Feather Quills

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.

My brother Winston took this pic of our brother Monti’s back yard.

Little Astronaut

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)

Stardust

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?

Contemplation by Moonlight

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!”

Earthbound

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.

  

Misty Moon

  
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. 

Little Star

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.

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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

Star Gazer

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