the rapture
Each story fell to the ground
feathers were collected
in the die-off different colours
prismed in the silver dust
of moon eclipsing sun
the in-between time
where the sky parted
like torn curtains
the Grimoire words
flew off the page
into the aether
black keys fed
to speak golden spells
bringing life back screaming
from the black open caverns
of the banished and repelled
bit-by-bit the brimstone cracks
and sparks from the depths of death
the mortal substance skerrick,
near to invisible but heard
for what it is now, seraphim
3 sets of wings, rolls off the emptiness
in echoing tears the becoming breaks
through waves rapturefarious
collecting immortal strength
from the deep ink pockets of dark
mined mind firmly set concrete
and contracted in the fires of hell
the phoenix rises like a raptor
its beating heart lit
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“Casshern” / Ursine Vulpine
https://youtu.be/nRY5pcA4jk8
"Oxygene 8 Megamix" / Jean Michel Jarre
https://youtu.be/LfkqJOAEsFM
rapturefarious
rapturefurious
https://www.britannica.com/topic/seraph
Categories:
skerrick, muse,
Form: Free verse
A Wondering What to Write......
a wondering
at what to write was I,
really pondering
at my station,
of trying to push on through
a thing that all scribblers hate;
a writers-block of all things.
no what, when or where
not a skerrick from me pen;
all inspirations gone Kaput!
only naught, not a thing, zilch!
really nothing to inspire the urge
in order
to let letters, flow accordingly.
then;
in a flash of sheer brilliance,
it’s back to basics go!
for if I were to be a great poet so
of some description,
and free from inhibitions be,
I would describe my feelings so
in a highly imaginative way.
or if I was a troubadour;
from my pen would come
lines of love in a lyrical sense.
then again you see;
even a sonnet spinner I would be
of fourteen lines laid poetic down
would do for me.
suddenly!
right there;
there is hope in the air
of becoming a yarn spinner of note,
of weaving and rambling on with quotes,
‘bout tall tales of distant pasts
with a yarmulke on me head.
So here was I my friend
a wondering what to write….
Francis Cooper - Mac
Categories:
skerrick, poets, words,
Form: Free verse
Does the clock tick over nows
as snap-shots of present passing?
Like an old movie made by flicking through images.
Scientists say now is not a timeless instant,
but lasts 2 to 3 seconds.
Surely you can make it last longer than that?
Most of my time is future or past, but I live in the present
no matter how momentary or fleeting it be.
For now, I'll savor mindfully,
each skerrick of time dished up
one at a time on flash cards.
Now what is here, after all?
Categories:
skerrick, time,
Form: Free verse
Life used to be so simple when Earth was the hub
in a Universe of twinkling stars that revolved around us.
The moon rose, the stars circled, the seasons came and went.
People were born, lived three-score years and ten,
Then died and were buried, remembered with legacies.
But now we're told Earth is a speck of dust
One of nine planets in our solar system circling a mediocre star, our Sun,
which is one tiny sand grain on an endless beach of stars in the Milky Way,
which is one of billions of galaxies in the vast, endless space of the Universe
stretching unimaginably way out there, beyond eternity and comprehension.
Humans have strode the earth for 200,000 years of so,
Life has been here for 3.9 billion years,
The Big Bang, that conceived the Universe, occurred 13.8 billion years ago.
So human existence is a tiny pico-second in the lifetime of the universe.
So how does it help to know humans are a mere skerrick in time and space,
In a universe so old and vast it belies comprehension,
how does knowing this help in any way?
Categories:
skerrick, sky, space,
Form: Free verse
A speck of dust, a gritty granule, a mote of dirt,
A flake, a particle, a granule, a tiny remnant of what used to be.
A hotchpotch rabble assortment littering every nook and cranny,
Everywhere is dusty, dowdy, and dusky dusted.
Dust floats, flies on the wind, scatters about, makes a mess.
Always there needing to be swept up, brushed aside and cleaned away.
All matter is rendered asunder to dust in destiny's fate.
Each skerrick of dust a tiny full stop,
At the end to its saga of life and decay.
Stop a while and peer at your dust
Before you throw it away.
To wonder and marvel at such a diverse array of remnants
Of entropy personified in such disorder.
And to wonder where each speck, mote and morsel of dust came from.
Categories:
skerrick, house,
Form: Free verse
sitting and breathing,
I am again
in the wonder
there are fissures
in my night sky
I see a skerrick
of heaven
flaming stones
happen through
etching minutes
on small hours
starbursts course
onto the Milky Way,
snow in space and
angel dust in my eye
pieces of humanity
drift in the iris
overawed,
breathing stops
in the incredible
astonishment
of existence
and the favour
of life
I respire
once more
Categories:
skerrick, beauty, imagination, nature, night,
Form: Free verse