When the sun sinks into the sea
–a candle snuffed out suddenly–
the silhouettes of palm trees darken
against the fading colours of the sky.
Their leaves become black as crow feathers–
old-fashioned feather quills
writing poetry upon the earth’s dome
among the shooting stars.
Tiny traveller
from the realm of inner space,
you float suspended
in dark warm liquid
upside down
untouched by gravity
tethered by a lifeline
to the mothership.
Outside, tiny blue rivers
run in veins over the rolling horizon.
Your world curves around you
like a constant embrace,
the pulse of your universe
beats reassuringly in your ears.
When you are launched into the outer world
in an epic one-foot journey–
“One small step for mankind”–
you enter a new solar system
where bright light abounds,
but the starlight from your former home
forever twinkles in your eyes.
Tiny traveller,
welcome to the world!
(Image from Hubble Telescope)
What makes the lights dance in the mountains
when I’m up with the baby at 4:30 am?
Why do they twinkle like orange stars
nestled in the mountainside?
Do my sleepy eyes create an imaginary heatwave
to make them shake and shimmer?
Or is it the night faires dancing–
flitting invisibly back and forth
above the city?
If it’s true that we are dust
and that from the moment of birth
we are heading towards death,
then are not all our words
like a dying breath—
an exhalation of hope
that our voices will be heard
after we’re gone?
Like the light of stars
shining for years,
sending light across the universe
long after the star has burnt out.
Are we perhaps,
though weak and frail,
yet destined for eternity,
little flurries of stardust?
Outside the moon smiles lopsided
ever laughing, ever the same
despite my foibles, my losses
my little tragedies and defeats,
the moon continues in it’s ever changing sameness,
shining down like a flashlight
from eternity,
each difference but a dance with shadows.
And while sirens blare
and strange cars drive by
on late night voyages,
the cool air caresses me with the same
light breath and the stars quietly proclaim
“We are forever.”
Can it be that I, too,
despite my little daily battles—
the exorbitant dishes, the laundry piles that heave and grow
like monsters animated by dust and finger-paint,
the millionth cup of spilled juice,
the sweet stickiness of the table after pancakes—
am somehow part of this cycle of sameness
which is a gateway to eternity?
that through these daily things
and my yes to the “now”
to the goodness of each day
I am also saying yes
to eternity?
An amen which fills the heart
with joy unquenchable..
The moon looks down
through the cool night air
upon my littleness
and laughs, “Yes!”
Tonight my Dad and I were having
one of those great philosophical conversations
over dinner, salad dressing with fresh garlic
and ideas full of flavour
We talked about Pope Francis’ words
about the earth our sister, our mother, our home
Dad remembered the story of the first astronaut
who spent 4 hours out in space
two circles around the earth
and came home sick and depressed
away from the earth’s heartbeat
the electromagnetic pulse all we require to stay alive
Now spacesuits have this little beat built in
the heart of our home
pulsing close to her children in space
As for me, I have no desire to see
the outside of my mother’s womb
the shining blue roundness of the earth
gleaming against the blackness of space
I am happy to be a child of the earth
bare feet on the dirt
toes in the grass
A humble creature made of dust
and living among the flowers
I know, without seeing the stars up close
that I’ve got a spark of that eternal fire within me
My soul travels to realms afar
within the confines of this blue egg
this delicate haven of life
in the blackness
I have no desire to leave my mother’s house
until I travel to see my Father
A journey without fear
a coming home from home
a further blossoming
into Life.
Outside tonight it’s chilly
and so windy the treehouse rattles
and creaks.
The very stars tremble brightly
in the deep, dark blue of the sky.
I wonder how the earth looks from up there,
a patchwork quilt of cosy lights,
a humming globe of life
burning in the darkness.
There’s a misty werewolf moon tonight
and it reminds me of a poem I wrote you
just over 6 months ago
before you were born,
while you were still with us.
The stars twinkle reassuringly
in the cold night sky,
but the gloominess of this moon
covered in snatches of thin clouds
like scattered veils,
brings me to tears.
Perhaps it shines brighter from your side
—up in Heaven—
with no clouds in the way.
One day, honey, promise you’ll show me.
The stars go down
to rise upon some other shore,
and bright in Heaven’s jewelled crown,
they shine forever more.
John Luckey McCreery
One of the most exquisite gifts we received in honour of our baby Josephine’s passing was a star. I really mean it. My Uncle Dorn and Auntie Lenore had a star named after her. Because they figured we had enough flowers, and so that when the kids looked up into the sky, they could see her.
So, now and forevermore, there is a little shining star in the heavens named Josephine Pilar. Yes, this makes me cry, but with gratitude as well as sorrow. My beautiful, beautiful baby. My heart aches to be with you.
Before whom the stars at their posts
shine and rejoice.
When He calls them, they answer, “Here we are!”
shining with joy for their Maker.
Baruch 3: 34
I step outside
the night is quiet and dark
but the stars in the far-off dome of the sky
are piercingly bright
Something stirs within me
a longing for the infinite and indescribable
a feeling that if I had jetpacks on my legs
and a special suit
like Iron Man
I’d take off without a moment’s hesitation
to explore those stars
to try to touch that light
that’s been travelling here for millions of years
from new born stars
now ancient
Just East Of Crazy Land 