fever-swollen,
and beneath its scum-slick skin
an eye squinted open,
not knowing what it saw.
The vessel woke.
The universe shuddered,
and the sea rocked itself
as if soothing a crying child,
webbed with light,
heavy with wanting
each of us a note
from that first wet music,
each of us carrying the ocean
in our blood,
remembering, dimly,
it was me.
The room hums with invisible prayers—
blue sparks dancing like ghosts of forgotten thunder.
He dies lit by his own inventions,
a cathedral of current pulsing behind his eyes.
The pigeons wait by the window,
feathers like folded circuits of forgiveness.
He speaks to the air as if to the future,
“They will laugh first. They always do.”
Outside, the streetlights blink in silent salute,
filaments bowing in quiet understanding.
Greatness flickers, then steadies—
not extinguished, but absorbed
into the bright machinery of night.
The noise of the day
has subsided and folded
into a quiet
under the soft covers
of a July evening.
The eyes seem to resist
the particular and instead
focus on nothing
but the sum - the glow
from shore lights
smudged on water,
the dark sky powdered
with translucent clouds
and the faint filaments
of stars strung out overhead.
Tonight, I don't want
the granular detail of things
to steal my attention
but to enjoy the blending,
the stand back meld
of colors, of each stroke,
forming a picture transcending
its parts. I want to feel
the evening being
put together
into a boundless whole,
to be beyond
the smallness of myself
and be absorbed totally
into the mystery
of the composition
Wide eyes cast their gaze upward
‘Today’s Spider Web’ mocks him
Eight spindly filaments weave a web
Are these hands not as delicately bred
I sit and watch the twilight
In vaulted heaven burns brittle stars
I feel the rush of wind
It cares the ash of pine
I feel the movement of the earth
In rivers of darkness flow
I feel the cosmic birth
How fragile we are
I know the tilt of the universe
In seas of oblivions void
I touch the ground it trembles
I see what is in between the fragments
In moments beyond thought
I see echoes of images from afar
How fragile we are
I taste the abstract firmament
I watch the collapse of a neutron star
In coldest nights of darkest wind
I feel the ties that bind slip away
It carries the filaments of decay
I know the passage of soul
How fragile we all are
In movements of the metronome
In oceans of reality
I feel the slipping away
I wish I could stay
In the aftermath of life
I see how fragile we all are
A rustling of digital leaves
in the binary breeze.
Odd fractals of ones and zeros
crash in waves of a subliminal sea.
Rotations of carbon and nanowires
collecting in my shadow.
Ghost of man-made reality
in matrices of ions.
The light of a binary universe in transit.
Coils of cool light drifting
through my Silicon Soul.
A leaf curves and descends
into decaying isotopes.
I feel the event horizon
of god’s information overload.
A rustling of skeletal circuitry
in a binary breeze.
All is not what it seems: odd filaments
of nanites and nanoseconds.
Feeling the rush of cold
in a binary breeze along subliminal seas.
For you I am here
being cooled by this breeze
coming in off the water, soul deep
in an evening breaking out in stars,
being soothed by the soft sound
of lapping waves filtering through
the muted air.
And for you I take in the sky strung
with the filaments of creation,
the moon veiled by a thin gauze
of glowing cloud and see
in a long, faintly brushed ribbon
of light, the edge of our galaxy
stretched out above.
And so,
I have become the means
for you to feel this evening,
its unfolding in time and space,
whilst you remain hidden
from me, unreachable
behind the impenetrable silence
of eternity.
As he has lost his way
And we’re all his figments
of his imagination
Lost in the hidden
sea of sorrows
were shadows dwell
We wander into infinity
Following trails of cosmic dust
Finite and afraid
We sit in wonder and despair
We deny our lust
For god is not in his house
Nor on his throne
of light and shadow, as shades parade
He is here next to me, as quiet as a mouse
Playing chess with angels and demons
Only a candle marks our time, our movements
To the metronome
I feel my soul roam
In the darkness far above
It is dusty in white
Shimmering arms of grace
I know the fine filaments of time
Like intricate lace
For he has forgotten
Our face, he is not in his heaven
As we have lost our way!
Typecast pivot rips past apart
Scars inflicted by the furnace
Scatter derma with war stars
Astronomy faraway magnifies
Little shards of light filaments
Filtered shadow breaks brittle
Tucked amongst terra, tubers
Crowd needy until seeker turns
Space ahead academy shunned
Parallel gripped group tightens
Outrage stoops, begger’s plight
Entombed below fossilised earth
Dust skull sockets consumed
Grazing on ash grain garbage
Gamma ray gardener unfazed
Leans into lambent movement
Moonbeam harvest penetrates
Microscopic split creates twins
Mind unbound by tribulations
Scales ether, nova knowledge
Constellation inured in growth
Reaches for chaos, apex prime
Shivers bravely beyond Pluto
Fragility faces future undiluted
First of October
Flying Over
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