I was a student of logic
when the world stopped breathing—
July 20, 1969,
a footprint pressed into silver dust.
Neil Armstrong’s voice crackled,
“one small step…”
and yet, my mind whispered—
was it the Moon,
or a Hollywood stage?
Fifty–six years have burned away,
half a century of miracles and machines.
We send probes beyond Pluto,
yet have not returned
to that pale frontier
just 384,400 kilometers away.
We dive to the edge of oceans,
but never to their blackest trench.
We speak of radiation belts,
Van Allen’s invisible fire—
how did fragile bodies
slip through alive,
wrapped only in cloth and hope?
Pride is America’s anthem.
If the flag had truly bitten lunar soil,
would it not have marched again—
and again—
until a fortress crowned the Moon?
They say budgets broke the dream.
But tell me—
what nation spares the stars
while spilling trillions on war?
The camera rolls.
The world applauds.
The truth drifts somewhere
between silence and space.
Categories:
probes, earth, film, journey, lost,
Form: Free verse
When I was young and innocent
I thought the stars were just a bunch
of celestial glow worms.
Then Christmas took its meaning
and I rejoiced in watching
my father made up the Christmas tree,
and right on top there, he'd put
the loveliest star that glowed at night.
Soon, I began to see the shooting stars
and wishes came and went,
some frivolous, some serious,
but wishes I really dreamt.
As time went on, I bought some books
and learned of Saturn's rings,
discovered Pluto and our neighbour Mars,
and science fiction just became my fad.
Till one day man made it to the moon,
and shuttles flew up to outer space.
Occasionally, disaster struck when astronauts died,
and I did cry my heart for them.
Finally, the probes began again,
searching for the creation of man.
That is when I realised how much is spent
on useless information, just scientific facts,
while hunger reigned all around the world.
Now I wish I had never learned what stars were,
and yearn to turn the clock back to my childhood
when I thought that stars were just
celestial glow worms meant to light the world.
Categories:
probes, stars,
Form: Free verse
An ancient facade
Of wood and flesh entwined
A dream half-dream in flesh discard
Something undefined
Mechanical sublime
Where soul intertwined
A silent regime
In between space n time
where tears have never dried
Crumbling deity
Crafted by the Artist's hand
Fragile is your truth
Never to understand
Façade faded in wood & flesh divine
In silence it stairs
In horror it stands
In the stillness of the eye, dream’s dream
Metal probes the depths
raw vulnerability, a soul laid bare
On cold stone it dares
History etched in scars
Is this creation
Dreams, Shattered reflections
A reminder of the past
Haunting the present
Beneath the decay
A glimmer of hope
A chance for rebirth
A new rare earth.
Categories:
probes, allegory, dark, death, depression,
Form: Rhyme
Salem - madame - had them ... sweet
Blackbirds - quack burns - slackers ... treat
Even - live-in' - Stephen ... King
Neighbor - favor - savor ... -ring
Nil clue - few knew - male grew ... Maine
Hairy - bury - scary ... sane
Fanners - manners - than hers ... please
Liner - minor - sign her ... Lees
Turned 'round - looked down - and found ... name
Schuyler - mother - found her ... fame
Missy? - Sissy! - Where's she! ... Cal?
Long drive - survive - take -five ... well!
Today - birthday - No Way! ... Show's!
Outside - had cried - Lynx eyed ... probes
Madame - pardonne - must go ... Ciao
Mister! - Sister? - That's her? ... Wow!
Categories:
probes, birthday, happiness, holiday, horror,
Form: Jueju
As night falls, a dark melody
fills the air with a feeling so deep
it is the song of a dark rose
tweeting near a corner fence.
Dahlia, a withered pale woman
lies on a granite slab, still and serene
The song transforms the air, calm
infuse her chill cells, pungent.
Cells overhaul false refluxes
taint her veins with lethal hues
rose rummages the window
like a creeper it probes in disguise.
A noise of a phantom stirs in the void
The deadbeat song reaches its peak
undermining her heart waves
the roaming restless phantom roars.
"Who is the next cadaver to join me?''
then dark rose turns from grey to white
the source of the call slowly deranges
with the rise of a promising dawn.
The sunrays pack her vitals with life
a dark rose is reborn, its music unheard
may *Prana saves helpless cadavers once again
a wish for a dark song seems wanted.
*Prana, a Sanskrit word meaning breath, a life-giving force.
Categories:
probes, angel, care, dark, death,
Form: Free verse
Betwixt the vibrant threads of a busy bazaar,
A foreigner's gaze seize on a singular star,
A boy with one eye, an enigma raid,
Their dialogue begins, a journey to trade.
"Your salesmanship shines," the foreigner inquires,
"Does schooling attend you? Or familial fires?"
Orphaned and lone, no kin he admires,
The boy's tale unravel, as ambition inspires.
"English, how come its in your tongue?" the foreigner probes,
Through travelers' tales, the boy's knowledge thorough on globe.
In the loom of life, where destiny robes,
Their discourse unfurls, where curiosity lobs.
But the foreigner, intrigued by a deeper array,
Asks of the boy, his eye's fate's ray.
"Taken away," the boy voice like a squall,
No pity sought, nor tears to enthrall.
"Would you wish for new eye?" the foreigner's quest,
To gaze upon wonders, life's behest,
Boy apprise "I'd rather dwell in darkness, at rest,"
Than with one eye, bear life's test.
Silence ensues, the foreigner's heart sways,
By the boy's resolve, in life's maze,
A cashmere carpet purchased, in a daze,
Their encounter profound, in bazaar's craze.
Categories:
probes, boy, child abuse, courage,
Form: Epic
Desperado – beyond the lines of belief
What patchy rogue rejects the rule of blue,
This cosmic quilt of fragments casting shades,
Who shreds the fabric of the known and true,
And weaves a trail of riddles with furtive braids?
What patchwork seeker chases the fringe of light,
This maverick with a veil for a face,
Who scans the void for clues for a flight,
To realms beyond the grasp of time and space?
Oh! this patchy dreamer is a spark,
A glimpse of selves in altered skins,
And a call to kindle the new and the dark,
With hues that mirror our desires for sins.
Possibly the patchy pundit probes a line,
A stroke from the art to the eye,
To blur what we see and redefine,
The borders of the land with the soaring sky.
Categories:
probes, courage, destiny, motivation, sensual,
Form: Rhyme
Inhales prosaic air
muse probes breeze
Filtering depth
as image melees
Drum snares the heart
beating out dull pain
Osmosing spores
form finely tuned rain
Patters tap source
concept ignites
Erupts into thought
exhales and writes
Categories:
probes, perspective, poetry,
Form: Rhyme
Clang, clang, clang, toots a trolley: X-s-teams,
though it's not the same San Fran by the Bay,
remembrance connects, perspective redeems,
sound stirs, 'Mathis', "It's Not For Me To Say".
Maintained posture as my observance probes,
heedless complacency, schemed convenience,
the prate news reader provokes our earlobes,
heroines chat as a girl grasps missed-chance.
Tram's next stop, the conductor ring updates,
abides fixed whiles, a life away smokes forth,
traffic noise flowing, like manmade primates,
shrieks giving birth...streetcar desired...part.
Ding, ding, ding, went the bell; attuned Judy,
"Voices of Spring", scratched slippers of ruby.
Categories:
probes, anxiety, confidence, feelings, imagery,
Form: Sonnet
Twig twists intersect then spread victory
Receptors sprout cat waving paws
Fold fruit bowl foliage, branch tributary
Lump eye timber columns support
Steer me clear of thatch caged cluster
Cheerleader twirling ribbons sizzle
Shifted to soft focus forest, fairy dusted
In drifting dandelion seed celestial
Thrown down overlap of toasty tobacco
Crinkle constant joke cracked faces
Humour grants razor slim grasses tackle
Unused nests during seasons' phases
Basket interweave splice strap sun poke
Probes timid shade a radiating halo
Lathered limbs in blossom shampoo soak
Crown me neath ghostly citrine glow
Sombre trots towards her restful rotunda
Floating pollen fluff Snugglepot ego
Fingers spring flags of woodland wonder
Grip ant gazette trail to safe gazebo
6th March
Exists in the middle
Categories:
probes, appreciation, environment, fairy,
Form: Rhyme
en*L*I*G*H*T*ened babbling shocks
burst out of bubbling rocks
bright spots erupt over a smoldering landscape
(hot inflation begets Pomp & Circumlocution)
snowballs explode in a gritty paradise
yellow dust smothers moaning misfits
balloons hover over missing minds
(Look on the BRIGHT side!)
it’s simply a B*r*I*g*H*t uproar
skyscraping warriors lock & load
happily pull heat-seeking triggers
(taking out floating bull's-eyes)
Operation OMG has commenced!
guided by blowback from barreling behemoths
chasing mercurial probes flying with hypersonic ease
(gilded ghosts pierce an overheated stratosphere)
Categories:
probes, nonsense, society, space, surreal,
Form: Free verse
blank stares
indifferent shrugs
cruel features
hostile mugs
mumbled answers
to detective's probes
Soros funds their side
no use booking these thugs
Categories:
probes, anger, judgement, violence,
Form: Rhyme
Vincent
from within sanctum dykes
glamour
birthed from sorrow
celestial brightness
whirling
in Prussian azure
and sublime gold
Urania in the welkin'
blackness in the spirit
breezes probes hefty
all alone in your wisdom
an optical lover
within
dancing with orbs
through gaps with iron rods
go bust in flesh
your title
always
moored in the starlit darkness.
Written September 29, 2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Categories:
probes, art, tribute,
Form: Free verse
Long bayonet, blood channel
Breaks suction to pull loose
After the thrust and twist so it is
Quickly ready for its next use.
Lovingly polished, honed and whet
Of finest steel, Sheffield made
A thing of beauty
This thirsty blade.
Seeming to quiver in the hand
As though anticipating his thrill
As he patiently waits for
The chance of his next kill.
Clothed all in black
With blackened face
Standing motionless
In his chosen place.
The watchers watch, monitor
His dreams, read his despair
The experiment conducted
With precision and great care.
Probing deeply in his mind
To discover why
He gets such pleasure from
Watching others die.
This tormented man
Creation of warring state
Trained to kill without
Remorse or hate.
Nobody prepared
To take their blame
For what he did
In their cause and name.
The probes record
His remembered hell
Tick, quiver, in his brain
As he sleeps in his cell
In his mind ready to thrust
And twist his bayonet blade
Long and shining and sharp,
Stainless Sheffield steel made.
Categories:
probes, betrayal, conflict, depression, hate,
Form: Rhyme
“It’s a pickle, Puss,” her husband proposes.
“Is it sweet?” she probes.
“It’s a dill, Darling. Just what the doctor ordered.”
The doctor’s face, like vinegar. The nurse didn’t care
for pickles at all. She thought the pickle was a prop.
“No,” the doctor said, “It is a proper pickle and delicious,
though I’ve not tried it.” The nurse just stared
at the newest addition to the pickling jar. It’s junior size,
a miniature snack, at best. It won’t get any bigger.
“Get me a Gherkin!” the doctor yells, “Stat!”
“That’s not a pickle!” yells the wife,
“That’s not a craving. It’s a baby cucumber.”
“Well, I’ll be pickled!” the doctor laughs.
“What a quack!” whispers the husband to his wife.
To the nurse, “Get my wife a snack.”
The nurse brings in the prized pickle and the wife snatches
the giant jolly green, “Now, this will do quite nicely.”
And the couple lived happily ever after, unencumbered,
having the whole enchilada, well the prickly pickle, dear.
8/27/2022
Contest: It's A Pickle Party
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Categories:
probes, humor,
Form: Light Verse
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